A/N: I promise I will actually get them into the damn class next time - apparently I needed another chapter of THIS. Thanks for reading and reviewing - I'm so happy that people are enjoying this fic!


In March, they started checking their mail boxes for college acceptance letters, though they both knew CSU was basically a sure thing, at least in terms of getting in. Nothing in their lives was as certain as they'd thought it would be, and Stan was dreading the day Kyle heard from Yale, because if he got in, he might go, and Stan would be left at his parents' house with the baby, or, worse, he would tag along and change diapers while Kyle mingled with Ivy League classmates. There would be no child-related coming out at Yale, where meeting the right people and impressing them was just as important as grades. Stan and the baby would be Kyle's secret, hidden in some dumpy apartment, not allowed to be seen with him in public.

This was where Stan's mind had wandered by the time they were parked outside of the doctor's office where they were to meet Terrell for the eighteen week ultrasound. It was a stolid, snow-covered Saturday afternoon, and Kyle was moaning in the passenger seat, half-heartedly attempting some of the breathing exercises that were supposed to be good for his back pain. He had both hands pressed to his stomach, but he looked more as if he was having indigestion than tenderly clutching at the baby bump that was hidden under his baggy clothes.

"Hey," Stan said, rubbing the back of Kyle's neck. "You okay?"

"No, I'm not fucking okay!" Kyle said. "Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, alright? Jesus!"

"Sorry."

Kyle had been in a terrible mood almost nonstop since the back pain started, disinterested in sex and curled up in a ball in his or Stan's bed if he wasn't in class, gritting his teeth to get through the school days. Cartman had been calling in sick a lot, and Craig had, too. Butters and Kyle persevered in their baggy clothes, and the rumors that they were in the same situation as Cartman were prevalent. Stan occasionally saw Clyde around, wearing a winter coat over his clothes to hide his stomach.

"I hate this," Kyle said as Stan helped him out of the car. Whereas Kyle had once snapped at Stan for opening doors for him, now he got upset if Stan's arm wasn't constantly available for him to clutch.

"What do you hate?" Stan asked, hoping this wasn't another stupid question.

"These doctor visits," Kyle said. "The ultrasounds."

"We could find out the sex today," Stan said. Kyle gave him a look, irritable and then guilty.

"I don't want to know," Kyle said. "And I'd say, you know, that they could tell you and not me, but I don't want you to have a secret from me about what's in my own body."

"Okay."

"Stan!" Kyle tugged on his arm.

"What?"

"Nothing, just, I know you're not okay with not knowing!"

"I'm okay with it," Stan said, though he'd been looking forward to finding out. "I'm gonna love our kid either way," he added, perhaps bitchily.

"Stop that," Kyle said.

"What?"

"Loving the kid," Kyle said, but he touched his stomach as if to apologize to Elway for that.

"So, what?" Stan said, stopping at the front door of the clinic. "You've made a decision?"

"No!" Kyle said. "I just don't want the sex of the baby to factor in to whatever decision I do make."

"Why would it?" Stan asked. "You want one more than the other?"

"Not really," Kyle said, mumbling. He reached for the door, but Stan opened it for him before he could. "I just don't want to start having this - mental image. Because it won't - I mean, for all we know it's going to have purple skin or something."

"I'd be okay with that," Stan said, thinking of the X-Men.

"No, you wouldn't!" Kyle said, loudly enough to get everyone in the waiting room looking at them as they stamped snow off their boots. "Stop acting so magnanimous on my parasite's behalf! God!"

"Don't call it a parasite!" Stan said. Everyone in the waiting room glanced down at their magazines when he turned toward the reception desk. Kyle followed, sulking.

Terrell was waiting for them in the usual room, talking with Dr. White, who worked at the clinic and had administered most of Kyle's tests. The doctors left the room while Kyle changed out of his shirt and pants, replacing them a napkin-like gown. He winced as he climbed up onto the examining table, and allowed Stan to slip his hand under one of the gown's flaps and rub his back, just lightly, his fingertips sliding over the goosebumps that were rising on Kyle's skin.

"We can go home and have a nap after this," Stan said.

"I want to sleep through the rest of my life," Kyle said. He pulled Stan to him and hugged him, hiding his face against Stan's chest until the doctors came knocking.

"So, this is exciting," Terrell said. He was smiling in a way that made Stan angry, and he tried not to let his own emotions show. Kyle still had a handful of Stan's sweater, like a kid who was preparing himself for an inoculation, silently begging Stan to intervene at the last moment.

"I've heard that the count so far is two girls and one boy," Dr. White said as she readied the machine. "Then there's the one who's being treated at Breckenridge. They won't share their data, for some reason."

"Odd," Terrell said. Stan wanted to say that it was 'odd' to refer to the South Park babies as 'data,' but he supposed Kyle had just called theirs a parasite, so he couldn't really talk.

"Ready to find out which you're having?" Dr. White asked. She gave Kyle a cautious, possibly sarcastic smile, as if she knew by now what his answer would be.

"No, thanks," Kyle said. "We want to be surprised."

Stan was just relieved to see that Elway wasn't football-shaped. He tried to spot some sort of gender tag as they watched the monitor, but there was nothing obvious. Kyle averted his eyes as usual, holding Stan's hand while Terrell and White muttered about how the baby was developing according to schedule. Kyle claimed that the sight of his insides on display made him feel ill. Stan resisted the urge to ask him if he didn't want to look just once. Elway was fidgeting a lot, and it was sort of mesmerizing. Stan wanted to protest when they turned off the monitor.

"Have you felt any kicking yet?" White asked.

"No," Kyle said. "Is that going to start soon?" He looked frightened.

"I'm surprised you haven't felt it already," White said. "It's a big baby."

"Oh, Jesus," Kyle said, closing his eyes. "Of course it is."

Stan really wished they had a pronoun for Elway that wasn't 'it,' but they left the doctor's office without one. Kyle wanted french fries, and Stan got him some without reminding him about what Terrell had said about fried food and salt. Kyle fed Stan a few without needing to ask if he wanted any, and they smiled at each other after Stan had eaten out of Kyle's hand.

"If you feel kicking, will you tell me?" Stan asked. Kyle nodded.

"I'm scared about that," he said.

"That it will hurt?"

"No, that it - that the person who lives inside me will be kicking my internal organs!"

