Chapter Track: We Used to Vacation – Cold War Kids

Kyle saves himself from an interrogation by Ike and Kenny by slipping into the house as quietly as possible and sneaking up the stairs. He hears Ike call, "Kyle, that you?" as a step squeaks beneath him, but dives into the safety of the guest room and locks it behind him. The last thing he wants to have to do this morning is explain to Ike that he and Stan had their hands down each other's pants and would most likely be proceeding with more at some point in the near future.

Kyle is finally tired, anyway. In spite of the coffee that he'd drunk, his eyes droop and his brain is swimmy. Maybe the effects of drinking and smoking haven't completely worn off like he thought that they had.

The first order of business, however (no matter how sleepy he is), is to clean himself up. Honestly, KFC napkins just don't do the trick. And Kyle hates being sticky.

He strips down, tossing his pajamas backwards into the bedroom, before stepping in for a cool shower. Kyle's never been a fan of hot water, it makes him all pink when he's done showering. Typically he'd choose something more temperate than cold, but he feels a bit like he needs a wakeup call.

Kyle scrubs his shampoo into his curls – he has to use that damned anti-dandruff kind, and the dry climate of Colorado isn't helping at all.

He has said it before, and he'll say it again, being back home is surreal.

But then, he wonders if South Park still counts as home. Because when he thinks of New Hampshire, of his apartment and his job, he thinks that same word: Home. His cheap, relatively crappy apartment is his home, but when he walks down the main street of South Park (and yes, there is but one main street), he thinks the same thing. Home. This is home. But back in New Hampshire is home, too. Is it possible to have more than one home? Here, Kyle's home was made for him by other people. There, Kyle made a home for himself. And they're both equally damned important to him.

Kyle feels like he's living in one weird-ass dream. If somebody had told him when he graduated from South Park High that most of them would still be here, Wendy would be pregnant and Kenny would be the father, Cartman would be out and married to fucking Butters, and that Stan would live in the close equivalent of a hovel, he'd have told them that they were fucking nuts. The most successful out of any of them, unsurprisingly, is Token. Evidently, while Token was working on getting his English degree, Clyde convinced him to audition to be the new Old Spice guy – and he made it. Kyle's still a little weirded out every time Token comes out of the shower on his television screen.

As wasteful as he knows it is, Kyle lingers under the cold water. It doesn't do much, though. It doesn't snap him out of it. It doesn't bring him into the world that he thinks should be 'what really happened to those South Park kids,' it doesn't make this all a dream. It isn't a dream.

He really did have Stan's hand down his pants less than an hour ago. Okay. He can come to terms with that. After all, it's something that he's thought about on and off as a masturbation technique for eight years.

Eventually, Kyle shakes himself out of his tangled mess of thoughts. He dries himself off and puts on a fresh pair of pajamas, tossing the ones that he had been wearing into the plastic laundry basket that Kenny gave him when he first arrived here.

He slips underneath the denim quilt on his bed and sinks into the mattress. Kyle's gonna try hard to believe that this is all real. Tomorrow. For now, he'll let himself believe that he's in some stranger's dream.

Kyle wakes up at about half-past ten, feeling groggy, but good. It's insane how sleep can put the pieces of your brain back together when you need it. For now, he'll just let whatever happens next happen. He reassures himself that he doesn't need to be in control of every little situation in his life. He doesn't, really.

Kyle doesn't know who he's trying to convince.

He stretches and unlocks his bedroom door. Ike is still here – Kyle knows before he even manages to step downstairs, because he hears his brother let out a frustrated snarl and bark, "What the fuck dude? Not cool, you shithead. I will get you."

It turns out that they're playing Mario Kart.

"Hey, sleeping beauty," Kenny greets, his eyes glued to the TV screen as Kyle passes by them and into the kitchen.

"Fuck you," Kyle says. He rummages in Kenny's cramped pantry for something to eat, and surfaces with no decent breakfast material whatsoever. He calls toward the living room, "Dude, where'd the cereal go?"

"I had the last of it," Ike says, "Sorry bro. Oh, fuck, Kenny. You asshole – aagghh – and you won. Fuck." Ike makes a show of melodramatically tossing the controller onto the carpet and huffing, folding his arms.

