KeruKeru: So this makes three fics I'm writing for simultaneously. Honestly, this one will most likely be my priority as I've had more fun with these characters already. As well, I like to think Kyle grew up to be like me in real life: constantly cynical and sarcastic, but second-guessing choices he makes even if the outcome is something he wants. So the added benefit of seeing myself in the story helps with my desire to write. I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!

1. Disregarding Myself

I hate Stan Marsh.

That's a load of shit. I'm hopelessly, fucking in love with Stan Marsh. But I can still hate him. Granted, it's more of the situation I'm sour towards than at him. Well, it was his idea, so it's partially directed his way. Maybe I hate myself a little bit too. Mostly for agreeing.

Yes, before everything came about, all I wanted was to be closer to Stan, but now that I got my wish and in this way. It's just not fucking worth it. I'm a sucker for him and that's why I stay. That's why I let this continue because we can't just go back to being super best friends or even just friends. I won't let us, even if all I want is to erase our current predicament off the face of history and pretend it never even began.

Time doesn't work like that. So until it does, I'm stuck. But at least I'm stuck with him.

"Fuck, Kyle! Watch the teeth." His grunt of pain reminds me where I am. Where we are. I just give him an apologetic puppy dog look and it seems to suffice.

I'm on my knees on his floor. He's sitting on his bed, pants around his ankles. My mouth is closed, bobbing over his erection. He cums soon after, no warning, as usual. I've learned the signs though. First his breath hitches, then he bites his lip and exhales as he unloads.

My own erection throbs with need in its denim prison, but I know it won't get assistance. It never does. He never really returns the favor. He jerked me off once, but it didn't really get me off because he's terrible at it. But I can't be bitter about that, not when there are plenty of other factors I need to be bitter about. I'm his booty call, er… mouth call? I'm the one he comes to (no pun intended) when Wendy won't put out. And the girl must be evil, too, because most of the time he's so fucking riled up he doesn't last too long. This time was different, it was at least a good five minutes.

Stan had recently acquired a taste for fruit, pineapple mainly. Okay, I made him acquire a taste for it because I was tired of him tasting as bitter as I feel. I don't need fucking reminders of it when I'm doing what it is that makes me feel that way.

He stands to redo his jeans while I find an old shirt or something to wipe the edges of my mouth with. I may be a cynical, self-hating bastard, but at least he tastes good thanks to me. "You wanna watch a movie or something?" He offers from beside the TV, flipping on his Xbox One without even waiting for me to reply. It always astounds me how he's able to pretend everything is normal between us.

"Sure, but none of that romantic-comedy bullshit you always insist on. That's for you and Wendy." The joke is at my expense, more so than his or hers. Though, he wouldn't know that by how well I swallow my feelings (fucking puns). I know how terrible this is. I'm basically Stan's mistress… or whatever the male version of a mistress is. We're cheating. We have been for months. But I can't stop myself. It means so much in a sick and twisted kind of way that I'm the one he wants to suck him off.

Dammit, I know, that sounds fucking weird, but shut up. If this is what it takes for me to be close to him, then fine, I'll do it. Like I said, it's not like we can just go back to before. I've seen his dick, had him in my mouth, my hands, and gotten him off every way to Sunday. He's even seen and touched mine, even if it was awful. You can't go back to being super best friends after that. Even if everyone else still thinks that's all we are.

Fuck, Wendy thinks that's all we are too. She's a smart girl, just as, if not more so than me. She probably finds it weird that whenever she stops Stan from going further that he suddenly needs to go to my house or meet me or something. If she knows, though, she doesn't mention it or even act like she does. She has Stan on a bit of a tighter leash at times, but I don't think he notices. I notice. She would be the one to bounce back quickly if everything went to shit. She might be sad or whatever, but as smart as she is, she's every bit as tough. Hell, she beat the shit out of Cartman just because he made fun of breast cancer. And that was when we were eleven, it's only grown more so over the years. Maybe that's part of the reason I let this go on.

I come back to my senses as robots are destroying the lounge area of Tony Stark's tower, just after a swanky party. He chose The Avengers: Age of Ultron. It's one of my favorites of the new movie series. At some point I must have rearranged my body because I now have my back against the foot of his bed with my legs tucked up into my chest. I think he's on the bed, but I'm not really sure.

"You okay, dude?" I think his Kyle's-in-his-own-head sense is going off, it's the only time he asks me that.

As always, I lie. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just watching the move." I don't turn around to acknowledge him. I can't pay attention to the movie because my cheater's guilt is in full throttle today. Why did I ever have to tell him I'm gay? Correction: why did he ever force me to tell him? It's not even a big deal, but he wouldn't let it go until I finally just broke down and told him. He has that effect on me. I just want to tell him everything and I think he knows it. If he doesn't know it, then I know how obvious I make it and that just proves how oblivious he is.