"Oh. When you put it that way. But it's kind of sweet, you know? Like he's trying to say hello to you." Stan's eyes watered, mostly from the embarrassment of hearing what he'd just said.

"Or she," Kyle said. "Unless - did you see something? On the monitor? A male - element?"

"Now you want to know?" Stan said. "I didn't see anything, but we could ask Terrell anytime."

"I'm so terrified," Kyle said, and he burst into tears. Stan pulled over near the entrance to his neighborhood and unbuckled his seat belt. He held Kyle while he cried, flipping the radio off when a song that didn't fit the moment came on, something about tearing up a club.

"Sorry, sorry," Kyle said.

"Don't be sorry, dude." Stan kissed Kyle's hair. It was unruly, still basically the bedhead he'd woken up with. "And I'm scared, too, but you don't have to be terrified. It's not all that bad. We're gonna be okay."

"I'd be a terrible father," Kyle said, lifting his face to Stan's. "I left Ike at the arcade that one time, remember?"

"Dude, you were eleven."

"And he was only five! I should have been more careful. And I'm not ready for this, Stan, it's not - I'm not a nurturing person."

"Yeah, you are," Stan said.

"It doesn't count when it's you," Kyle said, letting Stan dry his eyes. "When I'm nurturing my way down toward your dick."

"It's not just me," Stan said. "I've seen you nurture plenty of people. Including Ike - and Kenny! And you don't have to be perfect. You'd have help. You know I'd help."

"That's the worst part," Kyle said. "That you'd be so good at this and I'd just be awful." He started wailing again. "It's already true! I just - why did I eat those fries? I'm already ruining its diet."

"The fries aren't going to hurt the baby," Stan said. "Not unless you eat them exclusively, or maybe every day - we'll have something healthy for dinner, alright?"

"You're so calm," Kyle said, pawing at Stan's cheek. "I can't decide if you're sweet or insane. Does it hurt your feelings that I don't want to look at the monitor thing?"

"No," Stan said. "I mean, it's legitimately creepy, in a way. Seeing a picture of the inside of yourself. I get it."

"You're just being nice," Kyle said. He sniffled and looked down at the zipper on Stan's coat, flicking it. "Do you think the baby knows? That I don't look at it? Like, in its soul or whatever? I mean, do you think it knows me? Oh, God, what am I talking about?"

Kyle cried again, sounding more exhausted than anything. Stan felt sort of encouraged, and tried to choose his words carefully.

"Do you want the baby to know you?" he asked, because that was the most important part about whatever Kyle was talking about.

"I don't know," Kyle said, blubbering. "I don't want him to hate me. I don't want him to like anybody better than me, I'll put it that way. Except you, because that's inevitable."

"No, it's not." Stan smiled and rubbed his face in Kyle's hair.

"What if it doesn't even look like us?" Kyle asked, peeking up at Stan.

"I don't think that's likely," Stan said. "I hope it gets your hair."

"You do not! Don't say that, God. Poor thing." Kyle moved back into his seat and touched his stomach. "Don't wish this hair on anybody. I hope it gets your hair. Stan, you know. You have beautiful hair." Kyle wibbled a little more, beginning to sound delirious. The back pain had kept him from sleeping very well.

At Kyle's house, Kyle took a bath with calming salts that were supposed to be good for backaches. Stan sat beside the tub and read Cat on a Hot Tin Roof to Kyle until he fell asleep, his head tipped back onto the rim of the tub. Stan helped Kyle out and wrapped him in a towel, hoisting him up into his arms. Kyle was still mostly asleep when Stan passed by Sheila on the way to Kyle's room.

"Oh, bubbeh," she said, her voice shaking a little. She touched Kyle's forehead. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Stan said, and Kyle moaned, either to agree or to complain that they were talking about him in his presence. "Just really tired."

"Well." Sheila didn't look convinced. She was frowning at Kyle, holding a laundry basket against her hip. "Go put him to bed and come downstairs, alright, Stanley? I want to hear about your doctor's visit today."

"Mom," Kyle said, as if to complain about this plan, and then he fell asleep again.

Kyle was heavy and warm, and Stan wanted badly to get into bed with him and sleep. He'd spent the night before in Kyle's bed, and all of Kyle's tossing and turning had kept him up, too. He dried Kyle off and tucked him into bed, making sure he had extra blankets.

"Be right back," he whispered, and he kissed Kyle's forehead. Kyle made a soft, indignant noise and rolled onto his side, toward the window.

Downstairs, Sheila was waiting with coffee at the kitchen table, looking as if she had talking points prepared. Stan poured some coffee for himself, so exhausted that he felt a little like he was sleepwalking.

"Did you find out the sex?" Sheila asked, grabbing his wrist. The combination of physical contact with his quasi-mother-in-law and the word sex was unpleasant.

"Kyle doesn't want to know," Stan said. "And he said he doesn't want me knowing something, um, about his body, that he doesn't?" That reasoning sounded saner when Kyle said it. Sheila released Stan's wrist and rolled her eyes.

"He continues to refuse to see a therapist," she said. "I even brought my friend Michael - you know Michael Hoffman, the psychoanalyst with the office on Main? I brought him to the house, because I thought Kyle might be more comfortable seeing someone here at home, but Kyle was completely rude to the poor man! He thinks he knows everything."

Stan laughed nervously, not sure that he could refute or agree with that.

"I need to know what your plan is, Stanley," Sheila said. "All of this is going by so quickly - Kyle will be twenty weeks pregnant next month! That's halfway to the finish line!" She boggled at Stan, allowing this to sink in.

"I know," Stan said, though he didn't feel halfway to anything.

"So what is the plan?" Sheila asked. "Kyle won't tell me anything. He looks at me and Gerald like we're strangers, like we couldn't possibly understand what he's going through. I was pregnant, too, he forgets! Kyle was unplanned," she added more quietly, leaning toward Stan. "Don't tell him I said that."

"I won't," Stan promised, mildly horrified as he considered how profoundly that information would hurt Kyle.

"Well?" Sheila said. "What are you two going to do? If Kyle won't give it up for adoption, I hope he'll let us raise the baby while you kids go to school."

"No," Stan said. "I mean -"

"What, you're going to do it yourself?" Sheila asked. She scoffed. "With what money? And what about Kyle's education? He's a very ambitious boy, Stanley!"

