This morning I wake up with a slight headache thanks to the sun penetrating my eyes. Apparently, I've been forgetting a lot of things nowadays, closing the curtains before bed now one of them. "Ugh, what time is it?" I ask to no one as I grope my nightstand for the digital alarm clock, face still buried among the white pillows. My hand lands on what seems to be it and I lift my head to read the time.

6:04 AM

Really? I groan and push myself off the bed. I have almost two hours to get ready for school, better work on it now so my mom doesn't blow a fuse later.

After I get ready to face the day, I enter the dining room. "Good morning, my bubbeleh," Mom greets me, waving the spatula in her hand. She seems to be whipping up some pancakes, so I head to the fridge and grab the milk carton. "You had a nice sleep?"

Since mom already set the table, the only thing I have to do is pour milk into my cup and wait for breakfast. I take a seat before answering, "I was, until I had to wake up." It came out as a grumble and dad shoots me a pointed look. A shrug is the only reply he gets. Sorry, dad, but your eldest son still doesn't like the concept of mornings.

"Oh, bubbeh, you need to get used to waking up early." There's a lighthearted lilt in her voice, and I had to do a retake, not believing I heard her right.

"Wait, what?" My dad shoots yet another pointed look at my direction for my annoyed tone. I know I'm pushing my luck and I brace myself for a scolding.

But it never comes. "I said you need to get used to waking up early, bubbeh," she repeats herself, the strict voice I'm used to hearing is nowhere to be found.

This is weird. Why is mom in such a good mood? Don't tell me they finally found a way to get rid of me without looking suspicious... no way... I haven't been that bad of a child!

"Sharon and Randy came over last night," Dad says, now back to reading the daily paper.

I'm about to ask who, but then I remember. "Stan's parents?"

"Correct." He flips a page and I see his eyes skimming through the articles. "They told us how you were becoming great friends with their kid. Good job, Kyle." Looking up, he gives me a proud smile and I am taken aback. Where'd all the pointed looks go?

Oh...

Oh?!

All these good vibes just because I'm friends with the kid next door? This is so sweet! Now I wish Kenny's parents would come over soon. Hell, I'll befriend every kid in South Park if this is the reward!

I do a happy little jig on the inside as Ike stumbles into the room. Rubbing his eyes, he greets us, "Good morning."

His timing is just right, as mom finishes with the pancakes and we all greet him back in chorus, "Good morning, Ike."


"Dude, wait up!"

I hear quick steps coming from behind me, and a figure crashes into me as I turn around. Thankfully, I don't fall to the ground. "Ow!" I rub my forehead, a scowl forming on my lips till I see who it is. "Watch where you're going, Stan."

With his forehead as red as mine, Stan merely sticks his tongue at me. "That's what you get for not waiting for me."

I stare at him like he was crazy. "Well you didn't tell me to wait for you!" It's true, how was I supposed to know that? I'm not a mind reader!

"Huh? I thought it was an unspoken rule..." Stan says so softly that I almost don't hear it. He's frowning now, avoiding my eyes yet again.

"Really?" I ask with wide eyes and he nods furiously. "Oh, never knew that. I'm still new to this whole friendship thing, you know? You're like, my first friend — I'll try to get better." That's true, too. All my classmates in the past three years thought it was easier to poke fun at the new kid than befriend him. Whatever floats their boat, I guess. Bunch of fucking idiots.

Now Stan looks completely sad. Was it something I said? I raise a brow at him, waiting for him to talk, but when he doesn't, I continue the walk to school. I can faintly hear his footsteps as he is trailing a few feet behind me. We stay that way, awkward and distant, until we reach the school's front doors.

I jolt when he whacks me square in the back. "Oops!" Stan gasps, his hand now rubbing my back. "My bad! Didn't mean to hit you that hard, I swear."

What the hell is wrong with Stan today?

"Uh...?"

The expression on my face must've told him exactly that, as he drops his hands into his jacket's pockets and starts to explain himself, "I'm sorry, Kyle. I thought you already knew that, with us being friends and basically living next to each other, that we would start walking to school together and go back home together," he says his next words in a rush, "The fuckers who didn't wanna be your friends before were just plain stupid. I promise I'm going to be the bestest friend you'll ever have. I won't do stupid shit again — although I probably still will. But I won't do it on purpose now! Okay, maybe I still will. But, dude, I swear that I really will be your greatest friend ever! Your first and last, I'll be here till the end of time! Mark my words."

He's panting when he stops his speedy speech and I can't help but laugh at him, thinking he's playing some prank on me.

Nobody ever wants to be my friend.

