Hm, okay I'm moved to London, and am pretty much settled in, so let the sorta fun times continue, heh. Sorry bout the wait. If I could reach 100 reviews this chapter, it would be super awesome! I love how well this is doing. I love you guys. For seriouslah.

Chapter 6 – Back to Start

Stan awoke the next morning – or rather, the next afternoon, with a clouded head and a weight on his chest. He started to sit up, rubbing his eyes, but upon looking down to see Kyle asleep on him, the events of the previous night came rushing back at him. He lay back down, sucking in a breath as he remembered his boyfriend's meltdown and the cause for it.

How the hell could Sheila do this to her son? Stan silently fumed as he absentmindedly ran a hand through Kyle's hair. He felt Kyle's light breaths on the side of his neck, and Stan drew him closer towards his body. A small frown creased Kyle's normally happy face, wrinkling his forehead as he softly breathed in and out.

Kyle groaned something in his sleep, and Stan bit his lip, watching Kyle, hearing his mutterings mumbled near his ear. Was it really so much to ask that Kyle at least have peace in his sleep?

Kyle sneezed and then stirred, waking himself up. He blinked twice before yawning, stretching his legs and then relaxing, falling back into the familiar warmth of his boyfriend.

Stan ran his hand through Kyle's hair once more, resting his fingers on the back of his head while giving the boy a light kiss near his hairline.

"Hey you," Stan whispered softly. A half awake groan emerged from Kyle in response.

"How are you feeling?" Stan prodded gently. Kyle opened one of his eyes at this. He glanced up at the side of Stan's face, almost contemplating his response.

"No," he finally muttered, barely audibly. He proceeded to burrow his face into the crevice between Stan's neck and shoulders, as if finalizing his nonsensical response.

"Ky-" Stan started, cut off by a series of high pitched moans from Kyle, clearly trying to establish that he didn't feel like talking at the moment.

Stan hesitated, thinking of a plan of action. His stomach rumbled, reminding him of the late hour.

"I'm going to go get us some food, 'kay?" Stan informed Kyle, gently prying their arms off of each other. Kyle passively let his arms be pulled off, letting them flop uselessly back to the bed. Stan sat up then headed towards the door, turning back to face Kyle in the doorway.

"I'll be right back," he whispered to Kyle. Kyle responded by rolling over onto his stomach, burying his face in Stan's pillow. Stan hesitated again before leaving the room, heading towards the bathroom rather than downstairs. He shut the door quietly behind him, turning around before running his hands down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a stressed sigh.

He stood there for a moment, trying to get a hold of himself before getting that familiar feeling in his stomach that he knew only too well. A few steps and seconds later, Stan was emptying his stomach into the toilet bowl. He collapsed in front of it and released a series of heaving gasps. His eyes glanced wildly about the small room as he breathed loudly, trying to regain some sort of composure. All of the stress and worry was finally taking their toll on his body, and Stan had to put his head back down twice more before he began to feel any sort of relief.

"Goddamnit," he hissed through his teeth, banging his arms a single time against the rim of the toilet bowl, clenching and unclenching his fists. His vision blurred as tears threatened to overwhelm his eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen! Even he hadn't been able to predict that Mrs. Broflovski would react this harshly. And he wasn't one to undermine people.

Stan sniffed, then wiped his eyes angrily against his wrist. He stood up, flushing the contents of the toilet bowl. He walked over to the teeth, splashing water against his flushed cheeks and neck and rinsing his mouth of the foul taste. He couldn't act like this – he had to keep a smile on his face, for Kyle. If they were both emotional wrecks, then what sort of comfort could Stan hope to provide his boyfriend? Stan nodded to his tired reflection in the mirror, straightening up and forcing the droop in his shoulders to disappear. He had to be the one with the clear head for once, even though his head hadn't felt so cluttered and overwhelmed in years.

He exited the bathroom a few moments later, doing his best to act calm as he headed down the stairs where his mother would surely question him as to what had happened. He entered the kitchen, keeping a lighthearted air about him. His mother glanced over her shoulder, before stopping what he was doing altogether to face her son.

"Oh Stanley, you're up," she stated, pointing out the obvious.

Stan shifted uncomfortably from where he was standing. "Yeah," he responded simply.

Mrs. Marsh took a few steps towards her son before asking the next question.

"Are you alright?"