"There are some Eggo waffles in the freezer, I think," offers Kenny, "Might have freezer burn, though."

"So," Ike says, apparently having recovered from his brutal Mario Kart defeat, "Kyle went for a drive with Stan, this morning."

"Ike, shut up," Kyle says. He pops two waffles into Kenny's toaster and pushes them down, helping himself to a glass of orange juice in the meantime. He has to admit, breakfast is his favorite meal of the day. Everything about breakfast is delicious.

Unfortunately, breakfast can indeed be ruined by nosy-assed younger brothers.

Kenny turns off the game. He's interested in the details of Kyle's morning, of course, no matter how unwilling Kyle is to share what happened between he and Stan.

"Kyle," Kenny says.

Kyle turns to find Kenny standing directly behind him, wearing a face of such salaciousness that Kyle can't help but have the decency to blush. More accurately, his entire face goes red. "What?" he says sourly.

"You know what," Kenny says, edging closer.

Kyle waits until Kenny's close enough that he can feel his breath on his neck, and then thrusts his elbow out into his stomach. Kenny lets out a strangled oomph and stumbles backward – just in time for the toaster to ding and Kyle's waffles to be ready. Kenny only has a generic store brand of syrup, but it's better than nothing. He pours it in swirls on his breakfast and sits down at the kitchen table.

"Dude," says Kenny, "You can't leave me hanging. What happened?"

"Nothing. We just went for a drive," lies Kyle whilst chewing.

Ike chirrups, "He was breathing funny when I called him."

Kyle whirls around to face his brother, where the little shit just stands lazily with a crooked, cocky grin across his stupid face, and warns, "I am going to fucking kill you."

Ike shrugs, "You couldn't. You're too much of a pussy, dude. Sorry."

Kenny laughs.

"Fine!" Kyle shouts, perhaps too loudly, as he bangs his fist against the table, "Fuck you guys, seriously, but we…we, um, gaveeachotherhandjobs, okay?"

Kenny lifts his brows and cups a hand around his ear, replying in sing-song, "What was that, Kyle? I didn't quite hear you."

"Jesus fucking Christ, will you give it a rest? We just jacked each other off! No big deal! So fuck you, I'm eating my goddamn waffles," Kyle proves his point by stuffing a bite of Eggo into his mouth, scowling.

Kenny simply sighs and says, "Finally."

"What do you mean, finally?" Kyle asks, though he meant to give Kenny and his brother the silent treatment for the rest of breakfast mere moments ago.

Kenny fiddles with the edge of his hood and says, "I've only been waiting for you guys to get on board with everybody else for fucking ever. We all know you two are, like, perfect," Kyle is about to bark out some retort when Kenny's face suddenly drops the playful expression. He frowns, and frowns look wrong on Kenny, they always have. He's too happy-go-lucky for frowns. Kenny goes on, his tone changed to a sort of stony seriousness, "It killed me when you guys stopped being friends, you know."

The way that Kenny says the words killed me echoes in Kyle's ears.

He doesn't feel like arguing anymore.

The remainder of breakfast passes in uncomfortable silence. Ike rolls his eyes at the two of them and returns to playing Mario Kart – this time by himself. Kenny pours his own glass of orange juice and wanders out onto his back porch. He still hasn't come back inside by the time that Kyle finishes eating and rinsing his plate, so Kyle joins him outside, instead.

Kenny's back yard has a pretty nice view. Unlike Stan's, it's not fenced off, and nor does he have a viable lawn – simply patches of weeds and mountain wildflowers surrounding a fire pit that he made himself. They haven't yet had the chance to put it to good use during Kyle's stay. Even during his welcome party, Kenny said he was too lazy to get firewood for a proper bonfire.

"Y'alright?" Kyle asks.

"Shit, I'm fine," Kenny says, "There's just so much crap going on. I dunno, I needed a second."

"I know I'm not usually the one that says this, but I think things'll turn out okay," Kyle offers. He pats Kenny's shoulder a little awkwardly, but he doesn't seem to mind the contact, so Kyle keeps his hand there.

Kenny's silent.

But then he says, "Kyle, I don't know how to take care of a kid."

"That's what this is about? Dude, I don't either, but I'm sure I could figure it out. As far as I can tell, children involve a lot of tears and a lot of poop," Kyle says, "You can handle tears and poop."