Fucking Kenny knows about my goddamn crush (undying love) for Stanley Marsh. Only because Kenny is a nosy bastard who likes to go through my phone and over-analyze every emoji I've ever sent to Stan. So I'm flirtier than any normal friend should be when I'm texting Stan, but he never complains, sometimes he plays along. I think he's just used to it. Shit like that is what made our friendship what it is. Adultery aside.

I phase back into the movie. Tony Stark is mid-fight with a mind-warped Hulk. Both are tearing apart the metropolitan area of a city in order to take the other one down. This may be the first time I'll ever not pay attention to this movie. I love The Avengers. Stan and I both do. It's one of the tons of interests we share. In recent years we've diverged a bit in our interests. Stan went out for football and currently represents the school. I tried to go out for basketball and swimming, but I'm not coordinated enough for one and I hate being almost naked in front of anyone because I have such a pale complexion. I've considered trying out for the baseball team though.

I have a great metabolism so I've stayed relatively thin. Not like Kenny, he's too thin because his parents spend most of their money on alcohol and he's so wrapped up in caring for his younger sister that quite often he has little in the way of feeding himself. Bastard is too prideful to let us help him too. That's not my point though. The point is that I don't think it would've helped me much even if I had stayed with one. Football helped Stan, though. It helped him a lot.

His body is one of the many reasons this arrangement makes no sense. He's toned. He's nowhere near a professional athlete, but you can tell he works hard at keeping himself trim. He's still carrying around a little fluff, but I think it's cute. That aside, I don't see why Wendy won't do anything with him more than kissing or rubbing him through his jeans. I may be bias, but I'd hit that. Hell, I have basically hit it. Though I never count what we do because it's just blow jobs and handies for him.

Oh look, we've come full circle.

Am I too wrapped up in this? Should I just stop worrying about it? I can't stop myself. Stan says 'jump' and I say 'on what'. It was never this way before we turned fifteen. When he was finally noticing Wendy as a girl, I was busy noticing him as a guy. We had the same gym class all the time, most of our classes are the same aside from subjects like math. I would sneak peeks. Part of me was terrified he'd find me staring at him and hate me, but he never did. Or least I thought he didn't. When he finally confronted me about my sexuality, it came up. He wasn't pissed, much to my relief. He actually told me he was flattered because 'Wendy didn't look at him that way'. Of course she didn't, I don't think she ever has.

Deep down, I think Wendy is more afraid to lose Stan than she lets on. She could easily find someone better suited for herself, someone like Token. He's rich, intelligent, and rich. Everything girls like. For some reason though, she keeps him around, teasing him with just enough that he wants to stay with her even if it means I have to be the one to take the brunt of it.

I may sound resentful. I'm not. Wendy's actually one of my best friends outside of Stan and Kenny. She's the only one of us that actually appreciates intelligent stuff like literature and politics. She may get a bit over-the-top for my liking, but it's mainly because she cares so much. Hence, the aforementioned pounding of Eric Cartman.

God, even that asshole changed. He stayed tubby, but he grew up. His licentious remarks and personality have only become worse. The constant 'Jew' comments are to the point where Stan has to hold me back from beating the living shit out of him. It's usually remedied by Stan telling me 'it's not worth it' and I can breathe back my anger. Cartman's also evolved an understanding of the Constitution and breaks into the 'First Amendment' to protect what he says as if free speech means he's absolved of all consequences of his speech therein.

Shit, where was I at? In terms of the movie, the heroes were chasing Ultron through the streets of Seoul, South Korea. I'm suddenly aware of a shuffling next to me. It's Stan. He moved down beside me at some point during my battle with my inner demons. He's pretty close too.

He turns and our eyes meet, I realize I've been staring at him. He lifts an eyebrow in question. "You sure you're alright, you've been kinda dazed since you came over." That's an understatement.

I blink, but nod unconvincingly, turning back to the screen. "Yeah, I'm fine." No I'm not. I haven't been for a while. Ever since I realized I loved him as so much more than just my super best friend.

I'm sure he doesn't believe me, but he knows not push so his attention returns to the movie. I find myself drawn to him. Tentatively, I let my head fall to his shoulder to rest. It's not that we've never been this close. We've shared a bed multiple times over and sometimes we just lay on each other during movies or games or whatever. I don't know why I'm being such a pussy but I'm against his shoulder.

