A few hours later and I was sitting in Kyle's basement, lounging on the staircase, watching him sort through boxes of Hanukkah stuff.

"You could, you know, fucking help me Stan." Was the first thing he said to me. I just grinned at him, shifting slightly against the wood.

"I could, but I'm not going to."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Partly because I don't want to. Mostly because your mom told me not to. You're being punished bubala. You need to learn that missing your curfews will not be tolerated!"

Kyle glared at me over his shoulder. "If I'm being punished, why the fuck did she let you down here?"

"I asked her nicely. Really, really nicely. She likes it when I ask her really, really nicely. I think your mom likes me."

"Oh, my mom fucking loves you, Mr. Star-Quaterback-Come-Fucking-Homecoming-King-From-A-Respectable-Family. She loves you just like everyone in this godforsaken town loves you."

"What can I say? I'm fucking wonderful." I quipped dryly, watching Kyle kick a box across the floor.

"Think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

"Well, can you blame me? If you were me, you'd think a lot of yourself too."

"I'm me, and I already think a lot of myself."

"You'd think more of yourself if you were me."

"I'm pretty sure you'd think more of me if I were you."

"Eh?"

Kyle frowned, straightening up. "I'm not too sure. That one got away from me."

I just smiled, glancing round the dusty basement. "Dude, how long do you have to clean for?"

"Until it's done."

"Fuck, it's going to take you ages."

Kyle just glowered, rubbing his face. "Dude, I just can't believe she fucking heard me."

"I know, right? I mean, you were so graceful, you know, how you got all tangled up in the rope and fell through the window, and how you missed your bed and knocked over your bedside table. I just, I just can't believe she heard that!"

"Dude, it's not funny. I thought I was going to fucking die."

"Awwh, you poor little darling."

Kyle flipped me off, glaring. I just grinned at him, watching him exhale, before gracelessly bending back over, the studs on his white belt catching the light. Glinting invitingly every time he moved. For a while I just watched him root about in a box, occasionally throwing something to one side, mostly just reorganising the household crap. After about five minutes it dawned on me I was staring fixedly at his arse, I was staring fixedly at his arse and getting hard. I yanked my gaze away and cleared my throat.

"Dude, why do you have, like, a million Jazzersteps down here?"

"I dunno. My mom got really into Step Aerobics for a while. She brought a shit ton of stuff for it, all the CD's and videos. Then she lost interest and rammed it all down here."

"No offence, but the image of your mom doing Step Aerobics will haut me to my grave."

Kyle just shuddered, walking over, gracelessly throwing himself down next to me. Clearly having a paddy and jacking in the cleaning for a while.

"You didn't see it dude. You didn't see it. There's not enough eye-bleach in the world to remove those awful, awful memories."

"And here I was thinking that my dad playing guitar hero in his underwear was traumatising."

Kyle pulled a face, tilting his head away. "It must be nice to have nice, normal parents, you know? Parents who don't do shit like that. It must be nice to have nice, normal, lives too."

"It's South Park dude. There's no such thing as nice or normal here."

"I know. At least it's never boring. I guess."

"Yeah. And at least we'll always have each other, to, you know, provide reprieve from the insanity."

"Oh, you delightful little faggot you, you do flatter me so."

"Hey, you're the one always whining at me to be nicer to you."

"I don't whine."

"Except yeah, you do."

"Screw you."

I quirked my eyebrows, deadpanning him a look. "Is that an offer?"

Kyle just snorted, backhanding my shoulder. After a slight pause, Kyle sighed, frowning across the basement. "Perhaps I should take up Step Aerobics? I could save all this shit from the dump."

I snorted. "If you do, you have to promise you'll let me watch."

"Why the fuck would you want to watch?"

"Dude, with your sense of rhythm? It'd be fucking hilarious!"

Kyle dismissed me with a delightful throaty growl, flipping me the bird for good measure.

"I'm not going to clout about in front of you just so you can have a good laugh Stan. I'll probably just use them down here. In the dead of night. With all the doors locked. And all the windows blacked out."

I balked. "Dude, you're not seriously going to use them, right?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because with your sense of rhythm you'd probably fall off and break your fucking neck! Don't be stupid."

Kyle pulled a face. "Dude, just because I'm rhythmically challenged doesn't mean I lack basic motor functions. Give me some credit."

"Why the fuck do you want to use them anyway?"

