Waking up seemed impossible for Kyle.

The bed was so warm and comfy. And the pillow was full and puffy and soft and-

Uuuuuuuuuuugh Kyle didn't want to wake up.

But he had to. His internal clock said he had school any minute now. That he was late. It could just be paranoia, but Kyle swore he was going to miss the bus.

With a grunt he turned over and reached for his alarm clock, blindly. Catching only air, he tried again. And again. Then again. He knew logically he had to open his eyes, but damned if he wouldn't try and beat logic.

Finally he sat up with a groan. God it was cold in his room. He wrapped himself up in the blanket, still warm with body heat, and tried to bury himself in it.

By now his mom should be screaming at him to get up. Instead, five minutes later, an unfamiliar alarm clock went off.

Then he heard a groan.

Flipping out of his blankets, he opened his eyes for the first time, wide, and took in his surroundings.

And oh God he was in Stan's room.

In Stan's bed.

For some reason, Kyle really, really didn't want to go to school.

Stan crawled up from the floor and hit the big button on his clock. Then he immediately fell back onto the floor.
"Uh." was all Kyle said.

And "Uhm".

And "Ah…?"

And also, "Hm."

Stan sat up again, giving Kyle a drowsy look.

Then Kyle remembered the previous night.

"Oh… OHH!" He made the face too, which made Stan grin like an idiot.

"Good morning sunshine."

Kyle took a moment to pull Stan's blankets free from the cocoon he managed. He looked at the still-open window and briefly considered how cold the floor must have been.

Kyle thought of everything he could have said at that moment. Explain himself. Apologize. Even laugh.

But he just said, "Don't we have school?"

Stan yawned. "Nah. Weekend."

Kyle looked at Stan's clock and pointed out, "But its Friday."

Stan got up and went in his closet. After pulling out some clothes he started toward the door, but paused in front of the bed.

"Look dude, if you wanna run home to explain this to your mom just so you can get ready for some classes you won't miss, go now. Cuz I'm taking a shower."

And he left.

---

Cartman pretended to listen to Mr. or Mrs. (whatever he was on now) Garrison since today he didn't feel like stirring shit up. But his gaze kept trailing to a certain Jewish boy's desk next to him.

Where the hell was that fucking Jew?

When the gay or lesbo or straight Garrison passed out tests, Eric snapped his pencil.

"Mr. Garrison, I need to go to the bathroom." He said, determined.

"Eric, wait until you-"

"I NEED TO."

Because no one wanted to go into the subject, Eric was tossing aside a hall pass as he walked to the parking lot five minutes later.

---

Kyle snuck his way back into Stan's room wearing a pair of Stan's jeans and holding a towel.

"Dude," Kyle said, closing the bedroom door. "You didn't give me a shirt."

Stan sat on his bed, staring at Kyle. In one hand was a green T- shirt. "I know."

There was a moment of just Stan looking at Kyle.

"So give me one."

"Not yet."

"Are you checking me out?"

"Only technically."

"Which means…?"
"I am safely not coming on to you, if that's what you're getting at."

More silence.

"So why are you only technically, not coming on to, checking me out?"

"Why are you so beat-up?"

Kyle froze in place.

With a quick glance in the mirror, Kyle decided that he could look much, much worse.

"I noticed last night," Stan said. "Noticed how bad it was, I mean."

Kyle wasn't enjoying this Let's-Make-Kyle-Really-Uncomfortable-Game.

Not saying anything wouldn't work this time. Not when he can't run away again. Unless he wanted to run out onto the snow, still wet from the shower, half naked.

If those are Kyle's thoughts of disappointment or Stan's of victory is questionable.

"They're everywhere." Stan stood up, but with one knee still on the bed, holding the shirt.

"And they get worse as they get up you your head."

Kyle was a deer in headlights. If deer had bright red hair instead of antlers.

Stan walked closer, but kept the shirt behind his back. "It's so weird… Because they aren't even round like a punch. Just lines.

"And I've only seen that kind of mark once before…" He reached a slow hand up to Kyle's neck, heart beating wildly. "On you…" He grazed a spot on Kyle's neck light enough that newer marks wouldn't hurt. "By me, no less."

Kyle slapped Stan's hand away, grabbing the shirt from behind him. He was sick. Just so sick of everyone playing games with him. Like he's some kind of toy to be used again and again.

Kyle stormed to the window, pulling it open. At the same time, Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle's still-naked waist.

Feeling the cold full-on, Kyle pulled the shirt over his head. Stan didn't move, even when buried.

"Don't," He said.

"Please," He said.

Kyle tried to climb out the window, but Stan didn't let him budge. Being head quarter back paid off.

Kyle knew that if he wanted, Stan could pull him back at any time. But he just held him in place. So he stopped struggling and stood there, facing the snow with Stan as a belt.

"Please stop running away, Kyle."

And Kyle closed the window.