He moves, only to readjust for my comfort and then we're settled again. Scarlett Johansson is riding her motorcycle through Seoul, red hair whipping through the breeze. "I kinda miss your Jew-fro." Stan comments with an added chuckle. He's the only one allowed to make Jew jokes because we both know he doesn't mean them.

"Really? It's so much more manageable this way." Sure, it takes a decent amount of gel and time to keep my short curls under control, but I can't go back to the 'fro' days. There was so much hair. My old unshaka could barely keep it hidden half the time. I kept the hat but not the hair.

Stan just snickers at me. "You looked hilarious whenever it came out." I elbow him which only intensifies his chuckling.

"Asshole." I can't be mad at him though. I can never be mad at him. We're both cynical assholes, even if he is the one who used to think everything was shit. Our cynicism is just another shared quality between us.

I feel his arm creep over my hip on the opposite side. He has his arm around me. It's normal, but unexpected. Maybe me sucking him off really is the next logical step in our friendship. It doesn't feel that way, but we're so close that we do pretty gay shit anyway. So, he could be right. Regardless, his hand makes me blush, which is incredibly obvious on my ghostly skin. He doesn't mention it if he notices which would only make it that much worse.

Cuddling with Stan is great, even if he won't admit we're cuddling. It's one of the few times I can pretend we're an actual couple who do normal couple things like geek out over The Avengers or murder each other in Halo and Call of Duty. A couple who can kiss and hold hands and just be together. But at the same time, I know that's not in the cards for us. It never has been and never will be. So for the time, I'm content with this even if I hate it because it means I can be with him and we can still be friends.

With that thought, I slip into a nap. My dreams are fleeting and hard to put together because it's only a short while. Stan is in them as usual. Most of my dreams revolve around superheroes and the Halloween we all dressed up as The Avengers. Stan couldn't come out with us because his dad lost his mind and bought a Blockbuster and Stan was stuck helping. The dream about that time is more revolved around us as twelve year olds, kissing in our costumes. It's innocent because outside of adultery, I'm a fucking wimp when it comes to sex stuff. I hate getting naked. I hate being even semi-naked for people to see because I just turn fucking red. That one time Stan tried returning the favor was probably made worse by my reluctance to actually let him pull my pants all the way down.

As I dream of us kissing, Stan's crotch starts vibrating against my leg. What the fuck? Now it's playing a song. It sounds a lot like my phone's ringtone. This revelation makes my eyes open slowly, taking in the scene around me. Stan's Xbox is still on, but the movie has reverted to its menu screen. My phone is ringing in my pocket. That's why his crotch vibrated. I move my head groggily to find his own is rested against mine. His arm is still around my back. My movements rouse him and his arm retreats back to rub the sleep from his eyes.

I don't have that luxury as I reach into my pocket. It's most likely my mom and if I delay answering any longer she'll send the cops. The contact picture is actually Ike, he's flipping me off in the picture. I roll my eyes and press to answer. "What do you want, dickhead?"

He sniggers on the other end. "Hello to you too, queermo." Ike knows I'm gay. He gives me shit for it, but in that 'caring sibling' kind of way, there's no malice behind his insults. He doesn't know who I'm head over heels for, but I think he's suspicious. "Mom wanted me to call and tell you dinner's almost ready."

Stan is watching me on the phone. "What if I wanna stay at Stan's for dinner?" My brow raises at Stan who just shrugs as if saying 'sure'.

"Nah, mom says you need to have at least one dinner with us this week." I think he can hear me roll my eyes. "Mom also said to stop rolling your eyes at me."

"Fuck you." I shoot back.

"You'd probably like it."

I breathe a heavy sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. "Tell mom I'll be home soon." I don't give him the time to reply before ending the call. I start to stand, hearing various body parts start to snap back into place after being curled or bent for so long. My back pops and I'm left with a crick in my neck from resting on Stan's shoulder. "I guess I have to go home."

Stan frowns. "Aw, I'm sure my mom wouldn't mind having you for dinner again."

"My mom wants me to eat with them at least once." I find my backpack where I left it when I got in. I always bring my stuff here or he brings his to my house as our time together often turns into staying over at the other's house. We prepare. It's mostly just essentials like school books, tooth brush, change of underwear and my laptop. And my Unshaka because I hate putting in the effort to work my hair when I stay over here so I keep my hat with me.

"See you tomorrow?" He offers me his fist.

I knock mine against it. "Always." He walks me to the front door and I wave goodbye to his mom. His dad isn't home yet and I think Shelley is up in her room.

When I'm about walk out the door into the crisp night air, I feel his hand on my shoulder. "And… Kyle." I turn back to him. "Uhh… thanks for… ya know."