Stan nodded his head slowly, forcing a smile upon his lips. "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered briefly. Mrs. Marsh frowned, taking notice of the redness in her son's eyes. She held her gaze until Stan finally looked away, releasing another troubled sigh.

Mrs. Marsh raised her hand to touch the side of her son's face, forcing him to look at her again. "Is Kyle alright?" She asked quietly, unsure of the answer she'd receive.

Stan hesitated before shaking his head slowly. "No, I don't think so," he stated, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "He's not."

"What happened?" His mother inquired, wondering if maybe she was asking too much of her son at the time.

Stan shifted uncomfortably again, switching balance on his feet. He didn't particularly want to retell the whole story right now, especially so soon after the incident. He doubt he'd be able to keep his voice under control the whole time anyways.

And yet, his mother had a right to know. She had to be wondering why Kyle had shown up in her house so late at night, crying hysterically.

"His… mom kicked him out," Stan let out in one breath, looking down at his socks on the kitchen floor.

Mrs. Marsh's eyes widened, completely thrown off by this idea. "Because…?" was the single word she was able to expel, and the miserable expression on her son's face told her everything she needed to know.

"Oh, oh Stanley I'm so sorry," was all she said before wrapping her arms awkwardly around her tall son. Stan breathed in the smell of his mother's perfume, forgetting his worries for a brief moment as he allowed himself to be held.

Mrs. Marsh released him after another moment, holding her son's arms lightly. "Is there anything I can do?" She asked, concerned.

Stan shook his head again. "I don't think so, but thanks."

Mrs. Marsh nodded, raising up to the tips of her toes to kiss Stan's cheek lightly. "Well, if there's anything you need sweetheart," she replied, smiling warmly at her son, who nodded dumbly in response, thoughts consumed by something else. He walked over to the fridge, emptying its contents onto the counter, where he fished out two plates and several utensils.

After watching her son for a moment, Mrs. Marsh asked her son a question.

"What are you doing?"

"Makin' sandwiches," was Stan's brief and clipped response.

"Did you want some he-"

"I'm fine," Stan cut her off, frowning at the stubborn lid of the peanut butter container. He was determined to show that he was self-sufficient, that he could handle himself just fine. It was Kyle that needed help, not him.

It was at this moment that Randy Marsh chose to walk through the kitchen, emptying the remains of his coffee mug into the sink.

"Mornin' Stan," he stated simply, completely oblivious to the goings on of the previous night.

"Mornin'," Stan answered, still struggling with the pain in the ass jar.

"You need some help with that?" He asked, glancing at the jar with a bemused expression.

"I'm FINE," Stan reinstated, pushing harder against the lid.

"See, if you just do it like this-" Randy interjected, prying the jar from Stan's death grip. After a few grunts, the lid finally came off cleanly. He handed it back to his son with a friendly smile on his face, while Stan thanked him with a glare.

"I could have done that," He said snidely, setting the jar on the counter harder than was necessary.

Randy snorted rather rudely. "Sure son," he said, almost in a mocking tone while patting Stan's shoulder. Stan gritted his teeth as he viciously thrust a knife into the container.

"Randy, maybe you should leave Stan alone for a little while," Mrs. Marsh stated, worried at Stan's reactions to his father's clueless antics.

Randy snorted again. "I'd say so. What the hell crawled up your ass anyways?" He directed the last part towards Stan, poking him in the side.

Stan shut his eyes, gripping the container tightly. "Goddamnit leave me alone!" He exclaimed, wanting nothing more at the moment than that one small mercy.

Randy took a step away from his son, clearly taken aback. Sharon took Randy by the arm, leading him away from their aggravated son.

"What-" Randy started, only to be cut short by his wife.

"Randy, Stanley's not feeling too well. Please, leave him be." Stan silently thanked his mother for getting his father away from him. He couldn't handle this crap right now.

"Why aren't you feeling well?" Randy inquired, gazing towards his distressed son.

"Because," Stan stated, keeping his calm as he continued making the sandwiches. "Kyle's mom kicked him out of his house."

"…why?" Randy asked, clearly confused. Stan assumed that his mother hadn't mentioned Kyle's and his relationship to his father yet.

"For bein' gay," he answered, keeping his back to his father as he busied himself with his task.

"What, with you?" Randy answered his own question. "She didn't already know that?"

Stan turned around, fixing his father with an inquiring gaze similar to the one on his mother's face.

