The Curious Moves Chapter 2: As if I'd really mourn over your death, a south park fanfic

2: As if I'd really mourn over your death

"How're you having so much trouble with that?" Kenny exclaimed, stepping forward to the crouching Stan.

Stan turned red. "No, Ken, I can take care of it myself, really…!"

"Twist right, twist left, twist right, and then jack it up!" said Kenny excitedly, counting the steps off his fingers as if he had done it many times before. "Come on, Stan, you do it every day!"

"I'm just having trouble this time," Stan grumbled, pushing Kenny off as he tried to do it himself. "No, Kenny!"

"Aw," muttered the blonde, stepping back. "Fine, one time. If you can't do it then I'm moving in for the kill."

"Deal," said Stan with a resolved face. He'd have to get it this time, the raven-haired boy knew, if he wanted to avoid Kenny coming anywhere near it…. With a set face Stan raised his hand and curled his finger around the object, twisting it in the directions previously mentioned by Kenny; and with one final thrust Stan pushed upward.

"Aw, damnit," Kenny muttered, sighing in disappointment at the sight of Stan's (finally) open locker. With a relieved smile Stan did his normal book exchange, cursing under his breath at the load of books he needed to carry for his morning classes.

"All my core classes in the morning," Stan mumbled with a sigh, slamming shut with his foot. "Precalculus, US History, and Physics…. What genius gave me that schedule?"

Kenny shrugged. "I dunno, dude. You're a very unlucky guy, I guess."

"Whatever, Ken." As a large group of flocking girls swarmed by them in the opposite direction Stan raised an eyebrow. "Err, Kenny? Why exactly were you waiting for me at my locker, anyway?"

"Just because," the boy replied, shrugging. "Why?"

"You never meet me there," said Stan. "Our first classes are opposite ends of the school."

"I decided to leave early," Kenny explained. "I didn't know what else to do so I came and found you."

"Are you sure you don't just want me to pick you up?" Stan offered, shoving his hands in his pockets while absentmindedly fiddling with his keys. "It's not that much trouble for me, dude."

"That'd be awesome!" exclaimed Kenny, and before Stan even realized it he became victim to a… massive hug.

"Aw, aww!—Kenny!"

"Thanks, dude!" Kenny exclaimed once more, digging himself deeper into the boy. "Oh man, my tired feet are gonna be so fuckin' happy…!"

"Don't get too excited now," said Stan. "You still gotta cope with me taking Kyle home—and Cartman too, sometimes."

"Fine," said Kenny, smirking. "Can I at least claim the backseat—with Kyle?"

Stan didn't respond.

Stan eventually got over having his three morning classes, and although he was quite sure he failed at least one of his two tests he had taken that day, he was still glad that his toughest classes were now over. However, even if he was glad for such a thing like that, he would definitely not be happy in that he wouldn't see Kyle in any of his remaining classes of that day.

Except lunch, of course.

But still, the thought alone was quite depressing. And what angered him even more was that Kenny had him in two classes after lunch—two. That left so much room for the Jewish boy to receive those innuendos Kenny kept conjuring….

Of course, even Stan knew Kyle didn't seem to mind… but why?

As he made his way toward the cafeteria, though, he couldn't help but to wonder how much he hated their lunch period. Sure, Stan loved lunchtime. But he also hated it for several reasons.

1 – Kyle was always busy doing something—usually homework. And,
2 – Kenny would usually spend the entire time hitting on the boy.

That Monday was a prime example of the latter.

"You've got a long wiener over there!" Kenny exclaimed, tapping Kyle's lunch tray several times. "Mind if I take a—"

"No," said Kyle quickly before Kenny could finish. Then, in an attempt to stump Kenny in his perverseness Kyle had added, "You want a sip outta my soda, though?"

Kenny smirked. "If you have a straw, I'll do it." From across the table a slightly annoyed shook his head, not even bothering to look up as he took a bite out of his own hot dog. Quite frankly it happened no matter what kind of food the cafeteria was serving; after hearing "You could stick that in further, you know" while eating a banana, "Slurping those noodles is a good habit to have, dude" while eating spaghetti, and "Screw that; I wanna be the meat in your buns!" while having hamburgers, Stan was quite ready to hear the day Kenny couldn't make a perverted joke out of something they were eating.