I blink in surprise. He doesn't normally thank me so the prospect is foreign. "Don't… Don't mention it?" It comes out as more of a question than I mean it to, but my point gets across. I offer him a wave and an unconvincing smile and trudge forward for my home.

Thankfully the walk is nothing in a small town like South Park and I'm home in minutes. Those minutes are mostly spent in my head as my body goes on auto-pilot for what seems like the millionth time today. Have I been looking at our situation completely wrong? Does he actually get more out of it than just a mouth to fill? Does he… Does he think that maybe I don't like it? I mean, he wouldn't technically be wrong. Or does he actually notice my slowly-deteriorating mental well-being now that I'm his man-tress (male version of mistress)?

These questions plague me as I enter my parents' home. My mom's busy in the kitchen while dad is in the dining room with the evening paper. Ike is on the couch, watching TV and is the one to greet me when I enter and kick off my shoes by the door. "Look who finally decided to join us!" His sarcasm is palpable.

"Shut it, Ike. I'm not really in the mood." I start up the stairs and he's right behind in seconds. I stop for only a millisecond to decide whether to let Ike follow me, but I concede and head for my room.

Ike follows inside, uninvited. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

"Eat me." I really don't want to deal with my brother right now. I try to ignore him and pull out my laptop. It's decorated in several layers of stickers. Each layer is a different obsession I've had. The first layer is Chinpokomon, there are a couple more layers I forget and now it's covered in Marvel stickers. The biggest is Captain America's shield in the very center. This laptop is old, but I can't part with it.

I hear the door shut and assume Ike left until there's an indent at the foot of my bed. "Kyle, what happened?" It's his serious voice. "You haven't been this mopey in a while."

I eye him around my screen. "It's nothing, dude, just leave me alone." I want to tell Ike. I want to complain about this to my little brother, but he's already having a tough time in middle school. Not with grades, my brother's super smart. He won't tell me exactly, but I think it's probably his sexuality and because of this, I never pry. I let him know I'll be here when he's ready to confide.

Unfortunately, Ike doesn't give me the same curtesy. He yanks my laptop from my lap, me in tow behind it in an effort to take it back. "Ike, you asshole, give me my computer back!" He's keeping me at bay with one arm and holding the computer away with the other.

"Not until you tell me what's bugging you, Kyle!" I know this all comes from a place of caring and love, but this is a tough subject.

I give in though, because if I don't, Ike will find new ways to torture me. This is just what he came up with on the fly. If I give him more time… A shiver runs up my spine at the thought. I don't even want to think about that. My brother may only be twelve, but he can be a vindictive little shit when he needs to be. Too often that's wasted on me. "Fine, just… don't talk until I'm done."

And so I explain everything to him. About how Stan forced me out of the closet. About how he wants me to blow him whenever he needs to unload (Ike understands most sex lingo). I tell him about my conflicted feelings due to Wendy and my love for my best friend. I try to play off my feelings for Stan as being less intense than they are, but he can see through that. I have to stop once because he tries to speak in the middle. I go on about everything and the more I tell, the more I feel a weight lifting off my chest. I can finally let someone in on this secret I've been harboring for months and, while it still makes me a horrible person, I feel a bit better.

"Shit, dude…" He sits in awe, staring at the travesty that is me and my love life. "God, I'm almost sorry I asked."

I shrug and just pull my knees up to my chest. I notice my eyes had started to water during all that and just blink it off. Shouldn't dinner be done by now? Mom has yet to call us down. "Yeah."

"You love him." It's not a question.

"Yup."

The corner of his mouth turns up in a cocky smirk. "I always knew you had a hard-on for Stan." He's becoming more and more like Kenny every day, I really can't stand it.

"You need to stop hanging around Kenny, he's a bad influence on you." Not that his self-loathing big brother is any better.

Ike rolls his eyes at me. Why can he do it to me and I can't to him? "Yeah, whatever. But seriously, are you gonna tell him?"

I stare at my brother as if he has three heads. "Fuck no I'm not telling him!"

"You should."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

Ike shrugs. "He could feel the same way."

I choke out a mirthless laugh at that. "Oh Ike, your innocence is one of the main reasons people like you. He doesn't love me, he's not even gay. He probably pictures Wendy when I'm blowing him." My words sting me, but I don't find them any less true.

"Or does he think about you when he's with her?" What little naivety he has, shows true in his words. I think my brother's a hopeless romantic at heart. Maybe I am too, but not to his extent.

I just shake my head. "Trust me, he doesn't think about me. Not like that."

"I don't know. You two are pretty big queers when you're around each other. Half the time I worry I'll come back and you're trying to bone." Yeah, he definitely needs to stay away from Kenny.