"What?" He asked his father, confused.

Randy merely shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, it's been what, five years? I figured she'd know."

Stan gave his father a strange look before turning back to the counter. "No dad, it's been like three months." Wow three months, that's been it? Stan thought to himself. Seemed to him like it had been longer than that.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Randy pondered this for a moment. "What a bitch," he commented.

Stan snickered a little. "Yeah," he responded while his mother shouted protests at her husband.

"What?" Randy asked his wife, giving her a wide-eyed innocent look. "What'd I do?"

Sharon opened her mouth to speak, but closed it when another figure appeared in the entrance to the kitchen.

"Hey," Kyle mumbled quietly, leaning a little against the entrance post.

"Hey Kyle," Stan replied equally softly back. If Stan looked terrible, Kyle was a wreck. The clothes that Stan had given him the previous night were rumpled and looked almost uncomfortable to be in. His eyes were downcast, not making eye contact with anything but the floor, and very obvious tear stains as well as bags underlined his normally vibrant eyes.

Mrs. Marsh, being the closest to Kyle, reached him before Stan had barely turned around, and in a wordless movement, she reached up and wrapped her arms around him much as she had to her own son.

Kyle stiffened for a moment, obviously taken offguard, but after a moment he loosened up and hugged Sharon back. It lasted as quickly as it had begun. Sharon released Kyle after a short moment.

"If there's anything you need," she simply stated, exiting the kitchen on that note. Randy stood there awkwardly for a moment before Sharon hissed at him to leave, which he obeyed, grateful for the chance to escape the situation.

"I was making sandwiches," Stan explained to Kyle after a moment of silence, who merely nodded in response.

"I was gonna put in ham, but then I remembered you're Jewish," Stan tried to make a lighthearted joke, forcing another smile on his face.

"Hmm," Kyle mumbled, glancing up at Stan, although not meeting his eyes.

Stan set his knife on the counter and walked towards his boyfriend. He wrapped one arm around his neck, the other around his waist as he drew the boy against himself.

"Hey cutie," he whispered into Kyle's ear.

Kyle let out a humourless laugh. "Did you just call me cutie?" He inquired, sneezing shortly thereafter.

Stan smiled into Kyle's neck. "Yeah, I did. Gonna do something about it?" Kyle smeezed again, rubbing his nose with the back of his sleeve.

Stan rubbed Kyle's back with the arm around his waist, frowning. "Are you getting sick?" Kyle shrugged. A few moments later, he sneezed again.

Stan closed his eyes, breathing in Kyle's musty scent. "Poor Ky. We should take another shower together," he mumbled into his boyfriend's ear. Kyle nodded, resting his head on Stan's shoulder and lightly touching the other boy's sides with his fingertips. Stan vaguely felt a wetness start to develop where Kyle's head rested.

Stan frowned again, pulling Kyle's head from his shoulder with his hands. Each hand gripped a side of his face, drawing their foreheads together.

"Kyle, look at me," he instructed. Kyle's gaze reluctantly to rest upon Stan's face, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"It's going to be alright Kyle," Stan spoke confidently.

Kyle closed his eyes again, opening his mouth as a sigh escaped him.

"Kyle, look at me," Stan repeated. He needed to see something in his boyfriend's eyes that showed him that Kyle believed him, at least to a certain extent.

Kyle kept his eyes closed for another moment before reopening them. "You think?" Kyle bit his lip as he asked Stan this.

"Yeah, I do. It's gonna be alright. You're going to be fine. We'll think of something." Kyle's eyes held a disbelieving stare.

"Don't lie to me, Stan."

"I'm not lying!" Stan insisted. "We'll think of something. I promise." Kyle hesitated before accepting this with a sad nod.

Stan released Kyle's head, bringing a hand down to Kyle's own and pulling him towards the counter. "Help me finish with the food, dude." Kyle allowed himself to be urged forwards, helping his boyfriend with the minute task before heading out of the kitchen with him and into their family area.

They sat down side by side on The Couch, Stan with his legs crossed to balance his plate while he used one arm to hold onto Kyle. They ate in silence while some strange cartoon ran its course on the television screen.

Kyle stared blankly at the screen with a somewhat dazed expression on his face, barely touching his sandwich.

"Hey," Stan said, nudging Kyle, having finished his own plate a while ago. "You should eat. Can't be too good for your health."