"Damn straight," says Kenny, "I am the motherfucking master of tears and poop."

Kyle guffaws, "Maybe that's your next tat. 'Master of tears and poop.'"

"Somehow, I don't think that would make Wendy very happy with me," Kenny dryly remarks.

Kyle's a little put off by that statement. He doesn't want to say anything about it, though, for fear that he might hurt Kenny's feelings. It's just that, like in instances such as this one, it sounds to Kyle as though Kenny is referring to Wendy like they're dating. And Kyle is under the distinct impression that they are not. He knows for sure that they're still sleeping together (it has already caused a couple of nights on the couch downstairs with the television up loud), but Kenny and Wendy are nothing close to actually dating one another.

In truth, he's a little worried about it all. Like he said, Kenny talks about Wendy like she's his girlfriend, which she has made clear she is not. Furthermore, it's even more disturbing because Kenny's never had a desire to date monogamously. Or at all. Ever.

"You're scaring me, dude," Kyle admits, "Like, with this whole thing."

Kenny gives Kyle a look, drinking his orange juice casually, and says, "What? Can't a guy take a little responsibility?"

"Not you," Kyle shoots back.

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Kenny says amiably.

"You just talk about Wendy like you two are an item," Kyle pointedly reminds him.

"She is carrying our offspring," Kenny responds, "but I know I shouldn't. It's just – and this is between you and me, you got that, fucker? – It's just that I sort of really actually kind of maybe might like her, you know? It fucking figures I'd fall for the one woman that doesn't want commitment. Even with a fucking bun in the oven. Like, what the hell?"

"That sounds like it might be sexist," Kyle points out.

Kenny tugs at his hood and mutters, "Crap. You're probably right. I've been trying to work on that, too, 'cause she's really up front about that shit. There is no impressing her, I fucking swear."

"Personally, I just think it's funny that you're even trying to impress her," Kyle says.

"I hate you sometimes," Kenny groans.

Kyle gives a short little laugh and pulls Kenny into a sideways hug. At first Kenny complies, but it lasts for about a second, before he shoves a cackling Kyle off to the side and says, "You're a dick, dude."

"But you love me," chuckles Kyle.

Kenny sighs, "Unfortunately true."

"I love you too, man," Kyle nudges Kenny with his elbow, and gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile, "Look, I've got your back, okay? Baby mama drama or not."

Kenny rolls his eyes skyward and responds, "You forget I still have a pike with your name on it, bitch. But thanks. Sort of. You know, for the support. You're still an asshole."

"Whatever you say, Master of Tears and Poop," Kyle jokes.

"I may not be worthy of that title yet," Kenny warns, "I am but an Apprentice of Tears and Poop, for now."

They burst out laughing. Kyle, somewhere in his logical mind, knows that laughing about poop is juvenile, but doesn't actually give two shits. Pun intended. It's just fun to be immature with his best friends again. Besides, whatever, poop is funny.

That evening, long after Ike has returned to his place at the Broflovski house, Kyle experiences the magic of grocery shopping with Kenny McCormick. It's no wonder the guy has no food in his house – his first damned inclination is to buy snack food, Eggo waffles, Poptarts or dinosaur oatmeal. Kyle decides that he's a good influence on Kenny, since he buys more practical fare – Pasta, milk, a couple of loaves of bread, yogurt, etc. Staples, in Kyle's opinion.

Kenny takes the opportunity of having somebody to shop with to ride the shopping cart up and down the aisles. Nobody really cares, because it's Kenny. But Kyle secretly takes this behavior as encouragement that Kenny will be alright in raising a child. He'll be one of those fun dads that plays pranks on his kid and makes punny jokes all the time, probably because Wendy wouldn't let him make jokes of a dirtier variety. Considering their earlier conversation, he'll most likely end up making a bounty of poop jokes. At least children seem to find those funny. He doesn't think Wendy would see the humor, but oh well.

In celebration of having real food, when they return to Kenny's, Kyle decides to make spaghetti. He's not a particularly talented cook, but living on his own on a strict budget taught him a thing or two about pasta.

It's only just as they're sitting down to eat that the doorbells rings.