I close my eyes and breathe in, then out. "Ike, Stan's not gay. I promise you that."

"Whatever you say, bro." He gets up to leave. "Kyle…" I meet his gaze, hoping for something on the subject of his own struggles. "Make sure you keep your teeth out of the way." He leaves, snickering, before I can flip him the bird.

He's such a little asshole. The spitting image of Kenny McCormick. I don't even know why those two bonded. Maybe Kenny's attraction to anything with a pulse combined with Ike's questioning of his sexuality drew them together…. No, no, that is not a door I want to open up. Literally or figuratively. Nu-uh. If Kenny wants to fuck my little brother, he has to go through me… That might not be as tall an order for him as I think it will be.

Ike's words about Stan return to my head. There's no way in which my brother could be right about this. Stan Marsh is as straight as they come. Maybe not with me because we've been friends for so long, but he definitely doesn't see me as anything more than his super best friend with benefits.

The next morning I'm readying myself for school. My talk with Ike was successful in lifting my mood and I'm much less broody. I forgo the styling today in favor of just sporting my old Unshaka. It's balmy as we're heading into fall so I can start dressing warmly again or at least somewhat so. Over my clothes I'm wearing a South Park High hoodie. It used to be Stan's but after freshman year he had a growth spurt that made it too small, it's a bit baggy on me though because I never bulked up like Stan did. I like it though because the sleeves are just long enough to slide over my hands and wear like gloves.

The honk of a car horn alerts me to my ride. It's Stan in his old pick-up. I wave to mom as I run out the door, completely forgetting to take anything for breakfast because I just want to see Stan and show him my good mood.

I yank open the passenger door, it squeaks from age and I hop in. "Morning." I smile at him. He's wearing an unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a black T-shirt beneath. He's also taken up his old beanie. Or at least a newer version since his other got mauled by a lawnmower when his dad got drunk.

He seems surprised at my sudden up-beat attitude. "Uh, morning." He blinks and puts the truck in drive while I adjust the radio. Stan only gets like three stations so it's either oldies, country, or Christian rock. I pick the country only because I at least know some of it. "Your mood's changed." He doesn't take his eyes off the road but I can see a smile on his face.

"Yeah, Ike and I had a talk last night and I think I'm feeling better." I know he was aware of my worrying.

He feigned a hurt puppy look and pouted. "You'd rather talk to your own brother before me? That hurts, Kyle." He makes a fake sniffle and I punch him in the arm.

"Asshole, what if it was about you?" Which it was, but I would never tell him that.

He turns to me as we hit at a red light and blinks, but he squints shrewdly. "You talkin' shit, Broflovski?"

I just roll my eyes, snickering at him. "No more than usual." We're moving again.

"Maybe I'll just have to start talking to Cartman about you." He's looking at me out of the corner of his eye to get my reaction.

I just give him a smug smile. "Go ahead, let's see how long you can last with the fatass."

His words apparently don't have the effect he wants because he shivers at my suggestion. "Fine, you win. Talk to Ike behind my back all you want." He pulls his truck into the school's parking lot and finds his normal spot.

The sound of the truck's gears signal that it's now in park. Before we can get out, however, something swings itself into the back of the pick-up. Checking the mirror, Stan sighs. "Fucking Kenny."

Our friend is jumping up and down in the bed of Stan's truck as we vacate the vehicle. I swing my backpack over one shoulder.

"Watch the paint, McCormick. I just got her polished!" That's a lie. This truck has never even seen a washing since Stan's parents gave it to him. The brown color is mostly just dirt.

Kenny takes this as a challenge and climbs atop the cab. "Come and make me!" His voice is somewhat muffled by the bandana he's taken up wearing in lieu of the orange parka he grew out of. Kenny's hair is blonde and shimmery from the grease of a boy lacking a shower. He stomps his combat boots around on the poor cab.

"Get down, asshole!" Stan makes a grab for Kenny's ankles, but our destitute friend is just the slightest bit faster and hops out of the way. "Seriously, Kenny. Get the fuck off." That's Stan's serious voice. He's pissed.

Our friend actually listens this time and hops into the bed, then swings himself back onto the pavement.

"You know the old adage 'you are what you are eat'?" I start in as I follow him into the parking lot to meet Stan. "It must be true, because you're a dick."

"I aim to please."

Stan makes it a point to sock Kenny in the arm as we round the corner. "Don't ever fucking do that again!"

Rubbing the space where there will likely be a bruise with how hard Stan punched him, Kenny just smiles. Or it seems like a smile, it's hard to tell with the bandana. "Alright, alright. Don't need to tell me twice." We probably will though.