Stan was definitely used to it by now.
But that didn't mean he wasn't about ready to accept it, yet.

"Dude, sick," Cartman and Stan both said at the same time, though only Cartman actually meant it.

Only Cartman continued after that. "Kenneh you're such a fag. A poor fag, geez Kenneh, couldn't be anything else, could you?"

"Drop it," said Kyle, giving the boy quite the angry stare—then again, he gave that stare to everything the pudgy boy said. "Kenny's just being Kenny. That's all."

"Seriously though," Stan said in a much quieter voice, contrasting greatly to Cartman's thunderous accusations. "Don't you ever feel… you know, uncomfortable when he says stuff like that?"

"Of course he doesn't!" Kenny exclaimed, hitting Kyle playfully in the side. "He doesn't mind it 'coz he likes it!"

"Hey," murmured Kyle, laughing slightly. Then, turning to Stan and giving him a reassuring glance, he added; "I don't mind, Stan, but that's not the reason why."

"Why then?" challenged Stan, eyes narrowly slit in Kenny's direction.

Kyle laughed. "Well, he's—"

"Goddamnit, guys, you're ALL fags!" Cartman roared, up to the point where the majority of the students were glancing in their direction. "Screw you guys; I'm goin' home!" And with that he left, leaving the three remaining boys in an awkward situation.

Kyle bit his lip and cursed under his breath in Hebrew, the only comprehensible word being "Cartman."
Stan pinched the bridge of his arm and shook his head, banging it against the metal table not long afterward.
Kenny merely smirked and asked in a rather confident voice, "Hey, Kyle, can I have that wiener dog, now?"

Stan gave Kenny the backseat, as the blonde had so requested earlier that day.
Obviously, though, he made sure Kyle was in the passenger's seat and nowhere near Kenny.

"So you're bringing Kenny home now?" Kyle asked once they had dropped the blonde off at his house. "That's pretty nice of you, dude."

"He was walking to school, Kyle," muttered Stan. "I couldn't possibly imagine having to walk to and from school every day, let alone coming from Kenny's house."

"So it's kinda outta pity then?" Kyle asked. "I see…."

"Well, not really, dude," Stan said. "I'm just being a good friend."

"Right," said Kyle, laughing. "Acting the role of the good guy, as always?"

"Well, I am the good guy. I don't have to act it, dude." The two laughed quietly between themselves as Stan pulled into Kyle's driveway, much slower and more gently than he had done the previous Friday. "Well, we're here."

"We are," said Kyle, biting his lip. "Hey, Stan…?"

"Yeah?" asked Stan.

"Thanks for the ride, dude."

"No problem," said Stan, shooting his arm lower to shift the car into reverse.

Kyle kept his door open. "Oh, and Stan…?"

"Yeah …?"

"Do you mind if I call you later tonight?" the boy asked, and Stan couldn't help but to smile at his shyness.

"Of course," Stan replied. "Any particular reason why?"

"Well I wanted to ask you something about how… but whatever, I'll tell you more about it later, cool?" but before Stan could respond he shut the door and hurried to his front door. Stan remained still in the driveway as he watched the Jewish boy hastily fiddling his pockets for the house key, gaze quite still at the door even minutes after Kyle disappeared into it.

After five minutes and a sigh and Stan finally left for home, but Stan couldn't help but to notice how shy and red Kyle had turned when asking to call him later. Was there…

Was there still hope for the raven-haired boy?

With a slight sign of hesitation upon his face, with his arm extended and hands curled lightly around the long object, with his inner self deep in thought, as if trying to consider the overall effect of his actions, Stan growled in the back of his throat and relented to his internal desires, his hand pushing against the object, fingers taking a much firmer grasp on it and yanking it in a forceful upward direction; and his eyes relaxed at the sight now in front of him, the blues in his eyes falsely dropping the suspicion that the slender object would explode with even the slightest touch.

Within seconds Stan felt the need to gulp down the buildup in his throat.

"…Hey, dude!" said an unusually cheery voice, so unusual Stan found himself making sure he'd dialed the number into the phone right. He tightened his grip onto the telephone's receiver, wondering curiously in his head why he had used a land line to call his best friend; now he'd have to be confined to the small perimeter around him by the wall.

