South Park winters were biting cold; it kinda really fucking sucks. Stomping through the snow to Kyle's house, I swear frostbite was desperate to steal one of my fingers or a toes or something. I swear it very nearly succeeded. I was beginning to regret not driving, but I wanted to drink. It was dangerous enough driving on South Park roads, let alone driving on them in icy weather, at night, and drunk. That was just asking for trouble.

Part of me had thought about skipping this party, spending the night at Denny's again, nursing my tepid bitter coffee, purging my thoughts into my notebook. Still, I was trying to convince everyone I was fine, and skipping a party to brood wasn't something someone who was fine would do. Besides, if Dylan tried to hit on me again, I'd probably feel compelled to jam my pen into my cerebral cortex.

Me and Kyle hadn't talked about what I'd been sort of trying to do in the changing room, hell, we hadn't talked at all. Not even tritely. The subject had become so unavoidable we'd decided the only way to avoid having to talk about it was to avoid talking at all. It might not be the best plan we'd ever concocted, but we'd certainly come up with worse.

Sighing, I hammered on the Broflovski's dark front door, hunching myself over for warmth. After some muffled shouting (courtesy of Mrs. Broflovski, her shrill tone practically echoed down the street) Ike answered the door, a very unimpressed look plastered across his face.

"Hello Ike, how are you?"

"Bored and disenfranchised, you?"

"Unimpressed and cynical, same as always." I paused for a second "Is Kyle ready to go then?"

"No, he's in the shower. Fell asleep or something retarded, told me to tell you he'd be ready soon."

"Will he be ready soon?"

"Fuck no, he still has to get dressed and do his hair. Princess has to look pretty for his little date, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut the fuck up dude."

"So" Ike smirked, standing aside to let me in, "what film are you taking Kyle too?"

I paused for a heartbeat, my brain jarring. "I was going to let Kyle choose."

Ike just stared at me for a second, mouth slightly open. "What a faggy answer. Seriously Stan, I mean, Jesus Christ. If my mom asks, you might want to try Inception."

"Dude, they stopped screening that ages ago, what the fuck?

"What can I say, Kyle's an awful liar."

"Probably because he doesn't do it often."

Ike raised his eyebrows. "He lies more then you know Stanley."

"Ike, Ike!" Mrs. Broflovski was screaming from the kitchen, her shrill tone caused Ike to flinch and me to start. "Who's at the door, bubbie?"

"It's just Stan, ma!"

"And you haven't invited him in? Don't just leave him on the doorstep Ike! Invite him in!"

"Yes ma!" Ike was frowning petulantly, standing aside to let me pass.

"Does he want anything to drink? Is he hungry?"

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Ike parroted, rather unnecessarily.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"No thanks, he's fine!" Ike yelled towards the kitchen.

"Is he sure?"

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"He's sure!"

"Well alright then, get him something if he wants it, okay bubbie?"

"Yes ma!" Ike threw himself down on the sofa, glaring at back at the TV. I just followed him, sitting down and lounging back, listening to the hum of the shower echo through the house.

For a moment we were quiet, just watching some shitty news report, something tediously dull and very right wing. Something intrinsically Ike. Once the commercials began to play, Ike looked across at me, piercing and dangerous. "Hey, Stan? Have you and Wendy got back together yet?"

I tensed my jaw. "No. I think she wants to though. We probably will before too long."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Just because Ike, just because."

Ike paused for a second, rubbing his chin. He had a strong chin, a strong jaw line, low cheekbones, wiry face, vaguely flappy, very dark. He really did look nothing like Kyle; it wasn't surprising considering their differing lineages, but still. Kyle was narrower and softer and far, far more regal. And far, far more colourful. "What did you like best about Wendy Stan?"

I frowned, "Dude, if you want dating advice, go ask your brother."

"My brother's retarded. I'm asking you."