"I know," Stan said. "I can take care of the baby while Kyle is in class. And when he's not in class, I'll work. I don't know." Stan put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, unable to deal with how she was looking at him, as if he'd just detailed his plot to rob a bank. "I don't know," he said again.

"Here." She poured him some more coffee. "You look tired."

"I am. Kyle's back-"

"You know, you don't have to sleep with him every night on the weekends. You both might be more well-rested if you spent the nights alone."

"No," Stan said. "He-" He stopped himself from saying 'needs me,' afraid that Sheila would take it personally.

"I know what he's like," Sheila said. "I know him better than anyone, whatever you might think. He's demanding, and overdramatic, and I just - you have no idea how hard it will be with a baby! I can't believe Kyle thinks he can go to school and raise an infant!"

"Kyle isn't sure," Stan said. "We haven't really - nailed down a plan. That's just my plan. He won't tell me his."

"That boy is so confused," Sheila said. "He needs to talk to someone. A professional, I mean!" She picked up her coffee and brought it to her lips, staring at Stan as if to size him up. "How's your relationship going?" she asked.

"Me and Kyle's? It's good."

"Pregnancy is hard on a couple even under normal circumstances," Sheila said. "I hear you two fighting up there, I'm not deaf!"

"It's not fighting," Stan said. "It's just. He pushes me until I snap at him, and then we both feel bad, and everything's fine. It's how we've always been."

"I thought I would marry my high school boyfriend once, too," Sheila said. "His name was Pipeline and he wanted to be a D.J. I had his name tattooed on my ass, for God's sake!"

"What are you saying?" Stan asked, trying not to cringe. "I'm Pipeline?"

"No! Oh, Stanley." She touched his wrist again. "I know I've taken out some of my rage on you, and I'm sorry. You're so good to my little bubbeh." She teared up a little but blinked it away. "But you're young. People change. I don't want either of you to feel trapped."

"I don't feel trapped," Stan said. "I would have been with Kyle forever anyway." He looked away, suddenly worried. "Do you think he'll get into Yale?" he asked.

"It's a long shot," Sheila said. "But if he does, he's got to go! And where does that leave you? Moving up to New Haven with a two-month old baby and your parents and Kyle's parents too far away to help you? Stanley, it's impossible."

"Okay," Stan said, getting up. "I understand. I just. We'll just wait and see."

"Wait and see is not good enough!" Sheila said. "If you and Kyle keep this baby, you'll be responsible for a helpless child! You don't leave that sort of thing up in the air!"

"I know," Stan said, wanting to scream at her with frustration, not sure what she wanted from him. "So you want us to give it up for adoption? Is that it?"

"Well, no." Sheila sighed and set her coffee down. "Let's face it - this might be Kyle's only chance to have a child, especially one who's genetically related to him. I don't want to give my grandchild away. I want to help you two - me and Gerald both do. And if you end up at CSU, you could commute, and see the baby whenever you wanted-"

"What about my parents?" Stan asked. The subject of Kyle's pregnancy had largely remained undiscussed in the Marsh household, but Stan knew his father, and he wouldn't be okay with Sheila Broflovski steamrolling him out of the picture.

"Well, that's something that we could talk about with our lawyers," Sheila said.

"Lawyers? My parents don't have lawyers. And if Kyle goes to Yale, I'm going, too, even if I have to skip college."

"That's insane!" Sheila said. "You'd be miserable, and you'd resent Kyle for having the college degree you could have had!"

"I wouldn't," Stan said. "I don't even know what I want to study."

"Music! I thought!"

"Yeah, but you don't need a degree to play in bars," Stan said, shuffling. He was ready to bolt, to hide up in that bed with Kyle.

"You're not going to play in bars for the rest of your life," Sheila said. "Are you? What kind of plan is that? You should get a degree, then you could teach!"

"Maybe," Stan said. "Look, I'll think about it, alright? I'll talk to Kyle."

"Oh, good luck." Sheila stood and flicked her wrist dismissively. "Kyle's in regressive denial about the whole thing. If you're going to talk to him about something, encourage him to see a shrink."

"I'll try," Stan said, though he didn't plan to. "Um. Can I go upstairs now?"

"Yes, go ahead," Sheila said. She went to the sink and rinsed the coffee cups out, shaking her head. Stan felt like he should say one last thing, to reassure her or defend himself, but he came up with nothing and slunk away feeling defeated.

Upstairs, Kyle was sleeping deeply, turned away from the door. Stan toed off his shoes and crept over to the bedside table, where the 40+ Weeks baby planner was resting. He opened it and read Kyle's notes from the past few days: there was a reminder about their appointment for the ultrasound, notes about what he'd eaten, and a list of things he'd tried to relieve his back pain. He'd drawn angry faces next to each of them to rate their level of failure. Toward the bottom of the page with that week's calendar was something jotted in pencil: 35 inches. Stan closed the book, took off his pants and climbed into bed with Kyle, wondering what was 35 inches long. Terrell had mentioned that Elway was currently 'about the size of a bell pepper.'

"What'd she want?" Kyle mumbled as Stan spooned up behind him, hugging his arm across Kyle's chest.

"She was asking about my intentions," Stan said.

"What - oh, Jesus, was she trying to bully you into marrying me?"

"No," Stan said. He gave Kyle a squeeze. "But what would be wrong with that? You don't want to marry me?"

"You know how I feel about the institution of marriage," Kyle said. "I consider it irrelevant until it's legal for everyone - and I already think of you as my spouse on the astral plane or whatever, she knows that."

"The astral plane?"

"You know, metaphysically! So what did she want if not that?"

"Mostly for me to get you to see a shrink," Stan said. "You know, it might not be-"

"No! She's not getting her way on that one, I don't care. I'm fine. As long as I have you." Kyle found Stan's hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing his knuckles. His eyes were still closed, and Stan wondered if this was one of those conversations Kyle wouldn't remember when he fully woke.

"What if you get into Yale?" Stan said.

"Then I'd do a fucking back flip," Kyle said. "But it's not going to happen."

"It might. Just because you didn't get early acceptance doesn't mean-"

"No, Stan, it does mean. Yale isn't going to accept two students from the same hick Colorado high school. Wendy got in, and she lucked out with the whole not being the pregnant one thing, too. Yay, Wendy. Me, I'm getting a baby sliced out of me in July and going to CSU in September. And CSU's fine." Kyle patted Stan's hand. "We'll be together."