Then again, Kyle did say he was going to call him later… and it being nine at night already, Stan had gotten the sudden urge to call his friend to see if he was still needed. But picking up the phone alone had been quite nerve-racking in itself, the fear of seeming intruding passing more than once through Stan's mind; would Kyle see him as being desperate to talk to him?

"Hello…?"

"Err, Kenny?" asked Stan, his normal demeanor coming back to him. "What're you doing at Kyle's house?—scratch that, why the hell are you answering Kyle's phone?"

"He's busy," Kenny replied simply. Then, to someone in the background, he added, "Hey Kyle, don't forget: quick and varying strokes!"

"I know how to do it, goddamnit Kenny!" the Jewish boy's voice echoes into the phone. "It's hard enough without you helping, dude! I mean, we'll never be done with you talking to Stan and not concentrating on your part."

Stan's eyes grew wide as Kenny made some sort of response, a response Stan didn't even want to hear. "What… the hell are you guys doing?"

"Making pizza," said Kenny quite quickly; with an excuse made so quickly Stan had no choice but to believe it. "Kyle's grating cheese but he's doing such a bad job at it."

"I see…" said Stan. "Hey, Kenny, do you think—?"

"—hey Kyle!" interjected Kenny, completely cutting Stan off. "Dude, lemme do this for you; I'm used to it anyway." Stan shut his eyes tightly, violently shaking his head in an attempt to shake off the bad visual of Kenny pumping his…. "All you gotta do is to squeeze it as hard as you can and get the stuff out of there. There should be enough to cover—"

"Kenny!" Stan screamed, shocking Kenny, Kyle, and himself—and even his half-sober father. "Please, dude… just lemme talk to Kyle."

He heard a small noise on the other end, followed closely by a more familiar and likeable voice. "Hey, dude."

"Finally," muttered Stan. After a small moment of silence Stan found himself at a loss of words. "You know, I have no idea why I called…."

"Amnesia?" suggested Kyle.

"I dunno… maybe if I talk it out I'll remember." Kyle muttered an incoherent agreement as he placed the cell phone on his shoulder in an attempt to try squeezing some sauce onto the pizza dough. "So why's Kenny at your house, anyway?"

"He kinda invited himself over, actually," said Kyle quietly. "He said something about wanting food, so I let him in. Apparently he found a stash of ready-to-go pizza dough… looks like I'll be having pizza for dinner."

"Is that Kosher?"

"Like the hell I care," Kyle replied rather smugly.

Stan laughed, but not long after doing so his face lit up. "Oh, I remember why I called now."

"Oh…?"

"You told me earlier today you wanted to call me," said Stan, frowning slightly. "I called to see if you still needed me or something."

"I did…?" Kyle asked slowly, his voice trailing off. "Oh man, I did, didn't I? Well, err… I kinda do need to ask you about something too, but since Kenny's around…."

"Kick him out?" Stan suggested.

Kyle shook his head, though Stan hadn't exactly been the person to see him do so. "I'll tell you about it in the morning. Before we meet the others up we can talk about…."

"I drive Kenny to school now, though."

"Dude, we'll work it out. But I really gotta go. Kenny's pulling me by my back pocket back to the kitchen, and you'd better believe me when I say it isn't exactly the best feeling I've ever felt."

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need telling twice." And as an apologetic Kyle muttered a goodbye the phone gave an almost silent click, leaving Stan to the emptiness of the kitchen once more.

He knew it was only a dream, yet he didn't want to remind himself.

God, he was worse than Kenny, sometimes.

In the eerie silence of the room there was a faint light, a light that somehow allured the raven-haired boy, his lips parting slightly in anticipation, his hands rubbing themselves together, all as if already knowing what he'd find on the other side of the bookshelves.

And of course, he somehow did know what the library's furniture concealed, and he was quite happy at the sight he saw—a very provocatively dressed Kyle Broflovski, tight black dress shirt parted partially at the collar, buttons undone, arms hanging loosely, red curls disheveled more than already possible, and his legs suggestively open.

"Happy to see me?" asked Stan in his deepest yet cheesiest of voices.

Kyle nodded only slightly, his gaze set on his prey, the grip on the study table hardening. Indeed Stan wasted no time in assaulting the boy, moving himself for the kill, attacking the Jewish boy's neck with his eager lips and teeth, nibbling where he saw fit, his hands having lost conscious completely and subject only to their curiosity, making fleeting gestures to where they counted the most.