"I'll get it," Kenny mumbles, standing from his place at the table where he had only just dished himself an enormous plate of spaghetti. That guy must never eat a whole meal, holy shit.

"Whoa – uh, hey Wendy," Kyle hears Kenny say, which naturally piques his interest. He sneaks forward and peers around the corner into the foyer, where Wendy apparently has thrown her arms around Kenny's neck, and he is patting her back awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Sorry?" Kenny, of course, notices that Kyle is trying to discreetly eavesdrop, and sends him a confused look. He mouths what looks like Did you do this?

Kyle just shrugs, but realizes directly after that he did, in fact, ask Stan to try and talk some sense into her. He flips open his phone and shoots off a quick, but genuinely curious, text.

To: Stan: Okay, you have to tell me honestly. Are you a wizard?

Wendy pulls back a little from where she's attached herself to Kenny, but keeps her arms on him, and says, "I'm sorry for shouting about the crib. I've just been so stressed, and worried, and fuck it. I don't have an excuse. But I'm sorry."

He pulls her into a second hug and places his chin on top of Wendy's head, giving Kyle a subtle thumbs up. He says, "Hey, don't worry about it. We're all a little fuckin' crazy right now, I don't blame you."

From: Stan: As far as I know, no. Never got my letter to Hogwarts. Why?

To: Stan: Lol okay, if you're sure. Wendy came over and told him sorry. Wtf did you do?

Kyle can't hear what Wendy and Kenny are saying to each other anymore. Kenny has his eyes closed and his lips in her hair, and he's whispering something, but he knows Kyle's listening, so this must be private. This isn't the first time that he's seen Kenny be more affectionate than usual with her. He think that Kenny just has an inner sensor when it comes to people – he can tell when it's not okay to touch them, or when it's okay to keep them in what typically would be a far too intimate hug.

Sadly, Kyle manages to ruin the moment without even trying.

Wendy turns her head where it rests on Kenny's chest, and catches him looking at the two of them. "Kyle Broflovski!" she chides, "Have you been standing there this entire time?"

"No," he lies, rather smoothly.

Kenny rolls his eyes, and Wendy pulls out of the embrace.

"You, uh, wanna stay for dinner, Wendy?" offers Kyle, hoping to distract her, "I made spaghetti. It might get cold if you two just, uh, stand there. Um." He breathes a sigh of inner relief that he caught himself before he uttered the words 'if you two stand there giving each other bedroom eyes,' which they were. Kyle has a feeling that this is a couch and television night for him.

"Sure," she says cheerily. Kyle retreats into the kitchen and grabs another place setting for her. Kenny doesn't actually own any matching dishes or silverware. When Kyle first asked about it, he said that he bought a set, but ended up giving it to his folks and took their old dishes – mismatched items from donations, scratched up Tupperware, but mostly those Hercules plates that were given out at McDonald's in the nineties. The one he gets for Wendy has the Muses on it, and the silverware looks distinctly as though it was pilfered from the Olive Garden.

Dinner is painfully awkward for Kyle. Wendy and Kenny strike up a discussion on her next doctor's appointment in a couple of weeks – the one where they'll be able to find out what sex the baby is. Wendy doesn't want to know, but Kenny does. However, they're not arguing, and maybe that's what makes this all so damned uncomfortable. Kyle also thinks that Kenny's hand might be on Wendy's knee, and he also thinks that said hand might be sliding a little further up.

Kyle's phone rings.

He cannot describe his relief at receiving this perfectly timed phone call from fucking heaven. He gives a silent thank you to the universe, says gruffly, "I've gotta take this," and makes a beeline for the front door.

On Kenny's porch, he spares a glance at the caller ID. It's Stan. Kyle doesn't notice the small smile that sneaks up onto his face as he answers, "Hey dude, what's up?"

"Kyle, can you come over?" Stan asks. His voice sounds a little off, like he's been crying…or drinking. Kyle doesn't understand. He thought that everything between them was good, even if it had only been a couple days of ridiculous happiness. Why would Stan need to drink? Okay. Okay. Kyle's not stupid. He's knows very well that an alcoholic doesn't just stop being an alcoholic, but surely there must be a reason that Stan is boozing?

Kyle checks the watch fastened around his wrist. It's not too late. Approaching nine o'clock. He says, "Uh, sure man. I'll be over in a few."