"Me and you," Stan said. "And Elway. 'Cause otherwise your mom says she's going to raise our baby, and I really don't want-"

"Oh, hell no, she's not." Kyle said. "Not that she's a bad mother or anything. I mean, I turned out okay, didn't I? Why would you be so against her taking care of the baby?"

"Because it's ours," Stan said. "Because - I'd miss it. And you would, too, I think."

"Not enough to be grateful for every diaper change."

"I don't know," Stan said. "You might." He slid his hand down to cover Kyle's little bump, rubbing it with his thumb.

"It's so easy for you to be romantic about this now," Kyle said, "When the baby's just a silent little bell pepper that's feeding off my french fries. It'll be different when it's in your face every second, needing things."

Stan withheld a comment about the fact that he had some experience with this, Kyle-wise, and that he actually liked being needed all the time, rising to the occasion. He kissed the back of Kyle's neck and closed his eyes, ready to sleep for a while, his hand still pressed to Kyle's stomach.

"What's thirty-five inches?" Stan asked.

"Huh?"

"From your book, it said 'thirty-five inches.'"

"Oh. My fucking waist. I used a tape measure."

"Aww," Stan said, rubbing Kyle's stomach.

"Yeah, laugh it up. It won't be funny when I'm writing 'fifty-five inches.'"

"I'm not laughing! I love the way this feels."

"You're just getting off on it 'cause it's yours," Kyle said. He was mumbling again, beginning to drift off. "Like you've built this little house on my body."

"That's a sweet way to think of it," Stan said, his eyes burning. "'Cause, like. You built it, too. We built it together, you know. For the baby."

"Yeah, how ironic," Kyle said. "Considering we were propped against the side of an actual house when this one was - erected."

"Mhm," Stan said, glad that Kyle had said 'propped' instead of 'fucking.' There was something soft about that, and Stan liked the idea that it was for Elway's sake.

Stan slept, waking at moments when there was noise from downstairs - the garage door opening as Gerald returned home, Ike chattering on the phone in the next room, Sheila shouting at one or both of them. Kyle was motionless, completely passed out, and at one point, when Stan woke, he was certain that he'd felt a twitch under his hand, his palm still resting on Kyle's stomach. He waited, heart pounding, but felt nothing more once he was fully awake.

The next day, Stan had his regular meetup with Kenny and Wendy, and the awfulness of the weather was mild enough that they arranged to meet at Stark's Pond instead of Kenny's bedroom. Kyle knew about these meetings and was jealous, almost to the point of demanding to be included, but Stan was able to soothe his irritation by saying he wanted to keep Kyle out of it in order to protect him from the dangerous secondhand smoke. Stan wasn't even sure that secondhand pot smoke was dangerous - surely it wasn't good for pregnant people, anyway - but Kyle was always fond of the idea of Stan wanting to shelter him, so he spent that Sunday on the couch with his brother, eating bowl after bowl of cereal and watching cartoons.

By the time Stan showed up Wendy and Kenny were already there, standing near the south side of the pond, farthest from the road. Kenny was smoking, and Stan was surprised to see Wendy accept and drag on the joint. She looked a little haggard, pale and dwarfed by a huge coat that might have been Cartman's. Kenny still had bruises on his face, fading and greenish.

"Welcome to brunch," Kenny said as Stan approached them. Wendy handed him the joint. It was close to noon, but it felt more like nine o'clock in the morning under the unchanging gray sky.

"We had our eighteen week ultrasound yesterday," Stan said. He was usually the first to start sharing. "Kyle wouldn't let them tell us the sex, though."

"Why not?" Wendy asked.

"I don't know," Stan said. "He wants to stay pretty detached. I think he's just scared."

"We're having a girl," Wendy said. She smiled warily and reached for the joint again.

"Gonna name it after yourself?" Kenny asked.

"We?" Stan said.

"I've been spending time with him," Wendy said. "He's really sick. His back, and -" She gestured to her chest. "It's really uncomfortable for him. And he's eating like a pig, so they keep getting bigger."

"Butters, too," Kenny said. He sighed. "They still haven't told him what he's having. They said the ultrasound is unclear. Something's fuckin' fishy, man."

"You think?" Stan said.

"It can still be hard to tell at eighteen weeks," Wendy said. "And sometimes what they tell you early on turns out to be wrong. I really hope they're right about ours, though. I'd definitely prefer a girl."

"What if she looks like Cartman?" Kenny said. "What if she's fat?"

"She won't be fat, because I won't feed her the shit Liane feeds him!" Wendy said, frowning. "Really, that fucking woman. I almost came to blow with her the other day for bringing him a whole box full of donuts. A whole box! That's not what he needs right now, sugar and empty calories. She's totally undermining my attempts to help him eat right."

"I'm sure he is, too," Stan said.

"Of course," she said. "But I can control him with bribes."

"Bribes?" Kenny said. "Of the monetary fashion?"

"No," Wendy said. She glowered at both of them. "He's very emotional right now. He needs affection. And he wants it from me, not Liane. That's why she's trying to win him over with donuts."

"Whoa," Stan said. He took another drag, starting to feel a little better and wishing there was someplace to sit down. "Speaking of mothers," he said. "Sheila kinda read me the riot act yesterday."

"What for?" Kenny asked.

"Just the usual," Stan said. "Knocking Kyle up and not knowing what to do about it. Also, apparently she has the word 'Pipeline' tattooed on her butt. Or did, at one point."

"What the hell?" Wendy said.

"He was her high school boyfriend. The Stan to her Kyle."

"So Kyle has your name branded on his ass?" Kenny said.

"In a manner of speaking," Stan said, and they all giggled like idiots.

They talked and smoked for about an hour, wandering aimlessly through the wooded area behind the pond. Stan couldn't recall ever seeing Wendy high or even very tipsy. She was talking a lot and without reservations, mostly about Cartman and how the two of them had been getting along for the past few weeks.

"He's such a big baby," Wendy said. "It's like practice."

"What about Yale?" Stan asked.

"Oh, God," she said. "Don't ask that."

"Why not?" Stan thought of his own Yale-related concerns, and Kyle's refusal to talk about them realistically.

"Because, he refuses to move out of Liane's house," Wendy said. "And I have to admit, it would be nice to have her help once the baby is here, and my mother's, too. So my choice is to leave my defenseless daughter with freaking Eric and Liane Cartman and go up to Yale to try to make something of my fucking life, or stay in goddamn South Park and commute to some state university while trying to teach my child actual, you know. Values. Healthy diet included."