Kyle smirked slightly at this. "Thanks mom," he muttered snidely before he even really realized what he was saying. His smirk quickly contorted into a sour look as he looked forlornly down at his lap.

Stan, not sure of what else to do, started rubbing Kyle's back again. A few moments later, Kyle broke out into a somewhat maniacal grin.

"Oh my God!" He exclaimed, nearly upsetting the plate balanced on his legs. Kyle then proceeded to burst into a fit of laughter, and Stan had to move the plate quickly before it shattered on the floor.

Stan couldn't help it – he laughed too. "What dude?"

"I – oh my God Stan, I," Kyle heaved as he tried to speak between bouts of laughter. He waved his hands a little, and turned to face Stan, eyes looking almost wild.

Stan laughed again. "WHAT?!"

"Aw dude, I totally left all my shit at home!" Kyle exclaimed, tears of laughter running down his face. "Everything's there! And oh my God! My insulin!" Kyle doubled over at this onto Stan's lap, laughing almost maniacally.

Stan frowned at this, confused as to Kyle's outburst. "Why is that funny?"

"Because," Kyle choked out, still beside himself, "I need that shit to live! A-and oh my God!" Kyle attempted to wipe some of the tears off of his face "I bet she did that on purpose! Sh-she didn't even give me time to put on SHOES, let a-alone get anything!"

Stan, no longer smiling, sat Kyle back up and wrapped his arms around his still laughing body.

Kyle gave Stan a wild look of a madman. "Oh my God! It all makes sense now! MY MOM WANTS TO KILL ME!" He exclaimed, giggling at the notion.

Stan, worried that his friend may be having some sort of minor nervous breakdown, did his best to console him, despite the fact this was near impossible because he was jerking with laughter. "Kyle-" he started to say.

"My mooom hates me!" Kyle sang out in his offtune voice. "She waaaants me to die!" Suddenly, Kyle stopped laughing at looked directly into Stan's eyes. "Oh my God, do you really think she wants me to die?" He asked, all humor suddenly gone from his voice.

Stan shook his head vigorously, disturbed by the sudden switch in attitudes. "No, Kyle your mom doesn't want that! M-maybe you just surprised her, and she was thinking irrationally about it all."

Kyle contemplated this for a moment. "Maybe. She was pretty pissed off looking."

"Kyle, your mother doesn't want you to die or get sick," Stan restated firmly.

Kyle sneezed. "A little too late for that too huh," he replied, wiping his nose.

"I'm sure she didn't mean to get you sick."

Kyle denied this comment. "Yeah, she did. She fucking PUSHED me outside with no jacket or shoes or anything!"

Stan couldn't think of anything to say to this – Kyle had a point. Kyle rested his head against Stan's chest, considering this.

"Why do you think she did it?" He whispered against Stan, eyes focused unsteadily on the stupid cartoon still playing on the television.

Stan sighed. "Ky, I really don't know."

Kyle paused again. "It really doesn't make any sense to me."

"Me neither."

"Hmm." Kyle stopped talking after this, giving in to Stan's welcoming embrace and falling asleep in his arms shortly thereafter.

Stan readjusted himself, setting him as well as Kyle in a more comfortable position on The Couch. Stan smiled bitterly to himself, remembering how their relationship had more or less started when they had fallen asleep on this same piece of furniture together. Stan shifted again, wrapping one of his arms around Kyle's waist, realizing all over again how well their bodies seemed to fit together. He laid his other hand near Kyle's neck, closing his eyes and feeling their bodies intertwine.

Stan vaguely wondered how everything could have changed so drastically yet stayed the same in the course of one night.

"I love you," Stan finally whispered to Kyle's still body as he himself managed to drift off into another troubled sleep.

Stan was awakened sometime later by a ringing noise. It took him a moment to recognize it as the kitchen phone, and about another half second to choose to ignore it. He didn't want to wake Kyle up – and they both needed sleep, anyways. Kyle grunted, furrowing his brow while he reached a hand out in his sleep, as if looking for something to hold on to.

Stan removed the hand resting near Kyle's neck, bringing his forearm within Kyle's grasp. A moment later, Kyle's wandering hand came into contact with Stan's wrist, and he took a firm hold of it as he brought it back down towards the side of his face. Stan couldn't help but smile at the thought that Kyle was reaching out for him in his sleep.