"You're so hot," muttered Kyle as he groaned and leaned into the boy's touch. He lifted a knee and began grinding into the boy, pushing the lifted knee to create more friction between the two. Dry humping, as someone might've called it, but for Stan it was just as good as the real thing, how they moved together, rocking in what would eventually be synchronized thrusts, hands becoming all the more curious to explore clothed regions.

After all, it was boring to like what you saw—it would be much more exciting to lust for what you couldn't see.

"Oh, Stan, take me!" Kyle exclaimed at long last, shoving the raven-haired boy off him so he could remove the belt to his pants.

But Stan knew better. After all… he knew it was only a dream.

Without a doubt Stan knew it was a dream, his assumptions based on two relatively valid reasons:

1 – Stan awoke to an empty bed alone, nowhere close to a library or a cleared desk removed of stray research books.
2 – He awoke to a very damp bed that morning, and he didn't even need his sense of smell to realize it wasn't urine he had leaked onto the bed sheets.

Thankfully, laundry day was a Saturday.

The raven-haired boy proceeded in committing to his morning rituals, being careful in placing his sticky underwear in a place where it wouldn't ruin his other clothes. Incidentally he had received that pair of boxers from Kyle on his birthday three years ago (why his best friend gave underwear as a present to begin with, Stan really never knew), and he couldn't help but waste a good three minutes smiling at the substance on his boxers, Kyle's given boxers.

Twisted and wrong, perhaps, but still satisfying.

He really was worse than Kenny sometimes—but he'd never admit to it.

"I'm out, ma," Stan called out to no one in particular, locking the door behind him as he left his house. He'd be picking up Kenny first that morning, as it would save him gas money that way—not that he was paying for it, anyway.

"Thanks again for the ride, dude," had been Kenny's greeting when he entered the car.

"Good morning to you, too," said Stan quite lightly. "You're day go well with Kyle last night?"

The ignition roared as Stan pulled away, Kenny raising his voice slightly to respond. "Yeah, dude, the pizza was frickin' great. You can ask Ike; I'm a master-baker."

Stan shook his head, not even replying to one of Kenny's weaker comments. "I think you should really get a job, dude. You wouldn't have to keep going to people's houses for food."

"But that's no fun!" exclaimed Kenny. "I'm fine the way I am, dude." Stan shook his head again in disapproval. "Can I ask a favor from you?"

"Sure, Stan…. What kind of favor?"

"Don't make so many perverted jokes while you're getting rides from me?"

"If they're on—I mean, from—Kyle, I'll be too busy to make jokes, anyway."

"Kenny…."

"Fine, fine," Kenny muttered, shoving his pockets and looking at the carpeting of Stan's car. "Come on, dude, have a sense of humor. You know I don't mean half the stuff that come outta my mouth, anyway."

Stan pulled in front of Kyle's house and turned off the car. "The half directed at me, you mean? The way I see it, you probably mean everything when it comes to Kyle." Kenny laughed nervously, chuckling while muttering all sorts of excuses under his breath. "So I'm right, Ken?"

"Whatever, dude, you worry too much. Besides, it looks to me like you're jealous or something."

"I am not jealous!" Stan exclaimed rather loudly, and perhaps a tad too quickly, too. "I just don't think it is right, especially since he feels uncomfortable when you say stuff like that."

"No, dude, he's perfectly okay with it."

"What makes you think that?" Stan challenged.

Kenny's reply was rather simple. "He's said it before, dude. Besides, my internal Kenny-sense tells me he's okay with it."

"And how reliable is your Kenny-sense?"

"Very," Kenny replied matter-of-factly. "In fact, the only time it's been wrong was when—"

"Okay, okay, I believe you," said Stan, glancing at the approaching Kyle. "Let's drop it, okay? No mentioning of this to Kyle, got it?"

A very devious smile appeared on Kenny's face, one that cried I-know-why-all-of-this-is-bugging-you-now. "Sure thing, Stan… though really, I think you should tell him."

As if Stan hadn't thought of that before….

"Hit me."

Kyle did exactly that.

"Aw dude, not literally," snapped Stan as he arrived at his ridiculous bottom locker once more. "Hit me with your question."