"Is Cartman going to breastfeed?" Kenny asked, very seriously, and Stan doubled over with laughter, slipping off the log he'd been walking back and forth across.

"I don't fucking know," Wendy said. "Do you think they're actually going to have milk?"

"Oh my God," Stan said, laughing harder and trying to picture Kyle with a baby at his tit, scowling.

"Why wouldn't they have milk?" Kenny asked, looking a little heartbroken at the idea that they might not. "I mean, that's the whole reason they're getting boobs, right?"

"The way you two talk about them, I'm surprised you don't think they're developing breasts just for your enjoyment." Wendy shuddered. "Cartman's are just." She moaned. "Poor Cartman."

"Poor Cartman," Kenny said flatly. "It's come to this?"

"Well, I didn't mean to do this to him!" Wendy said. "And he's so alone in the world already. Part of me wants to convince him to move up to New Haven with me, but, God. That'd be like having twins. He needs a mother, and I'm not willing to be one for him, even if he is the freaking mother of my own kid."

"So you guys are a couple now?" Stan said.

"No!" Wendy said. "But there's no reason not to be civil to each other. I'm just trying to be supportive."

"He doesn't try to kiss you and shit?" Kenny said.

"Kissing is part of civility," Wendy said. Stan snorted.

"He loves you," Stan said. "You know it."

"So? That doesn't make me obligated to love him back, even if I did get him pregnant." Wendy moaned and sat down on the log that Stan had been walking across. Stan sat down beside her, and Kenny beside him.

"You guys are so lucky," Kenny said. "You can show up with soup and take care of your guys. Butters - I just want to be there for him, and they won't let me."

"His parents?" Wendy said.

"They think I'm a loser," Kenny said. "His dad offered me five thousand bucks to leave town."

"Holy shit!" Stan said. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," Kenny said, muttering. "The worst part is that Butters would probably be better off if I did, and left him the money. Then at least he could get away from them."

"Five thousand dollars isn't going to get him very far," Wendy said. "And I'm sure he'd rather have you."

"That's right," Stan said, rubbing Kenny's back. "You're priceless. Don't let those shits make you feel bad."

"I couldn't even succeed at dealing drugs," Kenny said, giving Stan a look. "And that's in my blood, supposedly."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Wendy said. "Haven't you applied to college?"

"Well, yeah, but it's just fucking CCD, the only one I can afford."

"Community College of Denver," Stan said. Wendy rolled her eyes.

"I know what CCD is," she said. "And it's not a bad option. What are you interested in doing someday?"

"Uh," Kenny said. "Computers?"

"Well, there you go!"

"I hate this," Stan said, getting up to pace. "All this, 'what are you gonna do, better figure it out now!' It was bad enough when we didn't have kids."

"Fuck man," Kenny said. He rubbed his fingers into his bloodshot eyes. "We're gonna have kids."

"Oh my God," Wendy said, softly. They were all quiet for a while, listening to icicles cracking off tree branches in the distance.

Stan was feeling weird on the walk back to Kyle's house, buzzed but heavy. Passing cars made him wander into people's yards, because the drivers might be drunk and might suddenly veer over and kill him, and then what would Kyle do? Raise their child alone? Give it up for adoption since Stan wouldn't be there to advocate for keeping it? Go to Yale and forget all about both of them after he became some famous, cold, childless surgeon? Would Elway be tormented for his purple skin? And who would breastfeed him if not Kyle? There were important - health things! In breast milk!

Inside, Kyle had fallen asleep on the couch, his feet resting in Ike's lap. Ike was watching the news, something about the election.

"You're back already?" Ike said.

"Looks that way," Stan said, offended. Lately the Broflovskis were giving him incredulous looks when he sat down to the dinner table on an almost nightly basis. Stan felt bad about it, but Kyle always begged him to stay. He sat down on the other end of the couch and pulled Kyle into his lap, hugging him. Kyle moaned and twitched.

"How was your meeting?" he asked, blinking awake groggily.

"Sobering," Stan said.

"That's funny. 'Cause you reek of pot."

"Lemme have some!" Ike said, bouncing.

"No," Stan said. "It was Kenny's, anyway, I don't have it. And you shouldn't smoke, Jesus. You're only twelve."

"You and Kyle smoked when you were twelve," Ike said.

"We did not," Kyle said. "Well, Stan did."

"And look how I turned out," Stan said.

"Shut up, though," Kyle said, weakly. "Everybody shut up, please. I was having this dream about peanut butter."

Kyle slept for a few more hours, and when he woke up Stan drove him to Sooper Foods, where they bought a pint of Peanut Butter Cup Ben & Jerry's and ate it together in the car.

"Wendy has been kissing Cartman," Stan said as Kyle finished off the last of it, licking the spoon.

"Don't make me vomit," Kyle said. "I guess it's good to know that Cartman is still alive, since he doesn't bother to come to school anymore."

"You could take a few days off, you know," Stan said. "Rest up. It's not like the whole college admissions thing is going to get affected at this point."

"If I stay home, my mother harasses me all day," Kyle said. "I really can't bear to be around her when all she does is constantly remind me how doomed I am, and how I need some shrink to lay it all out for me."

"You're not doomed," Stan said. Kyle gave him a look.

"I'm seventeen and pregnant," he said. "God, and I'm still hungry. Can we go out tonight? Maybe to a steak place? I want, like, a big, gooey Caesar salad with parmesan, and a steak, and a baked potato with a lot of cheese and sour cream. And some broccoli, I guess. For health."

"We could go to the city," Stan said. "To Elway's."

"Oh, Elway." Kyle rolled his eyes. "No, I don't want to be in the car for too long. Let's just go to that Longhorn's out by the highway. That'll do."

"Kay," Stan said. He was broke, but Kyle didn't need to know that. Stan could borrow some money from his dad. He reached over to stroke Kyle's cheek. "You look cute," he said. Kyle was wearing a knit hat with tassels and an over-sized coat, the collar coming up to his chin.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Kyle asked, looking worried.

"Yeah," Stan said, his thumb moving a little quicker on Kyle's cheek. "But I can wait, if you're still feeling, uh. If your back's still sore."

"It's killing me," Kyle said. "And I can't take anything. I love medicine so much. I'm looking forward to the fucking C-Section just so I can have pain killers again."