But there it was; the sound of the phone ringing again. Stan groaned, squishing his face as he attempted to drown out the annoying noise. After a moment, it stopped once more.

Stan had nearly fallen back asleep when the phone started up again.

"Fucking hell," he hissed through his teeth. It stopped, and within seconds it started ringing again. Stan admitted defeat and pried himself apart from Kyle's sleeping form as carefully as possible so not as to wake him up.

Stan stumbled over to the phone just as it was about to stop again.

"H'lo?" He mumbled irritably into the phone as he rubbed an eye. He heard Kyle stir in the adjacent room, and he let out an annoyed groan.

"Hello? Is this Stan?" The shrill voice responded, hurting Stan's ear. He winced, pulling the phone away from his ear for a second.

"Hello?" The voice said again, and suddenly Stan recognized the annoying voice. He clenched the phone in his hand, tempted to throw the phone across the room.

But then his mother wouldn't be too pleased with that, Stan knew. So instead he did something equally satisfying, and promptly hung the phone up on Mrs. Broflovski.

Stan stood there, seething, almost daring the phone to ring again. But of course it did, pissing Stan off further. He let it ring three more times before picking it up reluctantly again.

"What?" He snapped into the receiver. Stan knew he was behaving immaturely, but after seeing how much Kyle's mother had wrecked him, Stan was not feeling particularily amiable towards the woman.

"Hello? That was not very polite of you, young man," Mrs. Broflovski said loftily on the other end. She spoke calmly, as if she hadn't just kicked her only biological child from his childhood home.

"Lost the connection," Stan responded back, using the poor excuse while he forced his mind to wake up somewhat. "What do you want?"

Mrs. Broflovski paused on the other end, obviously taken aback by Stan's cold attitude. "I was wondering if my son was over there."

"I thought he wasn't your son anymore," Stan responded nastily back. Kyle made him promise that he wouldn't tell Sheila that it was him who was dating her son, but he never made him say anything about being friendly towards the bitch.

"Why wouldn't he be my son anymore?" Mrs. Broflovski responded almost as nastily back.

"Because you said so," Stan hissed through his teeth, using his words as venom.

Mrs. Broflovski sighed on the other end. "Stan, listen to me. I don't know what my son said to you, but I think he may be a little upset with me, and I wanted to talk to him."

Stan snorted disbelievingly. "A little upset? He's asleep right now anyways. And I doubt he wants to talk to you."

"Well could you go get him? It's important."

"Mrs. Broflovski, he's asleep. Do you have ANY idea what you've done to him?" Stan almost shouted the last bit into the phone.

"What what what?" Mrs. Broflovski screeched. "How dare you talk like this to me young man!"

Stan was beyond caring what Mrs. Broflovski thought of him. "How DARE you treat my bo-best friend like this?" He retorted, almost as shrilly, tripping over his words. "How DARE you be so f- ignorant!" Stan stopped himself from swearing at the woman at the last minute. That wouldn't go down well at all.

"Stanley Marsh, you go get my son right now! It's imperative that I talk to him THIS INSTANT!"

Stan's eyes widened at this. Why the hell did she want to talk to her distraught son so bad? "Listen, Sheila," he said, using her first name rudely, "You may be able to order HIM around, but you sure as hell won't be doing that to me!"

"Do I need to speak with your mother Stanley?" Sheila tried to threaten.

"Go ahead! Talk to her, see if I care!" Stan exclaimed, nearing his wit's end. "I'll tell him you called when he WAKES up, and until then you'll have to fucking DEAL!" Stan slammed the phone down on the receiver, his hands shaking badly. He then took the phone back off, leaving the dial tone ringing so Mrs. Broflovski wouldn't be able to call back anymore. Fucking bitch, who the hell did she think she was?

Stan stormed back to Kyle, who was lying haphazardly on the couch. He moodily sat down, letting out a long sigh.

"Wh' wassat?" Kyle mumbled, half awake.

"No one, don't worry about it," Stan responded, running a stressed hand through his hair. He'd tell Kyle later.

Kyle sat up beside Stan, leaning his sleepy head on his shoulder. "You alright?"

Stan turned to look at his boyfriend, unnerved that Kyle was worried about HIM when Kyle was the one falling apart. "Yeah, I'm fine," he responded, tilting Kyle's head up towards his own and planting a kiss on his lips.