"Hey!" Stan punches me on the shoulder. "I don't say dramatic shit like that to just anyone!" His red ears tell me he speaks the truth and my laughter dies down.

"Then why say it to me?"

Stan blushes even more, clearly not used to doing 'girly' stuff like that. "I-I don't know! I just, you know," he stammers, "feel like we're going to be great friends."

My heart clenches at that, and tears start to pool at the corners of my eyes — fuck, I am so touched right now. I jerk my head to the side before he even has the chance to get a good look at me. "Yeah?"

From my peripheral vision, I could see him nodding furiously yet again. "Yeah, dude, no kidding."

The wide, genuine smile on his face is contagious and I find myself copying it.

"Well, me too."

But this is nice though, to know that someone willingly wants to be my friend. Wait, no, Stan even said he wanted to be my bestest friend! AH! It's the first time I've felt this way and — oh my god, dude, this is so fucking gay!


The rest of the morning passes by, busy and quite stressful for us fourth graders. Compared to yesterday, the workload was definitely heavier — to us fourth graders, may I emphasize again. I had to wake Stan and Kenny up from their naps because Mr. Garrison had a reminder every damn second. My daily planner's section for Tuesday was already full by third period, so I might just have to invade Wednesday's space if I wanted to keep tabs on our schoolwork till the day was over. Yes, our schoolwork, who knew Stanley could be so reckless?

Even so, to say I was relieved when the lunch bell rang would be an understatement.

"Thank God that's over!" I hunch over my locker, which was conveniently placed next to Stanley's. I peer at him and find him stifling a laugh. "What's so funny, Stan?"

He purses his lips to mask his amusement. "Nothing, Kyle." Now it's my turn to punch him on the shoulder.

"Honestly though, I don't know how you managed to sleep through all that work!"

Stan gives me a lopsided grin. "Relax, dude, we're still in elementary school. You're acting as if we're college already!"

Surprisingly, his words do the job and I release another sigh, "You're right. Come on, the line to the cafeteria must be dreadfully long now."

I was right, of course. Once we got there, Stan and I spot Kenny sitting with Cartman, and the blonde earns a glare from me. He shrugs back at us with a tired look, as if to say, I tried, guys, I really did.

I turn back to Stan. "Poor Kenny, having to sit with that jerk must be a pain in the ass."

"Take it from me: it really is." Stan cringes, the horror in his eyes is amusing to me. Fuck, I must sound like a sadist or something, which I am not... I think?

I don't know how much time has passed since I started arguing with myself over trivial matters — Am I a sadist? Am I a masochist? Am I neither or both? — but it was long enough, because now I find myself following Stan. We're heading towards the table where Kenny and Cartman, the human piggy, are.

"What's the matter, Kahl?" Cartman sneers at me. "You look like you got your panties in a twist."

"Go fuck yourself," I say, too occupied in my internal debate to come up with a more articulate comeback.

The lump of fat they call Eric Cartman was now cackling, "Hah! It's only day two and you're already out of ammo! You were only tough yesterday, you wimpy piece of—"

"Leave him alone, Cartman," Stan interrupts from beside me. I send him a grateful smile before going back to finish my Salisbury steak.

Cartman looks like he's choking. About fucking time! Oh wait, I think he's actually faking a gag. "Aw, you're his little boyfriend, Stan? How cute! But I thought you already had a bird on your arm, or did I get bad intel?"

Stan has a girlfriend? I look up from my meal, eyes already questioning the said boy. However, as if on cue, a group of girls saunter towards our table. "Hi, Stan!"

Wait, I recognize her.

"Speak of the devil," Cartman snickers, mouth full of steak.

I haven't seen Stan this red before. "Hey, Wends—" Ew. He's barfed all over the girls, who were now running away, and our lunch table. I grab my lunch tray and scoot away from all the vomit, the other guys do so, too.

"Dude, what was that?" I ask him, mouth agape. That shit was terrifying and disgusting, and it stinks! God, it still smells if I cover my nose!

Stan just cradles his head in his hands, sighing. I didn't notice that Kenny and Cartman moved to the next table till the former called me over, "You gonna eat in all that nasty Salisbury barf or you gonna get your ass moving?"

I raise my other hand, signaling them to wait and Kenny rolls his eyes. "Hey, Stan, what's up?" My words come out a bit weird, considering my nose is blocked.

"I'm perfectly fine, okay? I'll just go." I stare pathetically at him when he gets up and out the cafeteria. It's glaringly obvious he isn't fine, yet I'm unable to do anything but sit here with my unfinished food.

And I call myself his friend...

"Get a move on, Kahl."