"I could give you a back rub," Stan said, dropping his hand to Kyle's shoulder. Kyle moaned and lifted his shoulder toward his cheek, leaning away.

"No," he said. "Don't touch me." He looked over at Stan. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Stan said. He started the car.

"It's just," Kyle said. "It's just - you did this to me, Stan. And you're over there looking all masculine. Agreeing to buy me steak. And my nipples are so fucking sore." Kyle put his hands on his face, full into the next mood swing.

"You can pay for the steak," Stan said. "If that'll make you feel better."

"Fuck you, are you serious?" Kyle's weepiness was most effectively combated with gentle shoves into sudden rage. Stan grinned at Kyle, who growled and hit him.

At school on Monday, Craig was absent from study hall as usual. Stan sat beside Token and exchanged a consoling hand slap with him.

"How was your weekend?" Stan asked.

"Pretty rough," Token said. "Clyde's been feeling awful."

"Yeah, same with Kyle," Stan said. "He, uh. He doesn't want a lot of physical things. Right now."

"Dude, don't fucking complain to me," Token said. "Me and Clyde have barely even kissed since the - whatever. Conception."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Don't tell Craig."

"I won't," Stan said. "It's not like Craig and I talk, anyway, outside of school. How's he doing?"

"Watching a lot of daytime TV and throwing things at Tweek. Last I heard."

"Dude, that's not cool," Stan said. "He can't just throw things at Tweek because he's miserable. That's abusive."

"I'm not talking about, like, dishes," Token said. "Couch cushions, I think, mostly. But that's probably just Craig talking a big game. I bet he cries and lets Tweek cuddle him when the curtains are drawn."

"Uh, seriously?" Stan said. "I doubt it."

Token started to say something else, but he was cut off by an announcement on the intercom:

"Attention, please, m'kay?" It was Mr. Mackey, who had been promoted to high school counselor during their junior year. "Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick, please report to the counselor's office immediately. Thank you."

The same 'ooohs!' and snickering that would have followed this announcement in elementary school passed through the study hall as Stan collected his things.

"What's that about?" Token asked.

"I don't know," Stan said, dread pooling in his stomach. "I guess I'll see you later."

Stan's heart rate increased as he walked to Mackey's office. He wondered if Kenny had been caught with drugs, and if he'd unintentionally implicated Stan somehow, and if Stan would therefore end up in jail, and Kyle would have to bring Elway to visit him in prison-

The door to Mackey's office was open, and Stan could hear faint weeping from within. He came to the doorway and saw Butters crying into Kyle's chest, both of them seated on Mackey's ugly plaid couch. Kyle was sniffling, too, petting Butters and shushing him.

"Oh, Stanley, there you are," Mr. Mackey said. He was seated at his desk, looking unimpressed by his students' drama as usual.

"What happened?" Stan asked, racing to Kyle, who reached for him. Stan wrapped himself around Kyle's back as he fell to a seat beside him. Butters looked up and sniffled.

"Oh, hey Stan," he said, his voice the saddest, smallest thing Stan had ever heard.

"What the hell?" That was Kenny, skidding to a stop in the doorway. He bolted for Butters and fell to his knees in front of the couch, resting a hand on Butters' knee. "Hey, hey," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Jason and Heidi were making fun of him in AP English," Kyle said. "They were whispering about how they could see the bump while he was doing his oral presentation. Then everybody started snickering, and laughing - it was awful. I sort of flipped out."

"Kyle pushed Jason right out of his chair," Butters said, sniffling. "Then Jason said - some things."

"He said I was just sensitive because I'm pregnant with the quarterback's ass baby," Kyle said. "I tried to punch him, but I missed."

"I'll kill him," Stan said, envisioning Jason's leering smile.

"Now, Stanley - boys," Mr. Mackey said. "Let's not resort to violence, m'kay? I think what we have here is a very delicate situation, and maybe the school hasn't been handling it all that well."

"What's the school going to do?" Kyle asked. "Throw us out for being disruptive? Jesus, you might as well! Our lives are over."

Butters started crying again. Kenny glared at Kyle, and Stan hugged Kyle's shoulders, rocking him.

"Let's not get too upset now," Mr. Mackey said. He seemed to be somewhat at a loss, facing four boys he'd known since their pre-school days, all of them about to become teenage parents, and without having even engaged in the dangers of 'sex with women' that he'd once warned them about in song. He held out a box of tissues and Stan retrieved it, passing it to Butters.

"Jason should be suspended," Kenny said. "Heidi, too. That's - a hate crime. Anti-gay. Or something."

"Boys, I think the fact of the matter is that this situation is disruptive, and it's only going to get more disruptive as you boys get, well, bigger. M'kay, so what we need to think about, maybe, is an alternative plan for finishing up your senior classes."

"Oh, no, please!" Butters said, clutching at Kenny's arm. "School's the only time I'm allowed to see Kenny!"

"Well." Mr. Mackey adjusted his glasses. "My thought is that supportive partners like Mr. McCormick and Mr. Marsh here could attend these alternative classes with you."

"What, you're going to bus us to Littleton or something?" Kyle said. "My back is not doing very well with long car trips."

"I was thinking we could get a program started right here at the high school, if we have enough participants," Mr. Mackey said. "A night school program. We've been having a lot of absences, m'kay, including Mr. Cartman, who has missed two weeks of school already this month. My concern, and your principal's concern, is that some of the, ah, affected boys are staying out of class because they're embarrassed about their appearances, m'kay."

"I'm sure that's Craig's reason," Kyle said. "Cartman just jumps at any opportunity to slack off."

"Mr. Tucker is one of the affected boys?" Mr. Mackey said.

"Yes," Kyle said. "And Clyde Donovan's the other one."

"Dude," Stan said.

"What?" Kyle said. "It's going to be obvious soon enough."

"Anything you boys tell me is confidential," Mr. Mackey said, lifting his hands and showing them his palms. "Except for purposes of inviting these individuals to attend night classes."

"I don't know if my parents will let me do night school," Butters said. "They have been pretty worried about me waddling around all shameless-like, though."

"You've got nothing to be ashamed of," Kenny said. He touched Butters' stomach and rubbed it until he smiled. "Is that what this is about?" Kenny asked, looking at Mackey. "Hiding them?"

"Well, I wouldn't use the word 'hiding,'" Mr. Mackey said.