First period is beyond dull. Mr. Garrison is droning on about "illegal Canadians" or something. Yeah, he moved up to the high school level. A while back he quit as a grade school teacher and entered the presidential race. That was around the same time the town's gentrification was taking place. When he lost, he went back to teaching but because the grade school was still run by that PC Principal asshole, Garrison moved on to teach high school.

Come to think of, that whole time brought a few of the grade school faculty up here. Principal Victoria was replaced by PC Principal so after she and Garrison stopped the gentrification she was left without a job. Luckily the high school's principal left the summer before we started and she was instated as the new principal. Mr. Mackey, too, became the high school's counselor after he quit the grade school out of fear of PC Principal. He still gives his 'drugs are bad, mmmkay' speeches from time to time.

I find a sort of sick irony in the fact that most of our fourth grade class ended up in Garrison's first period. We were missing Clyde and Bebe, I think, but otherwise it's the same group of fourth graders. Maybe it's some plot to keep us all together, who knows?

I'm at the front of the class in the middle. Stan is to my left with Wendy on his other side. Kenny's in back, probably already sleeping. With Wendy and I separated by Stan, Cartman couldn't pass up the chance to take a seat behind Stan just so he could irritate us both.

"Jew." The hiss makes my fist clench in reaction. "Jeeeeeew." Don't respond Kyle, just let it go. "Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew!" I see Stan shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. "Jew!"

"ERIC CARTMAN!" Garrison screams at the top of his lungs and somewhere to my right I hear Tweek shriek in a combination of alarm and probably anxiety. "Do I need to send you to the principal, again?"

I have the biggest, smuggest grin on my face as Garrison proceeds to chew Cartman out over interrupting his class.

As if in mercy of the fat bastard, the bell rings and we all pile out of Garrison's class save for a few stragglers. At the door, Token is passing out flyers. Each is a picture of his home with a date, time and acronym: 'BYOB'. It's for next week. "Tell all your friends!"

Stan, Wendy and I each take a flyer. "Thank god, I've needed a Token party for a while." Stan folds up his flyer and stuffs it into his pocket.

"Oh please, it's just an excuse for everyone to get wasted and have sex." Wendy doesn't sound impressed, or look it as she crumples up the flyer and tosses it in the nearby trash can.

Stan just snickers at her. "You say that like it's a bad thing." He winks and she blushes, scowling at him.

"You don't actually want to go, do you?" Does she not know Stan at all?

His arm comes around her shoulders as we walk. "Of course I do. It's been too long since Token threw a rager."

"Stan, we're juniors now, we should be worrying more about college than getting wasted."

He frowns. "In college, all they worry about is getting wasted! I'm just starting early." He's trying to be funny and it works on me. I chuckle.

"Don't encourage him, Kyle!" A Testaburger glare is shot my way, erasing any sort of joy the instant it hits. "Really Stan, you shouldn't be wasting time at parties. You need to keep your grades up! Remember how much you struggled last year?" She's right, Stan had an awful sophomore year, mostly because he's an awful procrastinator, but his attention span is also less-than-adequate at the best of times.

He just sighs at his girlfriend. "Wendy, seriously, chill." Her glare is turned on him, but he's immune by now. "I'm doing fine right now."

"It's only September."

"Exactly! I deserve a little R and R before everything starts piling up."

Wendy evens out her mood with a deep breath, but I can tell she's still a bit miffed. "Alright, fine. But the second you start falling behind, I'll be right there to tell you 'I told you so'."

He chuckles at her. "I wouldn't expect anything else." He kisses her cheek and that seems to cool any remaining ire.

They detach since Wendy doesn't have our next period. "I'll see you guys in history." She returns his affections with a kiss to his cheek and saunters off.

As much as our relationship confuses me, theirs is every bit more bewildering. I know I went over this, but come on. Wendy and Stan are not people that work well together. I mean, yeah, I guess they're cute, but that's mostly due to the whole 'elementary school sweethearts' bullshit. But now that they're grown, Wendy's become more domineering and Stan has come to be every bit as aloof.

I guess I can be domineering too, one of my many faults. But I don't want to become the next Wendy Testaburger. They don't have in common what Stan and I do though. Ugh, go away jealousy.

"So, you gonna come watch practice? We can go to my house after and play Halo or something." His suggestion knocks me from my subconscious. I don't think he noticed this time.

I grin. "Want me to kick your ass for the umpteenth time, huh?"

"I had my eyes closed last time!"

"We played almost twenty rounds!"

"I needed to rest my eyes a lot."

I elbow him playfully as we find our seats in the next class: art. I suck at art. Stan has a surprising knack for it. I can't make anything more than some poorly-rendered characters out of construction paper. "Sure, I'll come watch."