He shrugged, eyes still fixed on the Jazzersteps. "I need the exercise."

I snorted derisively. "No you don't. You're gorgeous and you know it."

In the dim light of the basement, I watched Kyle flush.

"You think I'm gorgeous?" He turned to look at me, his eyes bright and wide.

I cleared my throat. "I know you're gorgeous Ky."

For a minute we were both silent, just lounging on the staircase, staring intently at each other with impressively pathetic pathos.

"Stan, what you said yesterday, did you mean it?"

"Dude, I said a lot of things yesterday. I meant a lot of them too."

"When you said-said you wouldn't get back with Wendy. Did you mean it?"

I swallowed hard, glancing away. "Yeah Ky, I meant it. She came to see me this morning, to try get back on, you know? And I-I… I kinda broke up with her. For good and all that."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she didn't take it so well. It was all very awkward."

"Why?"

"Why what? Why was it awkward?"

He bit his lip, flushing slightly. "Why would you break up with her? You've been dating her since Pre-K."

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Dude, just because. Because."

He swallowed, looking at his hands, worrying with the hem of his t-shirt. "So you won't get back with her?"

"Dude, I won't get with anyone. Not if you don't want me to." He was looking down, still unconvinced, still worried. I just sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Ky, you're my best friend. You're…" I trailed off, gesturing lamely.

Because what was he? Kyle was my best friend, he was my Super Best Friend, but after that night in Denver, after all the shit we'd done to each other, he was something else. Something different. He wasn't my boyfriend, there was something too coy and forced about that term, too brittle and unapproachable, it wasn't right, wasn't ready. No, he wasn't my boyfriend. To call him my fuck-buddy would be too callous; he wasn't going to be some number I called up when I was feeling horny. He wasn't just a fuck to me. He wasn't my boyfriend, he wasn't my fuck-buddy. He was my best friend, my best friend who'd straddled me on Route 285. My best friend who I'd fucked. What he was to me was something lost in the cotton wool of diction, something linty and intangible. Something new and unapproachable. Something perfect.

"You're the most important person in the world to me." I finished up, honest and truthful, staring intently into his wide, tired eyes. "I'll do anything to make you happy."

For a while he just stared at me, wide eyed and pale. I just stared right back at him, stony faced and serious. Then he was kneeling over me, one hand on my chest, one hand on my shoulder. Then he was pushing his lips against mine, and I was holding him steady, keeping him safe. I was pushing my own lips back against his, smiling against his mouth. It wasn't like the kiss I'd pulled him into at the concert, the one he'd graced upon me in the car, the one we'd shared in the snow. It was soft and gentile, chaste, no tongues, no groping.

It was a contract. Signed, sealed and delivered.

Reassuringly I rubbed his side, and he squeezed my shoulder back. And after, what, a minute, an hour, I have no idea, he pulled back. I pressed another kiss against his cheek, his neck, his lips, firm and fleeting, before letting him go.

Silently he sat back down next to me, carefully lowering himself onto the steps, carefully glancing up at me. I just grinned down at him, before shutting my eyes and leaning back against the wood.

"So what am I going to do with all this Jazzercise shit them?"

I frowned slightly.

"We should probably give it all to Cartman. He really does need the exercise."

Kyle lit up. "Oh God yes. We could wrap it all up and give it to him for Christmas! That way I get rid of the junk in the basement and we don't have to by him a present! It's fucking win-win!"

I laughed, grinning across at him. "Kyle, my little ray of sunshine, you're a perfect little bitch."

"Please, you know you love it."

My lip quirked.

Because of course I did.

A/N – I think chapter might be in fluff-zone, but oh well yay! Thank you all for reading reading reading, hope it's all goodley, and super extra special uber thank you thank you thank you for the reviews. I toto have fluffy little joyburst moments every time I get e-mail notification for me to read, j'adore it!

And Savannah, Germany shouldn't be embarrassed because of TH. I mean, Bill Kaulitz's hair, it like, defies gravity. Producing someone whose hair defies gravity is a feat to be proud of, regardless of the music he plays =P Loves loves lovely.

And Hoppin'OnBalls, of course we can be friends. Friends are fluffy and (candyfloss) awesome =) And Kenny suspects, but he's in denial. He just thinks Stan's all upset about Wendy (or he doesn't care, or a little mixture of both! Yay!) Oh yes yes yes! Loves loves lovesit.