"I'm fine with hiding," Kyle said. "I think this is a great idea, except for one thing." His face became very serious. "Are me and Butters still going to get our AP credits?"

"Well, it's March, so with only two months left I don't see why not," Mr. Mackey said. "You'll certainly be welcome to take the AP tests at the end of the year."

"Who's gonna be our teacher?" Butters asked.

"We'll work all that out, boys," Mr. Mackey said. "And we'll get in touch with your parents this evening. In the meantime, why don't you all take the rest of the day off? Maybe you could go visit Mr. Cartman and Mr. Tucker, maybe bring them the notes they missed and such? M'kay?"

"I've got a trig test," Kyle said.

"You can make that up in night school, Kyle," Mr. Mackey said. "We want to work with you boys to make this whole experience as comfortable for you as possible, m'kay? And before you go, I want you to know that my door's always open if you need to talk."

Kyle rose from the couch with a sigh, and Stan did, too, elated to have an excuse to leave school early. Kenny stood, and Butters remained seated, blowing his nose.

"I think I'm gonna stay for a bit," he said. "If that's alright. I just want to talk about a few things. Mr. Mackey, do you have time?"

"Of course I do, Butters, sure thing."

"I'll stay then, too," Kenny said.

"That's alright, Ken," Butters said. "You go and see Eric, check up on him. I'm just - I get a little embarrassed about some of this stuff, is all."

"In front of me?" Kenny said, looking hurt.

"Kenny, you run along now," Mr. Mackey said.

"I won't be long," Butters said, giving Kenny a shaky smile.

Kenny followed Stan and Kyle out of the office, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He turned back to stare at the office door when they heard it click shut.

"Dude, c'mon," Stan said, pulling on Kenny's arm. "He just needs to talk to an adult. One who isn't accusing him of waddling."

"Oh, God," Kyle said, his hand sliding over his stomach. "Don't say that word."

"You don't think he's pissed at me, do you?" Kenny asked.

"Who, Butters?" Stan said. "Why would he be pissed at you?"

"Butters doesn't get pissed," Kyle said.

"Yeah, but he's not usually all secretive! What does he need to tell Mackey that he can't say in front of me?"

"Maybe it's something about his parents," Stan said.

"Maybe he doesn't want you trying to kill them after you hear whatever they've done now," Kyle suggested.

"Oh, thanks!" Kenny said. "That makes me feel loads better."

"I'm not here to make you feel better!" Kyle snapped. "I'm pregnant! Leave me alone!" He stomped off, and Stan shrugged.

"Gotta go," he said. "Are you really gonna go see Cartman?"

"I guess," Kenny said, mumbling. "I get so few opportunities to fucking do anything for Butters. If he wants me to see the fat ass, I'll see the fat ass."

Stan caught up with Kyle and accompanied him to his locker, where they retrieved Kyle's books and coat. Stan helped him into it, and Kyle tiredly watched him do up the buttons.

"This does give me another day to study for that test," Kyle said. "But I'm not much of a night owl. Sleeping all day sounds pretty great right now, though."

"Should we go see Craig?" Stan asked as they headed down toward his locker. "Like Mackey said?"

"Are you crazy?" Kyle boggled at him. "No!"

They went back to Stan's house, which was empty, and Stan pined for sex while they lay in his bed together. Just watching Kyle study for his trig test gave Stan a boner, and he pressed it to Kyle's thigh casually, as if by accident, hopeful. Kyle looked over at him.

"That was hot, before," he said, softly.

"What was?" Stan asked.

"When you said, 'I'll kill him.' About Jason."

"Oh. I will, if you want me to."

"No, you won't." Kyle traced Stan's bottom lip with his finger. "That's what I love about you. You're not some hot-headed dick, but you think you are."

"I do?" Stan rubbed himself on Kyle's thigh, just a little. "I wish I could have seen you push him out of his chair."

"I think it was pretty clownish," Kyle said. "This almost five month pregnant kid wearing his boyfriend's clothes, trying to pick a fight."

"Still, you got him out of the chair."

"Yeah, true. Stan?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss, um. Could you just lie inside me, like. Without thrusting? The thrusting really tweaks my back."

"Sure, dude, yeah." Stan was throbbing and ready to blow even at the thought of Kyle's tight heat all around him, even without friction. "You know, I could do some research," he said, because he already had. "Sex positions that are easy on the back."

"I'm too tired for new positions," Kyle said. "Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow. I just want to lie here and squeeze around you for, like. An hour. Until I fall asleep. Will that drive you crazy?"

"Yes," Stan said, mounting him. "In a good way."

"Are you sure? I don't want it to be bad for you."

"Dude, being in you could never be bad," Stan said. Kyle smiled, and opened his lips for Stan's tongue when he swooned in for a kiss.

"I would never talk to Mackey without you," Kyle said while Stan rummaged for lube. Stan had stripped all his clothes off, and Kyle was only wearing his shirt, pulling it down over his erection as if he was afraid that it had gained weight, too.

"Yeah, that was kinda weird," Stan said. "I didn't want to say so in front of Kenny."

"Butters is a mess, dude," Kyle said. He rolled onto his side, away from Stan, and pulled his right ass cheek up, as if Stan needed reminding about where his hole was located. "He was sh-shaking like a - ah! That's cold."

"Sorry," Stan said, salivating, unable to tear his eyes away from what his fingers were doing, rubbing circles around Kyle, some combination of teasing and relaxing him. Kyle moaned and let his head drop to the pillow, his eyes closing.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he said. "Stan, mhmm. Get in there."

"Shh, just let me finger you a little. It's been - a while."

"Three weeks," Kyle said, and Stan was heartened. He hadn't been sure if Kyle was keeping track, too. Kyle writhed and whimpered while Stan felt him. He pulled some of the blanket he was clutching into his mouth and chewed it, pinching his eyes shut. "It's so hard to keep still," he said, breathless. "I just wanna - fuh, fuck myself on you, and it's not even you yet."

"Just relax," Stan said, squeezing Kyle's shoulder. "Let me do the work."

He milked an orgasm out of Kyle before sliding his cock in, and Kyle was humming dazedly as he took it, drooling onto the blanket that he'd been biting. Stan pushed Kyle's shirt up in back so that he could feel Kyle's skin on his bare chest, and he sighed when he was all in, daring a hand up under the front of Kyle's shirt. Kyle flinched a little, moaning.