Because, let's be honest, Kyle would much rather deal with an inebriated Stanley Marsh than the frighteningly loud sexual shenanigans of Kenny McCormick.

"See you. Thanks dude."

Kyle hangs up and slips back into the house. He clears his throat to interrupt the 'moment' before him – involving, from what he can see, bedroom eyes. And probably dirty talk, which he wants nothing to with. He almost sort of regrets telling Stan to convince Wendy to reconcile with Kenny, but realizes that he'd rather deal with an amorous McCormick than a morose one.

"I'm gonna go over to Stan's," Kyle says.

"Cool," says Kenny, and because Wendy isn't looking, he mouths to Kyle 'thank you' and makes a rude gesture to indicate getting laid. Whether Kenny is talking about himself or insinuating that Kyle is going to have sex with Stan, he can't be certain.

"Can I take the truck?" he asks.

Kenny considers it for a moment. The guy is fucking paranoid as shit when he comes to that vehicle. But he reluctantly consents with a, "Remember what will happen to you if anything happens to her. Pike, Kyle. It applies to any sort of baby of mine, trucks or fetuses."

"I missed something," Wendy says, rolling her eyes, as if to say 'oh, boys.'

Kyle rolls his eyes right back when Kenny puts his arm around Wendy and says smoothly, "You are so smart, sweetheart."

He nicks Kenny's flip flops again and takes his toothbrush, just in case he ends up staying the night. Which Kyle would actually like to do, because he does not want to be around for whatever the Kenny-Wendy bedroom eyes lead to.

Kyle is at Stan's within minutes, parking the truck neatly beside the curb. Stan answers the door before Kyle can even knock, yanking him inside, slamming the door behind them, and tugging him into a forceful kiss all in one swift movement. Kyle makes an mmph noise of protest, pushing his hands against Stan's chest. The sour taste of alcohol invades Kyle's mouth.

Stan finally detaches their lips when Kyle delivers a punch to Stan's shoulder. Stan looks really confused, that drunk, what am I even doing I can't tell kind of confused. He says, "Did I do something wrong?"

Kyle closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales slowly. He asks, "How much have you had to drink?"

Stan scratches the back of his neck, look of befuddlement furthering, "Uh, I dunno. Not much."

"You are a terrible liar when you're drunk," Kyle says quietly. He moves past Stan where some game is on pause on the television screen. The only incriminating evidence to be found is an empty scotch bottle and equally empty glass beside it, and the Chinese food sitting open on the coffee table – which is currently be dined on by all three dogs. Kyle gets growled at by the pug when he takes the boxes away and dumps them into the trashcan. You'd think by the way Stan's dogs were acting that he'd taken their legs, Jesus.

Stan, meanwhile, follows Kyle around as if he is one of his dogs (minus being on all fours). He says, "Please kiss me."

Kyle sighs and closes the trashcan lid. He smooths out Stan's hair and presses a kiss to his cheek, saying gently, "That's as far as this is going tonight. I'm sorry. But I don't do anything with people that aren't sober."

"Why not?" Stan whines.

"Because," Kyle supplies, "You don't know what you're doing. And I don't know if you'd do it sober. So I won't take advantage. You're a wreck, dude. Exactly how much City Wok did you spill on yourself?"

"Er, I dunno," Stan answers, slurring slightly, "My dogs ate it."

"You spilled Chinese food on yourself," states Kyle, "And you let your dogs eat it off of you? That is disgusting, dude."

Stan looks upset. He says childishly, "You don't have to be so mean."

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," Kyle says. He claps Stan on the back and guides him toward the stairs, turning only for a moment to cast a glare at the dogs, who all look like they're about to wreak havoc, and commands, "Stay."

Kyle helps Stan stumble up the stairs, which is difficult. Stan has more bulk to him than Kyle does, and he's plastered as hell.

"Can you get your pajamas on?" Kyle asks.

"I'm not retarded," Stan spits back. Christ, he's so moody when he's drunk. Kyle remembers how poorly things like this went in high school, too. Except back then, it was even more of a struggle, because Kyle had to get Stan to somebody's house where it wouldn't be observed that he was screamingly off-his-ass fucked up. Stan always made that more complicated, with his ranting and occasional crying – but general loudness.

