-1Auri's Notes: Last chapter was short, sorry, buuuut, that chappie was really more for information than actions. Xx

I LOVE this chapter so much. I just feel like shit because it took me TWO FUCKING MONTHS TO UPLOAD!! I AM SOOOO SORRY! Trust me, there will be most, promise. x3 Honestly, it's my favorite so far. I wrote this on November 5th, and it's taken me all this time to finally upload it! Wh00t:3

This is a fun, fluffy chapter. But Stan and Kyle's relationship will probably change drastically after chapter.. Eh.. I think… 12? Anyways, this is a fun chapter that really to be read more for pleasure than purpose. It was really for my benefit, because I like practicing writing random chapters and stuff, but, eh, I post 'em anyways. :3 Thanks for being patient.

I don't own Hamburger Helper.

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"Hey, Mom?"

"Yes, bubbe?"

"I… feel sick… could you call the school and tell them I'm not coming?"

"Aw, what's the matter, Kyle? Do you need me to come over?"

"No thanks," I said quickly. "I just have a stomachache. Don't worry about it, I'll just sleep it off."

"Well, okay. Hope you feel better, bubbe."

"Love you mom."

"Love you too, Kyle."

I clicked my phone shut. "Well, she'll call the school and tell 'em I'm not coming." I reported, glancing over my shoulder at Stan. He was reclining on the couch and flipping through the male model magazine.

"Good," Stan said, glancing at me. "This day shouldn't be completely boring as hell."

I chuckled and shook my head. "I'm hungry," I said, stuffing my phone into my pocket and stretching. "It's almost 8:00. We should probably eat something."

"Dude, you know where the kitchen is." Stan pointed with his left hand. "Riiight there."

"Awww," I grinned and leaned forward towards him, putting my hands on the couch. "Come with me. Pleaase?"

"Kyle, you're 15, you can get food yourself." He said strictly. "Who do you think I am, your daddy?"

"I could take that so far out of context that it's not even funny." I cracked, poking him in the ribs. He jerked away from me, and tried to hit me with the magazine. I ducked underneath it and pounced on the couch, laughing my head off. This was definitely more fun than school!

"C'mon, Kyle!" Stan groaned. "Leave me alone!" He yelled, waving the magazine at me again. "ACK!"

I sat down on his chest, snatching the magazine from his grip. I leaned down so that I was about two inches from his chest and hissed in his ear. "Extra credit, Stan."

His eyes suddenly gleamed with realization, and he grinned deviously. He nodded, then suddenly reached up and snatched me about the waist. I only managed to yell out, "HEY!" before we both tumbled from the couch. Stan landed on top of me, which hurt like a motherfucker. Worst part of all, he landed on my back, which I'm sure would look 'interesting' on the video camera. My face was pressed into the carpet, and I felt Stan roll over on top of me so that our backs were pressed to each other.

"GET OFF ME!" I yelled, my voice muffled. "I CAN'T BREATHE, DUDE!" Stan scooted further down my back. "I swear to God," I growled, "If you fart, I'll fuckin' kill you."

Stan laughed. "I bet you wouldn't." He sat up and straddled my back. "I OVERPOWER YOU!!" He crowed, pulling my hat from my head and resting his head on top of mine.

How kinky this felt! Definitely not your average Stan-like behavior. I didn't resist him anymore, and when he proceeded to bite my ear, I simply groaned and pounded a fist on the ground. Truth be told, I was enjoying myself. This DEFINITELY beat school by a long shot!

-------------STAN'S POINT OF VIEW-----------

I wondered how much extra credit money this gave us, while using Kyle as a couch and idly watching television. He kicked and yelled after a while when he realized that I wasn't going to release him anytime soon, but he didn't hurt me at all.

His yelling did make it hard to watch TV. "STAAAAN, LET ME GOOOOOO!" He wailed, trying desperately to kick at me from behind and only managing to kick himself in the hip. "MOTHER FUCK!" He cried out. "STAN GODDAMMIT LET ME GO! I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM!"

Oh fuck. I scrambled off of him on all fours and was instantly ambushed from behind. Kyle tackled me like a retarded squirrel monkey (with a retarded squirrel monkey shriek to accompany it) and pushed me flat to the ground. "MY TURN!!" He yelled triumphantly, waving his hands in the air.

"YOU SUCK!" I howled. So he'd been lying about having to use the bathroom. "YOU PRICK! LEMME GO!" The red-haired bastard only laughed in reply. So, I did the only thing I could and hoisted myself up onto all fours again. Kyle wasn't expecting this, which delighted me and surprised him.

"JESUS!" He yelled, clinging to me like a monkey. "SIT DOWN!"

"NEVER!" I sung, scrambling towards the kitchen. Suddenly, a severe pain hit me from behind. Kyle was pulling on my hair.

"SIT, BOY!" He bellowed. "SIT! DOWN BOY!"

"OWWW, LET ME GO!" I moaned, "I'll sit down…" I eased myself to the ground, and Kyle stood up, stretching. I stood up as well, and looked fleetingly at Kyle. He was grinning widely.

"I win."

The day passed with a few kisses and me ending up giving Kyle a piggyback ride around the house, to which he shrieked out, "YAHOOO!" into my ear countless times.

We were tired and winded by around 1:00. We sat at the table, which was visible from the camera's position, and ate lunch. Kyle picked uneasily at his plate, narrowing his eyes at the food. "Stan, d'you mind telling me what the hell this is?" He asked, glancing at me.

"It's a slipshod mockery of Hamburger Helper." I answered, peering down at my own plate which was half-gone. "Just eat it, it's good." I put a forkful of the mush into my mouth and swallowed, to provoke emphasis.

"Eh…" Kyle frowned at the dish and prodded it around some more with his fork.