"Anything to see me in compression pants." He snickers beside me, digging through his backpack for his sketch book.

I catch myself before the blush can rocket over my face. "Not like there's much to see."

He fake sniffles like when we were riding to school. "That hurts, man." As he speaks, one hand is busy at work sketching something I can't really make out. His other hand is purposely blocking it.

"Why don't you ever let me see what you're drawing?" I pout at his hand shield as if that will lift it.

His tongue is out between his lips, a trait I always think to be really adorable whenever he's busy arting away. "Because they don't look good until I'm done."

I can't help a snicker. "You imply they're good at all." They're amazing, actually.

"Yup, that's why I'm pulling an A in this class and you've already got a hard C." His eyes never leave the page while he speaks.

Between any other people, his jab might have hurt, but instead it just makes me laugh. "Well, if I had known my super best friend was Pablo-fucking-Picasso, I might not have agreed to take art with him." The bell rings for class to start, but in Art it's a lot of 'at your own pace' work. Our teacher sits at the front and because we have projects due by the end of the week, she just lets us have free reign, within reason.

"Finally something I'm better at than Kyle Broflovski." He chuckles while his pencil works furiously.

"Athletics notwithstanding?"

He shrugs. "I'm only in football, dude. I bet if you went back to basketball, they'd take you."

"Nah, we couldn't be doing any better with me."

"It's not like they're doing any better without you." That's true. The South Park Cows (don't ask why they decided to keep the name for the high school too) basketball team is having its worst season to date. Nobody can figure out why. "And done!" He offers me the sketchbook.

I blink at the newly-drawn image, inspecting it. "It's… It's my hat." He drew my Unshaka as if it were left on a desk or something. It's crumpled over to one side. The detail and realism is something I can't believe. "Dude, you even got the string that's falling out!" Inside my hat, the stitching has started to come loose, it's near impossible to see while I'm wearing it.

"I haven't seen you wear it in a while, so I thought I'd make something permanent." He acts as if it's nothing. Maybe to someone else it would be, but it just makes me feel giddy and happy and stupid.

I trace over the lines with my finger, taking in every precious feature as if I'm not wearing the article on my head. "This is one of your best." Even each bit of felt that lines my hat is meticulously outlined.

He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "You really think so?" I nod instantly. "I like to think I keep my best ones at home."

"And why haven't I been allowed to see these 'best ones'?"

His embarrassed smile drops a bit. "Well, I'm not really ready for anyone to see them. They're… special."

This is all news to me. I always assumed Stan had more than just the one book, but I really hadn't thought much else about it. "Could I see them?" Thinking about what could be in those books got me all eager.

"No." His voice is flat and a bit more stern than normal. "Uh, sorry, just, not yet. I promise, you'll be the first to see them."

Admittedly, I'm a little hurt he doesn't trust me enough to have let me in on the secret already, but I can understand. It's not as if he's the only one holding something back. "I'll hold you to that."

The rest of our school day isn't particularly eventful. Cartman got sent to the principal's office for apparently referring to the teacher he has for Russian as a 'Commy bitch' so our lunch period was quiet. Stan sat with the rest of the football team, something he doesn't do often, but apparently they were getting pumped for their practice or some such. So I ended up seated with Kenny, Butters, and Clyde. Token joined us too but had to leave early to speak to his next teacher.

I arrive at the football field just as our team is starting their pre-practice stretching regimen. Stan shoots me a wave and I return it before looking for a seat on the bleachers.

There are a few other students. Mostly girlfriends of the players. I climb a few flights and find the one viewer that surprises me though… "Tweek?"

The sound of his name makes him cry out in his nervous twitchy way. "Oh, Kyle." It's not so much a greeting as it is him acknowledging my presence. "What are you doing – ngh – here?" He still has the same tick from when we were kids. The good news is that he's stopped shivering.

I take my seat next to him, not taking it personally when he scoots away. I know he hates being touched. "Stan wanted me to come watch." My backpack plunks between my legs. "You here for Craig?"

"Yeah."

Tweek and Craig were interesting to me. Ever since the gentrification, everyone assumed they were a couple. They even 'broke up' at one point and then were back together because their relationship seemed to keep the town out of a deep depression. The only times I saw them then they were holding hands, but lately I've come to notice them spending more time with one another.

There are whispers about them and judging by Tweek's darting eyes at me and everyone around, I think the rumors are getting to him. "Tweek, nobody's talking about you."

He chews on one finger and from the football field I catch Craig glaring at him. He stops chewing immediately. "They're a-always talking!" He shoves his hands into his pockets to presumably keep from biting them. "I always hear the –ngh– rumors!"