"I know, I know," Kyle mumbles, "I just wanted to know if you needed my help."

"You just wanna get me naked," Stan accuses, though in his drunken haze he sounds more than willing to allow that to happen.

Kyle shakes his head and says, "Eventually, yeah. Not tonight, though. Not tonight."

"Why not?" Stan asks, just like he asked earlier. Before Kyle has a chance to answer that question, though, Stan blanches, and rushes past Kyle, into the bathroom.

Stan makes it to the sink in time to vomit everywhere.

Kyle comes up behind him and holds his hair back so that he can throw up again. In the process of pulling it back, Stan coughs up another round of vomit, splashing Kyle's hand. Kyle holds back the disgusted noise in his throat and compensates by making a grossed-out face. Kyle forces himself to calmly say, "Alright. After you let it all out, you're gonna brush your teeth, drink a glass of water, and get to bed. Okay?"

"What about my dogs?" Stan coughs bile into the sink.

Kyle pats his shoulder and says, "I'll take care of them."

"Promise?" Stan moans, and clutches his stomach.

"I promise," Kyle soothes.

Kyle helps Stan wash the vomit down the drain, and scrubs at his hands desperately with the cheap soap Stan has set up beside the sink. He hates the smell of Softsoap, but figures he'll just deal with it. And he'll clean up the remains of it after he gets Stan to bed. When Kyle left Kenny's, he was not expecting that he would be cleaning up barf instead of listening to people have sex. It seems his night would have been fucked either way, but he's silently glad that he decided to come here so that Stan didn't trip all over himself and end up on the floor or something.

He has to guide Stan's hand to help him brush his teeth the right way, but after a few hopeless attempts and toothpaste smeared across Stan's face, he gives up. He wipes Stan's face off with a damp washcloth, makes him drink a glass of water from the bathroom tap, and helps Stan strip down to his boxers before tucking him into bed.

"Kyle?" Stan says, when Kyle is about to exit and ensure that Stan's pack hasn't found a way to get into the trashcan and seize the City Wok remains again.

Kyle pauses, "Yeah?"

"Will you sleep with me?"

It takes a moment for Kyle to realize that Stan's talking about literally sleeping, and not sex. He says, "Okay. I'm just gonna check on the dogs."

"Kay," Stan says softly.

Downstairs, Kyle locks the front and back doors and switches off the lights. Stan must run a huge fucking electricity bill if he does this as much as Kyle thinks he does. The three dogs look sad where they're sitting in their doggy bed corner. He scratches Daisy behind her ears and says, "You three had better behave yourselves. Got that?" He is met with what he interprets as two looks of understanding (Daisy and Lucy) and one look of hopeless, but adorable, stupidity (Thor).

Stan is already passed out for the night when Kyle returns upstairs. He rids himself of his cargo shorts, folding them neatly and placing them off to the side, before slipping under the comforter and sliding in close next to Stan.

Stan isn't actually as asleep as Kyle originally thought. When he touches Stan's bare back lightly, Stan turns to face him. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Stan stares, and then wraps his arms around Kyle, nuzzling his nose into his curly mess of hair. He mumbles, "Kyle, you're my super best friend."

Kyle knows that Stan is drunk and that's why he's saying that, but it doesn't stop his chest from feeling heavy and full. He's wanted things to be okay between them again for so long. He's wanted to hear those words for so long. Kyle presses into Stan's embrace, even though his body is warm and smells like City Wok, and the heat of the summer night makes them stick together. He murmurs into Stan's chest, "You're my super best friend, too."

"Mean it?" Stan slurs sleepily.

"I will always mean that," Kyle says. He doesn't think that Stan will recall this conversation taking place, but he could not have made a more honest statement. Stan, even when they did not speak in high school, even when neither of them were a part of the other's life anymore, will always be Kyle's super best friend. He didn't ever actually stop thinking of Stan that way. Maybe that's why Stan didn't think he could tell Kyle how much he cared. Kyle doesn't know. He isn't good at analyzing these situations. All he knows is that he's happy here, tucked into the chest of his super best friend, even if at the moment that particular super best friend is drunk off his ass and reeks of Chinese food.

Kyle kisses Stan's neck gingerly and says, "Goodnight."