"That thing…?" Kyle asked, frowning. "Kay…. I guess lately I've felt different…."

"About?"

"That's the thing," said Kyle, biting his lip. "I'm not sure what it is. But what I do know is that when I'm around a specific person my stomach gets all queasy inside—and no, dude, it's not that uncomfortable feeling I'd get if I was disturbed by Kenny's remarks."

Stan gulped, his insides almost getting the better of him. Clearly, Kyle was gaining a crush on someone, and all the clues were pointing at himself... which was indeed a good thing.

"You like someone, then," Stan decided to point out, laughing. "Dude, it's normal for someone your age to like someone. Hell, I like someone too." ('Though,' Stan noted to himself, 'I don't really want you to find out anytime soon who that actually was.').

"Who?" asked the Jewish boy, slightly curious; "who do you like, Stan?"

"Not the point at the moment," reminded Stan, tapping his fingers against his locker's door. "Point is you should probably find out if the person you like likes you back."

"How'd I do that?" Kyle asked Stan, having only then realized he was just as dumb in this field as he was; in reality, Kenny was perhaps the only person who decently knew about the world of dating.

"Subtly, I guess," said Stan, shrugging. "Like, make suggestive hints and see how he responds. Or like, rub off on him and see if he notices."

"I guess," said Kyle. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to tell you. But dude, you can't tell anyone about this!"

"'course not, man," said Stan. "Assuming that you don't tell anyone I like someone, too."

"Deal," said Kyle, turning away and hurrying off to the rest of the group. From his crouched position in front of his locker Stan couldn't help but smile at how much everything was suddenly pointing in his direction. It wouldn't be long now before he'd finally be able to admit his true feelings to the boy….

Now all Stan had to worry about was getting Kenny to stop hitting on his future boyfriend.

"What?" a saddened Kenny exclaimed, stopping his twisting movements as Stan's head perked up. "You mean you don't love me anymore?"

"Nope," Kyle responded, shaking his head, leaning back into the embrace of his folded arms. "Never did."

Stan's eyes grew large with excitement as he continued to watch. "You mean you've been screwing me (around) this whole time?"

"Yep…." However, seeing the pouting face on the blonde's face called for an eventual relent, and it wasn't long before the Jewish boy was forced into a fit of laughter. "Aw, come on, Kenny, you know I didn't mean any of it.

Ah, the wise selection of words….
"You didn't mean it?" Kenny managed to gasp. "You mean to say all those times you were screwing (around) with me you didn't even mean it? All those times we kept thrusting toward a better—"

"Ken," Stan muttered, finally deciding to intervene between the two. "If you're having that much trouble opening that soda bottle…."

"I'm fine, dude," assured Kenny, not turning to him as he spoke. "I'm in the middle of a crisis, here."

Kyle laughed. "What crisis, dude? Unless you're referring to your inability to open soda bottles…."

"Yeah, Kenneh," Cartman added, gulfing down his fifth plate of chocolate cheesecake. "Of all people I would've thought you'd have no problems with something like that."

With an enraged face Kenny turned his face toward the bottle, intentions clearly on opening the damned bottle. Indeed he had the skills (so he claimed), but somehow they were proving him otherwise….

"If you open it on your next try I'll love you again?" offered Kyle, smirking as he spoke. Stan bit his lip as he observed Kenny's reaction, sighing internally at Kenny's newly-found motivation. Somehow Stan had come to the conclusion that Kyle knew of Kenny's preference (in terms of where his innuendos were aimed at), and whether he used it to his advantage or whether he actually accepted it… Stan only wished it were the former.

After all, hadn't it been obvious earlier that day that Kyle liked Stan?—the raven-haired boy certainly thought so.

Indeed the bottle did open, but as Kenny smiled in his triumph a great deal of fizz spurred into his face.

Cartman chuckled smugly, and his following response caused the rest of the table (except Kenny) to gag at the thought.
"Of all people, Kenneh," began Cartman. "Of all people I would've thought you'd have no problems with something like that, either."

That day the four decided to embark on an outing once more.

"Bowling alley!"
"Shakey's Pizza!"
"Stark's Pond!"
"Tom's Rhinoplasty!"
and as they all tried sorting out the masses of voices, no one was really curious in finding out who offered the last suggestion.