"People spread rumors about Stan and I all the time." I think that's meant to comfort him. "Besides… I thought you and Craig were… actually a couple?"

His head shakes 'no' violently. "I-I don't know – ngh – what we are!" Is there more going on than just hand holding? "Craig doesn't want me – ngh – talking about it."

I scan him for a second. "Talking about what?"

His breathing evens as he takes two deep breaths. "We've kinda been… uh…" He shivers, but I don't think it's the mania causing it. "K-Kissing…" His last word is quiet, another surprise from the spazoid.

"Oh… Oh!" His words finally process. "So… the rumors are true?"

My mention of those rumors makes him take in another couple breaths. "S-Some."

I just blink. Craig and Tweek and I aren't exactly best friends. To be quite honest, Craig's an asshole. Tweek is weird, but whenever we hang out he's fun so I consider him a friend. But the fact something is actually going on between them leaves me dumbfounded. "You and…" My eyes fall on Craig as he tosses a football to a teammate across the field.

Tweek nods with a slight twitch. "We don't do – ngh – anything heavy just… kissing." He's biting at chapped lips now and as soon as he does, Craig's eyes find us again and under his stare Tweek lets go of his lip. "He says it's to – ngh – keep up appearances… but he only kisses me when we're alone." There's a blush appearing on the spaz's cheeks.

I realize my time for information gathering might be limited given the effect Craig seems to have so I have to ask my questions quickly. "Well… do you like it?"

"Yeah."

"Does he like it?"

"I – ngh – think so."

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"That's too much pressure!"

I can't really argue given my own predicament. "I know, but you might be surprised at the result." Isn't that what Ike told me?

"Or I might – ngh – not be surprised at all!" He blinks one eye at a time. This kid is so hard to read because his paranoia is all that's ever plastered on his face. Craig must be a miracle worker to get anything else out of him. Then again, Craig is also extremely withdrawn so maybe they work well at bringing out those buried parts of each other.

"There's always a chance of the world exploding, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't step outside." Where this type of proverbial bullshit came from, I have no clue.

He blinks, twitching. "The-The world is going to explode?! Nah!" His hands are over his head as if to protect himself.

I can do nothing but sigh. "No, Tweek. I mean, there's always a chance for the worst possible outcome, but that shouldn't stop you from living life." I want to pat him on the shoulder out of comfort, but I don't feel the action has its place with Tweek. "If all else fails, just become a pessimist like me. That way you're either right or pleasantly surprised." Boy, do I love being right.

Realizing the world is not about to explode, my nervous classmate lifts his hands out of his wild mop of hair. He seems content that he's not in any immediate danger. "You might – ngh – be right." He starts wringing his wrists, deep in contemplation for a moment before Craig catches his eye again and he stops. Does the kid have some kind of sixth sense for when Tweek is damaging his body? "He doesn't like me hurting myself." His voice is even, almost calm when he answers my unasked question and his eyes have yet to leave Craig.

I nod, unsure what to do with that. "If talking is too much pressure, you could try… writing him a note or letter or something?" I know it seems to work when people break up through text. Maybe not for the dumped, but certainly the dumper.

His eye contact with the aforementioned asshole finally breaks. "A… letter…" without so much else in the way of conversation, the spazoid begins digging through his messenger bag for a notebook and a pencil. His writing is near chicken scratch, but I can make out some words as he hurriedly scrawls them.

I realize my nosiness is getting the better of me and turn to the practice I came to watch. Stan is up next to push the practice dummy. He runs, screaming at the plush human shape. This must be where his aloofness comes from, he gets rid of any stress and anger during football.

My eyes are drawn to every muscle outlined beneath his compression shorts. I might be drooling, but I could care less as my friend forces the dummy down field. All the blood rushes to my groin as multiple images of him in his uniform, quite a few where he's nearly nude, assault my mind. When I can register what's happening, what blood is left reaches my cheeks. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! My backpack is in my lap, I'm holding it close like a stuffed animal necessary for comfort.

"You okay?" Tweek asks from my side.

I find irony in the fact he is the one asking someone else if they're 'okay'. "Yeah, fine." No, I'm not. I'm lusting after my super best friend. The same one whom I'm madly in love with and would do anything for and anyone can see the effect he has on me.

I should really learn how to take my own advice and tell him, or I could just avoid the problem and hope it goes away. Probably the second one.

KeruKeru: This was really fun to write and as stated above, it will most likely become my priority over the other two so if any of my usual readers are reading this, I'm sorry! If you enjoyed the first chapter, please leave a review and follow/favorite! I always love hearing from you guys!