"Are they still sore?" Stan asked, touching the barest boundary of a nipple.

"Not as bad," Kyle said. He was mumbling, and Stan would suspect that he was slipping into sleep if Kyle's ass wasn't fluttering all around him in purposeful little twitches.

"How about these?" Stan asked, cupping Kyle's chest. He was still in A-cup territory, and Stan was glad, because apparently even these made Kyle feel like he had two anchors weighing him down.

"They're okay," Kyle said. He moved his ass back just a little, moaning.

"Is that what you wanted?" Stan asked, his hand sliding down, just ghosting over Kyle's stomach before settling on his thigh. "This feeling?"

"Yuhh, yeah." Kyle gave him a sharp little squeeze. "Just like that. Stan, God. Just, just. I'm so glad you fit in me. You know? You feel so big, Jesus. I can't believe I'm big enough to contain you."

Stan laughed under his breath, because Kyle sounded delirious. He put his hand up under Kyle's shirt again, feeling for his softness a little more pointedly this time. Kyle allowed it, with a warning grunt.

"Want to hear something gross?" Kyle asked.

"Sure," Stan said, because he felt like he might come just from Kyle's greedy clenching, and he wanted to last the whole hour.

"I think about this in class," Kyle said. "Just - I imagine you in my seat, you know, and I'm in your lap, and your fly's open and my pants are around my ankles, under the desk, and everyone can see, we're in class, and you're just, all casually rubbing my back while I try to take notes and pay attention, and I'm sweating, 'cause you're in me, just sitting there inside me, and I want to fuck myself on you but I'm trapped, because my thighs are pressed to the desk, my cock is pressed to the desk, under it-"

"Goddamn," Stan said. "Stop, okay, don't - I'll come."

"From this? It's so absurd! I have to stop thinking about it at school, it gives me random boners. They're easy to hide now that I'm wearing those baggy clothes, though." Kyle sighed contentedly. "This is so good," he said, reaching back to palm Stan's ass. "Exactly what I wanted, God, thank you."

"Dude, thank you," Stan said, hugging him, and they both laughed at how idiotic they were, thanking each other while they had motionless butt sex. Stan was truly grateful, though. He licked and nipped at Kyle's neck, mapping the varying responsiveness in Kyle's glorious little ass twitches.

"I'm gonna fall asleep," Kyle said after they'd been at it for a while. "But I want you to come, poor Stan, don't you want to come?"

"Yes," Stan said, because he'd begun to shake uncontrollably, and his balls were so full, getting painful.

"When you pull out I'm gonna be - God, I'm gonna be gaping," Kyle said, and Stan whimpered, nodding, his face tucked to Kyle's neck. "I want you to come in my ass, just. Jerk off into it, alright? Hold me open and shoot into me."

Stan barely held back long enough to do so, and he was very glad that his parents weren't home. The sound that ripped out of him when he came was enough to make his geriatric dog howl down on the first floor.

"Was it good for you?" Kyle asked, rolling onto his back with a wince.

"Kyle," Stan said. "I just - just. I just emptied a fucking river into you. I've never - I don't think I've ever come like that before, dude. Didn't you feel it?"

"I felt it," Kyle said, and he grinned.

That night, after Stan had driven Kyle home for dinner, Mackey called the house and explained about the night school program. Unfortunately, Stan's father answered the phone, three or four beers into the evening.

"So what do you make of all this, Mack?" Stan heard his father saying from the kitchen. Stan was on the couch with his mom, pretending to study Chemistry notes while staring mindlessly at her Dancing with the Stars show.

"Yeah, yeah," Randy said into the phone. "I'm still pretty shell shocked. I see him bringing his little friend around here, and it's like, whoa. This kid is really getting fat. This is really happening."

"God," Stan muttered. His mother muted the show and reached over to touch his arm.

"Don't be embarrassed," Sharon said. "It's just Mr. Mackey."

"I'm not embarrassed," Stan said, though he was. "He shouldn't call Kyle fat. He's not fat. He's just putting on baby weight. It's different."

"I know, honey," Sharon said. She smoothed Stan's hair. "I know."

"Has Sheila called you about her wonderful plan?" Stan asked, picking at a thread on his sleeve. Sharon sighed.

"Sheila just wants what's best for you boys."

"You think that's best? Letting her take over?"

"No," Sharon said. "But if the four parents could work out some what to share responsibility for the baby while you boys go off to school, I think that might be best."

"Mom," Stan said, looking over at her. "Was Shelly planned?"

"Stanley! What a question! Of course she was. You were both planned and very wanted. One girl and one boy, just what we'd hoped for."

"Alright, well." Stan could feel himself choking up, and he hoped his father would continue rambling on the phone for a while. "I think I want my baby. And everyone acts like I'm some monstrous moron for that. Even Kyle. Especially Kyle, sometimes."

"Kyle is very confused," Sharon said. "And you are, too, honey. And that's okay. You're certainly not a monstrous moron. You're just so - sweet, oh, Stan, it's okay, come here."

By the time Randy returned to the living room, Sharon and Stan were both in tears, hugging.

"Oh, shit," Randy said. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Sharon said. "Randy, just – go have another beer."

"Hey, c'mon," Randy said, walking around the couch. He knelt down and put his hand on Stan's knee. "What's the matter, buddy?" he asked, like Stan was six years old and crying over a dead bird he'd found in the woods.

"Randy, really!" Sharon said. "What's the matter? What do you think is the matter? He's got the whole world on his shoulders."

"I know it's tough," Randy said. "I remember when Sharon told me she was pregnant with your sister, I kinda flipped out—"

"Randy, not now!"

"It's okay," Stan said. He sat up, sniffling. "Dad, just. You're not gonna let Kyle's mom steal my kid, right?"

"Steal him?" Randy glanced at Sharon. "Well, hell no I won't, son."

"She's just trying to help," Sharon said, rubbing Stan's back. "In her way."

Upstairs in bed, Stan could feel his parents' concern for him in the air that circulated through the vents, coming in along with the white noise of the central heating. He felt younger than he had in a long time, his eyes crusted and puffy, in the aftermath of awkward but amazing sex. He tried to come up with some lyrics for how he was feeling, to do with a bell pepper and a little house that he'd built without meaning to between the points on Kyle's hips, where his hands often rested, but after a few hours of tossing and turning and trying to come up with words he decided it was probably just fucking instrumental.