"Dude, we just went to the bowling alley!"

"And it's too early for pizza."

"So," said Stan, clearing his throat. "It's either Stark's Pond or Tom's Rhinoplasty, then." The majority of the group snickered as the latter was said, and in a way the leading boy couldn't help but to join them in due time, too. "So without even taking a vote I assume we're going to Stark's Pond."

"No…" whined Kenny, folding his arms, "…I'd rather go to that… Tom's… place."

"What the heck, dude?" Kyle exclaimed, his mouth agape in surprise. "What the hell could you possibly do there?"

"You," was his oh-so-surprising response. "But in all seriousness it's much safer than anything we could possibly do at the pond."

"But definitely not as fun," said Stan, stepping forward. "Come on, dude. What's not to love about ice skating?"

"Hey guys," commented Cartman, "remember that time when an ice skate went flying into the side of Kenneh's head? Man that was great…."

Silence.

"Or how about just walking around the pond? Being outdoors is much better than being in that… place."

Leave it to Cartman to ruin the moment, again. "Hey guys, remember the time when that bird swooped from the sky and attacked Kenny's head? Man that was great…."

Silence.

"Or how about you just sit on one of the benches or something?" suggested Kyle, raising an arm behind his head. "I'm sure that's still loads better than Tom's Rhinoplasty."

"Hey guys, remember the time when—?"
Cartman never got the chance to finish.

"Fine, Stark's Pond," muttered Kenny under his breath. "But if I die again…."

"It's not like you won't come back anyway," said Stan. "Come on dude, just come with us."

Eventually the boy relented, and after going home to get their individual skates the boys met at the aforementioned pond. Granted it wasn't really a pond, as it was much the size of a lake, but Stark's Lake wasn't as revered of a name.

"See, Kenny, no flying skates or rabid birds," Kyle pointed out, stepping onto the pond. "And it's still relatively frozen too!"

"Relatively?" asked Kenny, voice completely full of doubt. "That ice could crack at any moment, dude!"

"Since when were you such a worrywart, dude?" said Stan, frowning. "Nothing's going to happen to you, Ken. Just get in with the rest of us already."

Sad to say, Kenny did go in. But several things were against his favor.

1 – As Kyle had said, the ice was only relatively frozen.
2 – Given that Cartman was on the ice with them, the sheet of ice wouldn't quite be enough to support the weight of them all.
3 – A particularly clumsy Stan (seemingly) ran straight into Kenny by accident, and the two of them falling seriously weakened the ice.
4 – Each of Cartman's strides was life-threatening to the poor ice, and as Cartman roughed the poor blonde playfully he had unknowingly sent him into his plunge of death.

Stan did (seemingly) try to help the boy, but all attempts were in vain. Kenny had died. Again.

And, of course,
"Oh my God, you killed Kenny!"
"You bastard!"

Usually when Kenny died the other three were quite indifferent about his absence. After all, the occurrence did occur way too often to even pay attention, and the three didn't even consider it disrespectful to the blonde boy if they didn't think once about him.

But when Kenny didn't show up the following morning, Kyle found himself slowly caring. Of course, no one except Stan actually noticed this (though Cartman had to have been a real dunce to not notice), but even as they hung around in the mornings before class it was evident that Kenny's absence disturbed him.

"You okay?" Stan asked, turning to his friend. "You've been quiet ever since I picked you up."

"It's nothing," Kyle lied, looking toward a passing group of freshman girls. "It's just… it's so weird."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Stan, sighing. "A morning without Kenny's innuendos is really hard to think about…." Of course, internally Stan didn't mind at all, especially since no one now was hitting on the Jewish boy. Still, saying that he did might be a good idea….

"No, not that," said Kyle, frowning. "Except for that one time, Kenny's never been away this long."

"Sure he has," Cartman piped in. "Remember that one snowstorm?"

"I said except for that one day, damnit!"

"How about that one time when Kenneh died of some terminal sickness or something like that."

"Goddamnit Cartman, shut the hell up already!" Cartman immediately stepped back, much against his usual demeanor—but that had probably been out of instinct. After all, an unhappy Kyle was indeed someone to avoid. "Why in the world are you so indifferent about this anyway, fatass? You practically killed him, you murderer! You and your fucking weight! You should be listed as a serial killer for possessing all the weight!"