I sighed, rubbing my face. I really didn't want to do this right now. "I dunno. Her fight? Her strength? Her passion. The way she takes up a cause with vigour, the way she doesn't let anybody push her around. The way she doesn't feel like she has to follow the fads or change herself to fit in…"

"The ways in which she's exactly like Kyle, you mean? Not her heart, not her soppy romantic ideals, not the way she wears her hair or the way she dresses, not her shrewd business mind or her feminine lure. You love the all the stupid things you see in her that remind you of Kyle."

I balked, my eyes going wide. "What the hell do you mean?"

"That you've wanted to fuck my brother for a very long time? That now you've actually managed to fuck him you're being a retard and messing him about? If you want to keep fucking him, please, do me a favour and keep fucking him. Bang him right up, fix him good and proper. If you don't want to keep fucking him, then for the love of God, fucking tell him!"

"Dude, you're like, eleven! Shut the fuck up! You're too young to know anything about this! I haven't fucked your brother!"

"I'm not stupid Stan. In fact, I'm actually rather clever. I knew about all this shit before even you did. Hell, I knew about all this shit when I was still in kindergarten. I had a very hands-on teacher, after all." He paused to smile slightly. "Besides, I care about my brother, I care enough to know when something's changed."

"So you notice something different in Kyle and you just assume I've fucked him? What the hell, Ike?" I tried to make it sound as incredulous as possible, which wasn't all that hard. I just channelled all my raw fear.

"Someone's fucked him, and considering the lack of high-fives and bravado surrounding it, it obviously wasn't a chick."

"And what, it's either a chick or me?"

"No, of course not. He's just a pathetic fucking mess at the moment, I mean, Christ, I don't think he's slept properly in about a fortnight. I assumed you were the only one he cared about enough to put him in this state. That and you're a mess too, what with this" he pulled a grimace, waving his hand up and down my outfit, clearly less then impressed, "pathetic Raven thing. You don't need to be a genius to put two and two together."

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the insult. "What do you mean he's a mess? He's fine."

Ike just gave me the most unimpressed glare. "He's a mess, he's doing what Kyle does when he's a mess. He's panicking, lashing out, and he's dangerously close to giving in. Someone's fucked him, and someone's fucking him up, I'm pretty sure only you have that much power over him."

I scoffed, for real, at that. "I'm pretty sure I don't have any power over Kyle. In case you haven't noticed, Kyle's not the most submissive of all the little darlings. He's never done what I've told him to before, not when I'm telling him to take his fucking feet off my dashboard, not when I'm telling him to leave the fucking cult and just come the fuck home. He just doesn't ever listen to me, not ever."

"Just because he's a stubborn retard doesn't mean he doesn't listen to you; it just means he hates being told what to do. Besides, you have more power over him then you realise Stan."

"Whatever. That doesn't mean I've-I've fucked him, Ike."

Ike just continued to look at me, all piercing darkness and dangerous intelligence. "Well if it wasn't you, it must have been that McCormick kid, that one my mom doesn't like. And you're just, what?" he gestured at my outfit again "Grieving for your lost love? Must say I'm a bit surprised you lost out so easily, you always seemed so very determined you'd never let him go."

My face tingled, meaning I'd either flushed or paled. "Why the hell would you think Kenny had fucked Kyle? Why the fuck does anyone have to have fucked Kyle?"

Ike gave me his patented 'you're a fucktard' look. "Because that's life, and someone has fucked Kyle. Hell, it could have been anyone, you all seem so fucking smitten with him. God knows why, mind you. Kyle's not pretty, and he's not all that smart. He's really nothing special."

I was sure I flushed this time, Ike was trying my patience. "Kyle's plenty special you little shit. And he hasn't goddamn fucked Kenny!"

Ike smirked. "I know. I'm sure Kenny'd do all the fucking. Kyle's too short and too pathetically rubenesque to get away with topping anybody. I'm pretty sure he's condemned to a life of having his unspectacular face rammed into a pillow during every act of coitus he's lucky enough to partake in."