"Night," Stan whispers in that we're-at-a-sleepover-and-we-have-to-be-quiet whisper.

o.o.o.o

The following morning, Kyle wakes when the mattress jostles. He's disoriented at first, thinking that Kenny is being a dick and jumping on his bed or something to wake him up. But when he opens his eyes, he isn't at Kenny's. He's in Stan's bedroom. And he can't breathe.

Because there is a giant dog on his chest.

"Good morning, Daisy," Kyle wheezes.

There's a soft laugh beside him, and Kyle turns. Stan is sitting on the edge of the mattress in his boxers, holding a mug of coffee, and smiling. He looks exhausted, but Kyle guesses that Stan is most likely very used to being as hungover as he surely must be. Stan remarks, "She likes you."

"You think?" Kyle asks, petting her, since she's made his body into a bed.

"Yeah, she doesn't actually take to people that often. She doesn't trust them," Stan explains, "She bit Kenny, once. You must have done something awesome to get on her good side." As if in agreement, Daisy delivers a lick to Kyle's face.

"Daisy, out," Stan commands, snapping his fingers. The weight on Kyle's chest instantly lifts, and the mastiff leaps from Stan's bed. If Kyle didn't know better, he'd think that she gave him some serious side-eye before exiting the bedroom.

Stan sets his coffee down on his bedside table and slithers back into the bed, pulling the covers over him. He doesn't get too close to Kyle, though. Instead, he says, "I want to thank you."

"For what?"

"For, uh…" Stan searches for the right way to say it, "not having your way with me last night."

"Not that I'd ever sleep with somebody that wasn't in their right mind, but you are a slut when you're drunk, dude," Kyle says.

Stan scoffs and shoves Kyle.

Kyle falls off of the edge of the mattress and onto the floor, taking the blankets with him.

Stan pokes his head over the edge of the bed, grinning, and responds, "I know," but his grin fades when he adds, "I'm sorry."

"Why?" queries Kyle.

"For drunk-dialing you, trying to fuck you and then throwing up on you," Stan says.

"You threw up on my hand. It wasn't that bad," Kyle says.

Stan gives Kyle a look and asks, "Who are you and what have you done with my super best friend? You know, the one that hates body fluids of any kind?"

"Okay, it was fucking nasty," admits Kyle.

Stan chuckles. He lowers himself off of the bed and on top of Kyle, hands braced on either side of Kyle's head. He says, "That's more like it," and kisses him on the lips.

Kyle feels like he should bring up how drunk Stan was last night, how much of a bad way he was in, how he shouldn't have done that and how Stan should get better. But then, he feels like it isn't his place. He watched Stan destroy himself for eight years, and now Kyle thinks that Stan would probably be pissed if he played responsible and concerned friend all of the sudden.

That, and he doesn't want to ruin this moment. It's one of the nicer moments that he's ever had, tangled in blankets with Stan on top of him, smiling his boyish grin. Kyle pries one of his hands out of where it's tangled in Stan's comforter, and runs it through Stan's hair. He tugs Stan down and they kiss again, pressing tongues together eagerly.

When they break apart, breathing heavily, Stan rests his forehead on top of Kyle's, kissing his nose affectionately.

"And a good morning to you, too," Kyle says.

They both laugh.

o.o.o.o

Why, hello there! Thank you, as always, to these grand and probably damned good-looking people: conversefreak3, kath, effingbirds, Magical Reality, Mallory, KirstenTheDestroyer, Porn Mercenary, Miroir Twin, NightmareMyLove, ObanesHarvest, MariePierre, Crazy88inator, glow vomit, TheAwesome15, blah (Unless you are Kath again? Oh well, then you get two thank yous. If not, thank you then, blah), WxTxR, MetrionZinthos, and VannaUsagi13.

**TW: Discussion of rape

Okay. I want to briefly discuss something here because it's come up a couple of times. I will not write sex in which one party is not sober. I've seen this sometimes on this website, and it seems like it's not explained very well that doing that is rape. If somebody isn't coherent enough to tell you no, then it's not a yes, either.

Aaaand I don't write noncon between the main characters. I did once write about rape, but I want to make it clear that when I do write about rape, it will be KNOWN that that is what you are reading.

The more you know!

Love you guys.