"Ai! Shut the hell up or I'll kill you with this weight!"

"Calm down, Kyle," assured Stan, patting his friend on the back. "It's only been less than a day, dude. I'm sure he'll come back soon."

"I hope so." Stan smiled at Kyle, giving the boy one last hug before heading off to class. Seeing Kyle like that made him feel so… unaccomplished, as if his unhappiness meant he had failed somewhere. But at the same time, his being unhappy because of Kenny's absence…. Wasn't that oh-so-blatantly crying out "OMG-STAN-I-LOVE-KENNY-AND-I-MISS-HIM"?

"I hope to fucking god Kyle doesn't like Kenny," Stan said with a sigh before entering his class.

Kenny didn't show up at lunch either, which was a shame as they had had hot dogs yet again for lunch that day.

But as the day progressed, if Kenny didn't show up in due time, Stan would be ready to execute a seemingly perfect plan.

"Shakey's Pizza?" Kyle asked with a frown. "Now?"

"Sure, why not?" replied Stan. "Actually, it's more of me taking you somewhere to hang out as opposed to eating another meal." Stan unlocked Kyle's side of the door and made his way to his own. "So you game?"

"I guess," said Kyle, flipping open his phone. "I s'pose I'll go tell my mom, then." Shakey's Pizza was decently close in distance to the school, and so the ride itself hadn't been very long. The ride itself was silent save Kyle's loud banters with his mother, Stan occasionally bursting into laughter at the occasional Hebrew phrase. Within a good five minutes the two arrived, and with the shutting of an engine Stan stepped out of the car.

"You don't mind if Cartman's not here, right?"

"Holy fuck, of course I mind!" exclaimed Kyle.

Stan glared at him confusedly. "Wait… so you want him to come?"

Kyle shook his head. "No…. I thought you asked me if I minded Cartman's being here."

"I said if he's not here," corrected Stan.

"In that case… no, I don't mind." Stan laughed at their miscommunication, opening the door for the Jewish boy as the two stepped into the restaurant. The usual proceedings followed, from Stan's calling the waitress ("Dirty slut," Stan muttered so that only the two of them could hear.) to Kyle's insistence of sitting where he could see the majority of the people and not the window ("You're being like my uncle," Stan teased as Kyle pouted. "Are you like some sort of war veteran now, or something?"), and within minutes the two began talking casually with each other.

Casually being the keyword, as the two pretty much talked about anything that passed over their roof-covered blue sky. Granted the two generally steered away from bringing up Kenny, but the two managed to jump from Calculus homework (Kyle being much more knowledgeable in that respect) to self-inflicted cuts from long toenails Stan was lazy to clip off. Seemingly the conversation was lighthearted and spontaneous, but in due time Stan's ulterior motives would be evident.

And then, maybe not-so-ulterior.

"So how's that thing coming along?" Stan asked after the two had finished a shared personal pan pizza.

Kyle stared at him blankly. "What thing?"

"You know," said Stan, tapping his fingers once on the table. "Like, with that queasy-stomach-feeling of yours… the person you like?"

"Oh, that…." Kyle sighed quietly, taking a sip out of his cup before continuing. "I've… sorta gotten somewhere. Haven't really had a chance to, err, see if—the person likes me back or not."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"I… I don't know," said Kyle, stuttering. "Haven't really thought about it yet."

"Here, said Stan, raising his hand to receive the bill (from the dirty slut). "Tomorrow, during lunch, I'll get you to find out for yourself. If Kenny's back by then I'll even get him to help you out. Sounds good?" Kyle frowned, slightly hesitating at the thought. From Stan's perspective he couldn't tell what was causing the boy to hold back (although, the assumptions in his mind gave him a rather good idea), but within moments (after paying the bill to the dirty slut) Kyle nodded his head.

"Sure…. It'll probably be impossible, but it sounds okay of a plan to me."

"Then it's a deal," said Stan, rising up from his seat. "So, shall I bring you home now?"

Minutes later as they walked out of the building, more minutes later when Kyle left his car, and even hours after as he stared into the rough textures of the ceiling in the later hours on his bed, Stan couldn't help but to adore the days when Kenny was completely out of his way and nowhere in range of the boy he loved.

In a non-gay way, of course.