I shut my eyes, pained and slow. No one, no one in the whole goddamn world would ever want to ram Kyle's face into a pillow. I'm pretty sure Kyle would have a fit if anybody ever tried ramming his face into a pillow. That just wasn't how you fucked Kyle, you'd never be so callous. Hell, you'd never really fuck Kyle anyway, you… As gay as it sounds, you make love to Kyle.

"Ike, just shut the fuck up, yeah? Shut the fuck up before I kick you. We're fucking talking about my best friend here."

I felt him smirk, I could feel him radiating smugness from across the sofa. "Your Super Best Friend, Stanley?"

I clenched my teeth. "My Super Best Friend Ike, yes."

"Do you love him, Stan?"

The tone of his voice surprised me, I opened my eyes to look at him. He was staring at me, jaw tight, fingers arched, suddenly very serious.

"Of course I fucking love him Ike, of course I do."

"Stan, I'm not fucking stupid. You fucked my brother, and now he's all messed up and not acting like Kyle." He was speaking low and fast, his face inches away from mine. "And I don't like it, so you'd better make this fucking right before it gets too late, before he gives up or before you loose him for good, okay?"

"Ike, what the fuck are you doing?"

I yelled and fell of the sofa, Ike started and glanced to the door. Kyle was standing there, freshly showered, arms crossed. I was staring at him, bug eyed and terrified, Ike was glaring at him petulantly.

Kyle held out his hands, glaring at Ike. "Dude, don't fuck with my friends yeah?"

"I wasn't fucking with him. We were just talking."

"Then why is he so jittery?"

"Your ugly face is enough to make anyone jittery."

"Wow Ike, original."

"Well, I try."

I was still staring at him, my heart racing and my face flushing. Kyle's noticed this, and his eyebrows dipped in concern. "Do I look stupid or something?"

He looked like Kyle always does, soft, worn t-shirt and soft, worn chords. He'd tucked his hems into a pair of snow boots, anticipating the walk down. It was function over fashion, but then Kyle was usually function over fashion. Kyle didn't need fashion, fashion was redundant when it came to Kyle.

It was his hair though, his hair was tripping me. It was still damp from the shower, muted, darker, occasional drips forming at the ends. Just like that night in Denver, that night he'd been soaking wet with concert skank. That night I'd started this all.

"You look fine." I lied. He looked more then fine. He looked a lot more then fine. "You just startled me."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are we going then?"

I hesitated, glancing at the window. "Dude, it's like, minus a billion degrees out there. We'll go once your hair's dry."

Kyle gave me an unimpressed look. "Dude, my hair takes fucking years to dry. Let's just go."

"You'll catch a chill. I'm not going to let you get sick."

"Fuck Stan, you worry more then my mother."

I frowned at him, crossing my arms across my chest. "Just go blow-dry it or something."

"Dude, I am not going to blow-dry my hair."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll explode. Jesus, it's bad enough when it's just fluffy, you don't want to see it exploded." He paused slightly, fingering a damp strand, "Besides, do you know how bad heat is for hair? I don't want to dry it out. My ends'll split. I don't want split ends Stan!" He whined, somewhat rather impertinently.

My lip quirked. "Don't be precious."

"But I am precious. Don't you think I'm precious?"

I grinned, pulling him into a rough, one-armed hug. "God, you're so much more amenable when you've slept, you know."

"I know."

"My God!," Ike was glaring at us impudently, his arms crossed across his chest. "You two are such fucking fags."

No matter how old Ike gets, no matter how tall or how whatever, I'm pretty sure he'll never be too old for kick the baby.


A/N – FanFic went all weird on me the other day, it started erroring me every time I tried to log in and it all went a bit tilty when I tired to update. I thought I'd broken it or something, I was all "lulwutohfluffinpink". But hey, all good now (touch wood, touch touch touch a lot of wood!) So yay!

Anyways, thank you thank you for reading. Uber uber thank you thank you for reviewing, so love love lovely and adorabillabuddy! Ich adore it, ich adore it all!