Kyle kissed him back, sucking on Stan's lower lip as he brought himself closer, sitting on Stan's lap, one leg on either side. Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle's waist, bringing the boy even closer to himself. He couldn't help but release a small moan as he felt their lips connect for the first real time since Kyle had left DeVry. He licked Kyle's upper lip, pulling on it slightly before gaining access into Kyle's mouth.

Kyle's own moan was muffled by Stan's mouth as he twisted them sideways on the couch. Kyle gripped onto Stan's shoulders as he started laying them both down on the warm padding. The crotch of their pants brushed against each other, and Kyle felt an almost instantaneous tightening as Stan moved his body against Kyle's.

"Fuck Stan," he whispered into the other boy's ear, a slight smile on his lips, "you really know how to make me forget about shit." Stan laughed at this, bringing his own mouth back to Kyle's again, where Kyle greeted it eagerly. He slid his hands down Stan's back, reaching under between the material of his jeans and boxers and letting his hands rest there.

Stan smiled into Kyle's mouth as he felt the other boy's hands brush his backside. He felt their tongues collide, releasing a grunt as Kyle ground his body against the other boy's. Kyle broke their tongues apart for a moment as he started sucking on Stan's lips, biting and pulling gently.

Stan didn't need to think twice about it this time. He raised his body ever so slightly so he could worm his free hand between their bodies. He continued letting Kyle pull on his lips as he pulled down the zipper and managed to get his hand through the hole and into Kyle's boxers. He felt a light sprinkling of sweat on his forehead, feeling more turned on than he had in ages.

Kyle felt a sudden surge of surprise and longing through his body as he felt Stan's hand come into contact with his hardening member. "Uhh, fa-fuck," he hissed through his teeth as he shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation his boyfriend was creating within his body. He brought his head to Stan's neck, kissing and biting down it as Stan started rubbing him.

"Uhh, S-Stan," Kyle found himself incapable of saying or doing hardly anything with his boyfriend's hand down his pants. Not that he was complaining.

Kyle somehow refound Stan's face through his blurred vision, rejoining their lips as his legs spread apart ever so slightly, so Stan could gain better access. He sucked hungrily on Stan's lips as Stan wrapped his hand around Kyle's penis and started bringing it up and down his shaft.

Kyle really hadn't experienced anything like the sensation he was going through now. He saw stars burst before his eyes as his vision blurred. He was reduced to a series of grunts and moans as he struggled to keep kissing his lips, encouraging him. And Stan couldn't really be more thrilled that Kyle was responding so well to this, and that he hadn't thrown up yet.

Kyle arched his back against Stan as he felt tension start to build up. "Stuh-aaaahn!" was the final thing he managed to say before he climaxed a few moments later.

Stan finally released his grip on Kyle, allowing the heavily panting boy to attack his face hungrily as he rolled him over, sending them both on the floor. Not that it stopped them – Kyle had his own hand within Stan's pants in seconds, and after another short while Stan reached his own orgasm, shooting his own load inside of his boxers.

The boys finally collapsed against each other, panting heavily as they struggled to regain composure, which was difficult seeing as the both of them could barely move let alone talk. Anyone who walked in would have no doubt in what had been taking place on the family couch moments before.

After a few more minutes, Kyle finally managed to force a few words out.

"F-fuck dude," he panted, resting his head on Stan's chest. "Just… f-fuck."

Stan chuckled to himself between pants, his voice hitching on his own words. "Y-yeah," he agreed with Kyle. "Goddamn."

They lay in silence for another few moments, until Kyle finally found it within himself to pry him up off of Stan, zipping his fly back up.

"We're gonna need new boxers," he commented, smirking with flushed cheeks. He'd be the first to admit what had just happened made him feel a lot better. He smiled to himself, still feeling a sort of afterglow.

Stan made no effort to get up from his back though. "I know," he said, smiling at the ceiling. There was no doubt that both boys were feeling significantly better.

Kyle chewed on his bottom lip, thinking. He finally managed to voice his thoughts after some minor deliberation.

"We'll be okay," he stated, reaffirming both boys.

Stan looked over at Kyle and grinned, thrilled with his more upbeat attitude. He did up his own zipper, closing his eyes with a sigh of contentment.

"We will," he agreed with his boyfriend, finally believing it for himself.

oOoOo

Hehe, sorry about that guys. Don't know what got into me :/ don't hate me. But please! Review sexies! Let's break 100 woo!