Somehow, hearing Cartman's voice makes my blood boil and I swat his grubby hand off my shoulder. "Don't you dare touch me," I spat at him, seething.

"The hell?" Cartman holds his own hand, probably the one I slapped, brows knit together in confusion. "I'm sorry your little Stanley is into chicks, but don't throw me into this!"

"What are you—," I stop, realizing what Cartman means. My temper is flaring now, he thinks I care about that?! "Look, you not-so-little shit, I don't give a flying fuck about what Stan is into!" I push myself off the bench to run after my friend. Also, I needed to get away from Cartman before I got my hands around his wide neck. I know full well that I would squeeze the living daylights out of him and enjoy every second.

Nope, I am not a sadist. Not at all.

Once out of the cafeteria, I look around, searching for a boy in a red poofball hat. I call his name, but only silence follows. Where could he be? I run back to our lockers and there's no sign of him there. "Stan?"

A familiar sound reaches my ears. It's someone pounding on a door, maybe a locker's…?

Shit.

My blood runs cold as memories of days gone by flash before my eyes. My feet are already running to the direction of the sound. I turn a corner and see a locker rattling. I'm right yet again. "Stan," I begin, my voice drenched with concern, "Stan, are you in there?"

Tremors run through my body as I press my ear on the cold metal. I hear someone gasping for breath and, without thinking, I slam myself against the door. As expected, it doesn't do the job, so I do it again, and again, and again, clenching my jaw when it begins to hurt.

It still won't fucking budge!

My sides are screaming in pain and I bet my skin is starting to bruise. Nevermind that! Stan is locked inside a locker and I know how that fucking feels! Bullied relentlessly through grades two and three, my immediate past was filled with swirlies, wedgies, pantsings, and all sorts of verbal abuse. If a day passed without me being trapped inside my locker, then damn was I lucky!

Fuck, I can't let Stan go through that. I won't be able to forgive myself, fuck! With my eyes shut tight, I lunge towards the locker. "Kyle, what are you doing?!" A push and I feel myself hit concrete instead of metal.

What the fuck just happened? Was that… "Stan?"

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

Again: fuck.

"So you aren't inside, uh…" I point to the locker, which, it just occurred to me, very much still contained a live person. "Holy shit, quick, call a teacher!"


Turns out it was Butters Stotch, one of my classmates.

He's crying his eyes out when we bust open the door and my heart just sinks. "T-the new kid!" Butters moans, wrapping his arms tight around me. Surprisingly, my body relaxes and I rub his back. His tears and snot get all over my jacket, but I'm not mad at it.

If possible, I even tighten the hug. "There, there, you're okay now," I whisper into his ear and my hand moves to pat his head.

"Thank you," he hiccups, "so much." It takes him a few minutes to settle down and Mr. Mackey, our school counselor, escorts him to his office. It was evident in Butters' eyes that he didn't want to go, but we both couldn't do anything once Mr. Mackey made the decision.

When the two were out of sight, I turn around to face Stan Marsh and his crossed arms. "What was that?" He inquires, one brow raised.

This is too embarrassing. He's gonna find out how much of a worrywart I am.

"Uh... obviously a boy stuck inside a locker?" Why did I say that? Oh my god, his face. I am done for!

"Kyle..." Stan sighs, putting his hands on my shoulders, "I know you thought it was me."

Ohhhhh.

"I appreciate the concern, really." He looks into my eyes and I can't keep the eye contact. "But you didn't have to do that, not for me, not for anyone. You shouldn't put yourself at risk, dude. I bet this hurts." I flinch when he lays a hand on my side.

Concern warps his features and I have to sniffle a sob, "I... I'm sorry, Stan."

Stan carefully envelops me in an embrace, like he was afraid I would break if he held me too tight. I hate it. I'm not fragile, I can handle myself just fine, but, right now, I can't find the strength to tear myself away from him. His cold hands find their way on my cheeks and I shudder as he slowly lifts my head to make me look at him. "Kyle, you don't have to be strong all the time."

Hearing those words, I break down, right there, in Stanley Marsh's arms.

I didn't have to be strong now.


A/N: Hellooooo~ It's exams week, but today's class was suspended aND I AM SO HAPPY. But do you guys think this was too angsty (idk?) for 4th graders? I mean, in my opinion, Stan is the most compassionate among the four main boys AND he has a soft spot for Kyle. I honestly think that they're connected or some shit like that, so he'll always be connected to his best friend, the constant in all the alternate realities. HAHAHA Anyway, THH and T4DK are still up for fanfic adoption!

Let me know what you think about this chapter (to be honest, I think it was bad)! Constructive criticism is highly appreciated! Thank you so much for reading. :)