"Oh, come on, Kyle, don't insult my cooking." I grinned at him and kicked him under the table. He winced visibly and raised a miniscule bit of food to his mouth.

"I dunno… it doesn't look like the cow is completely dead yet…" He said, grimacing.

---------KYLE'S POINT OF VIEW------------

To be honest, it looked like a cat had swallowed hamburger meat and gravy, and then vomited them out onto my plate with a few other pieces of half-digested food mixed in. I wasn't going to tell Stan that, of course, but I really didn't want to eat it.

"Just eat it, dude." Stan said, glowering at me. "It tastes fine."

I put my fork back down. "Nah, s'okay, I'll eat it later…" I gazed out the kitchen doorway and stared at the camera. It's red light blinked at me, so I flipped it off.

I was suddenly pinned on my back on the floor, with Stan straddling my chest and a fork in his hand. "EAT IT!" He yelled, a maniac grin on his face. "Just one bite!"

I clamped a hand over my mouth. "NEVER!" I yelled through my hand. "I WON'T! I ABSOLUTELY REFUSE!"

Stan pried my hand away from my mouth, laughing his head off, and held the fork to my lips. I gnashed my teeth together forcibly. He couldn't get past me now!

…unless, of course, he used my abandoned fork to force my teeth open. "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" I yelled, gagging on the fork and then choking on the Hamburger Helper that Stan then shoved into my mouth.

It was only then that Stan loosened his grip on me and put the forks down. He still sat on me, but only until I'd swallowed the food…which, for some godforsaken reason, tasted pretty good. After I'd swallowed, he sat next to me, halfway in the doorway. I sat up, leaning against the other jamb of the doorway.

"I hate you." I hissed at him, panting and grinning at the same time. He too was panting with effort, a demented grin on his face and a thin lamination of sweat on his forehead.

"I love you." He taunted, bowing his head to compress his lips on mine. He did it so fast that he knocked me flat again.

"Why is it ME always on the ground?" I complained, snapping at him with my teeth. He leaned down closer to me and manipulated a strand of my hair. My face hurt from where his mouth had barreled into mine, but I chose to ignore it.

"I'm bigger than you." Stan said, grinning still.

"That's not fair," I protested, frowning and straining to lift my head. "You've got muscle." Stan held up one of my arms and flexed it.

"You're pretty well suited, Kyle," He nodded, tongue in his teeth. "You've got good arm muscles. Good for basketball." He released me, chuckling.

"Yeah, well, the season's over." I said desperately, sitting up with difficulty. I crossed my legs Indian-style and watched Stan as he tugged at his Broncos T-shirt. "The whole school year's almost over." I glanced at him. He was staring at the ground. "You looking forward to that?"

"…yes." He said finally, after a small shrug. "I mean… it's our senior year next year…" He trailed off, fidgeting. "All the teachers we've ever known wouldn't matter anymore."

"Yeah…" I cracked a grin. "Remember Mr. Garrison and Mr. Hat? And Mr. Twig and Mr. Slave?"

Stan laughed out loud. "Mr. Hat was cool," He said, nodding agreeably. "Mr. Twig sucked, though, and Mr. Slave creeped me out."

"Mr. Slave weirded everybody out…" I noted, reclining against the doorjamb again. We were both quiet for a while, then, grinning, I thrust my foot into Stan's face. "Rub my feet."

"What? No!" Stan pushed my foot away. "It smells funny."

"C'moooon!" I whined. "Rub my feeeeet." I stuck them in his face again. Stan suddenly stood up, grabbed my feet, and proceeded to drag me from the room. "AH! RUGBURN! OW! NO! LET GO OF ME!" My shirt pulled upwards so that my back was exposed to the rough green carpet in Stan's living room. "LEMME GO!" I yelled in vain. Stan didn't seem to have any proclivity to let me go anytime soon, so I proceeded to scream my head off.

"Seriously, stop!" I moaned after a few minutes, my entire back pretty much numb from the constant friction against my skin. "I can't feel my back!"

"Why should I let you go?" Stan inquired brightly, frowning slightly but still smiling.

"Because my back is killing me, now put me down!"

"Say you love me."

I was silent. That had been completely unexpected. Stan actually wanted me to say that? I gazed into his face. He looked dead serious, except for the small grin on his face. I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words, even though I knew what to say. The words seemed to get lost in my voice box and couldn't find their way out.

I swallowed. "I…" …couldn't say any more without strangling myself. I stared at anything but Stan's knowing face. Stared at the TV, stared at the couch, the ceiling… anything. "…uh."

"Go on." Stan prompted, his eyes soft.

"I… love… you?" I managed to gag out, but the words came as a question and not as a statement as I'd meant them to.

Stan's eyes penetrated mine, and his smile was widening. "Say it like you mean it."

I couldn't. I didn't mean it. I didn't want to mean it. But did Stan mean it? Did he want me to mean it? Could he ever want me to mean it? Was this just because of the bet, or was it truly earnest? I honestly couldn't say if I wanted to be sincere or not. If Stan was only acting this way because of the bet, then, if I was too frank about it, Stan could possibly take me seriously by accident. But, if he was being serious, and I came across as too artificial, he might be hurt. I would never want to hurt Stan, but did I want to embarrass myself like that?

I looked at him again. Those eyes. They were incredible. That implausible blue that flickered with life and energy. You could read those eyes. They were comprehensible, like whatever he was feeling was projected through his eyes into your mind. Right now, they told me honesty. Truth. Loyalty.

"I love you, Stan."

He eased my feet to the floor, and leaned down to help me up. I stood gingerly, my skin raw and crimson from being chafed for such a long time. Stan looked at me for a while, silent, then embraced me in what I took was a true hug. I curled my arms around his shoulders, and rested my head on his right shoulder. This time, I was glad that he was sturdy.