Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING! -cries-

Author's Note: There's not much to this chapter. Like I said, I'm out of it. But I wanted to get something up before Abby came and there really wasn't much more that I wanted to do for this chapter.

Special thanks to: total misanthrope, Call Me Blue Streak, sparkus, Abby, Amelia, Soneka the Hedgehog, Crow T R0bot, and LilChicky004. Again I say, you guys make me smile:D

No light was allowed to enter the tomb-like room of Stan Marsh; and why would it be if he felt like he could never smile again? Outside, in the light, was where Wendy and Kenny were. What's the point of light, Stan thought bitterly, If all it reveals is pain?

The curtains were drawn, acting as a shield against the sun and stray light that happened to pour in. The self-torturing boy was hidden underneath a dark blue blanket, huddled in the fetal position. He felt safe underneath that blanket; nothing could see him and he didn't have to see anyone. Sparky was curled up beside him, his head resting gently on Stan's leg. The dog looked at him with soft brown eyes, as if he understood what he was going through.

Stan knew what he was doing was pathetic; it was just as bad, if not worse, as the first time Wendy dumped him in the fourth grade. But then he had gone goth, and he wasn't sure if that was his plan this time around. He planned on staying cooped up in his room, under his blanket, and allowing good-old Sparky to be his only company. Besides his dramatic misery, that is. Sparky whined and pawed at his master gently, licking his chops and lifting his head. Stan sat up, the blanket falling off of him like a sheet of snow. He pat Sparky on the head reasurringly, and scratched him behind the ear. The dog grinned thankfully and licked Stan's hand. The corner of his mouth curved in a smile as he stared down at the fathful mutt. He remembered when he first got Sparky; he was so proud of himself for finding such a cool dog, but when he started to act 'less macho' than expected, Stan had been a little freaked out. However, with a few lessons from Big Gay Al, Stan learned to accept his dog's sexuality. It was with those lessons that Stan was able to accept a lot of things he had encountered in his life, but of course it wasn't what he needed now.

He stared down at Sparky, as if the friendly face with the rolling tongue held an answer to his situation. Stan straightened the dog's pink bandana and frowned. "What do I do, Sparks?" He asked, scratching Sparky under the chin. "I guess I should ask Kenny about it, or do I wait for him to come to me?" He sighed, laying back down on his pillow. Sparky stood and crept closer to Stan, curling up next to him. He continued to stare at the boy, as if he could give him the answers with his eyes. "And why is Wendy with him, anyways? He was just pissing her off." He snorted, causing the dog to cock his head to one side. "He probably snogged her out of the blue and won her over." He closed his eyes, playing different plans and procedures through his mind. He suddenly felt a rapid thumping against his side and opened his eyes. He had been rubbing Sparky's belly, and the dog had begun to kick his leg with pleasure. Stan smirked and closed his eyes once more. There was something theraputic about petting a dog.

As Stan thought over his situation, a sudden and random image of Kyle flashed before his eyes. "Oh shit," he muttered. He was now well-aware of the fact that he was abusing the poor Jew. He silently cursed himself as the familiar guilty lurch of the stomach returned. If he didn't do something, he would most certainly lose his best friend, but he'd think of something later. Right now he needed another nap, but his room was too tainted with his thoughts and worries. He stood to go downstairs, knocking a pillow off onto the floor. Sparky didn't hesitate to jump off the bed and commence humping it.

After an hour catnap, Stan had felt a little more sure of himself. He figured he should patch things up with Kyle; if he never ended up with Wendy, he at least wanted to have his best friend there to lean on. And if he did have his chance with the girl, he wanted to have Kyle's support Stan clenched the receiver tightly, his knuckles turning white and his palms growing small puddles of sweat. He wasn't too excited about calling Kyle, but he knew it was something he needed to do. Who knew how long the silent treatment would ensue? His hands and fingers were so shaky it was a surprise he hit the right buttons. There was a stall before the phone rang three or four times and was answered by the she-devil herself, Sheila Broflovski. Stan cringed at the piercing, almost demon-like voice of the bipolar mother. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mrs. Broflovski," he said listlessly. He realized he had been holding his breath.

"Oh Stan, it's so good to hear from you! You haven't been causing havoc around her for a while now. How are you, honey?"

"I'm, uh, good Mrs. Broflovski. Do you mind if I speak with Kyle?"

"Sure thing, honey. KYLE!"

"Yeah, Ma?"

"You've got a phone call, booby." There was a rustle as she handed the phone to Kyle. "Hello?"

"Hey, Kyle-"

"What?"

Stan flinched. "What's up? What's with the silent treatment?"

"Oh don't give me that crap," came the hasty reply, "You know damn well why." Stan shook his head, although Kyle couldn't see it.

"Not exactly, Kyle. I might have an idea, but, I'm not so sure."

"You don't care what I think Stan. You don't care how I feel." Kyle's voice rose with his anger. "I thought I was doing my part in the friendship. I come to you when I'm upset. I do all that crap for you, and when you start to like a girl you won't even tell me? Not even a 'hey Kyle, I really like Wendy'?"

"Kyle-"

"No Stan," Kyle interrupted abruptly. "I'm not done yet. Kenny's covered this already but we were worried about you. You've grown distant from everyone; you're pushing them away. And all because of a stupid, fucking girl!"

Stan was holding his breath again, each word like a slap to the face that stung more with each blow. "Kyle," he tried again, "Listen-"

"No, you listen, Stan. What the fuck could be so great about a girl that obviously has more interest in a manwhore like Kenny than you? She's not the kind of girl you need, Stan. All she wants is a grope session. You obviously want something beyond that." His words were becoming calmer, almost as if he was giving advice. "I don't get why you're so fucking hung up over her. I thought you were smart enough to know when to move on when some sleazy tramp isn't into you." Stan's grip grew tighter. "I just...can't process it. I don't know why, but I can't. I really wish there was some way to prove to you that you deserve better than her."

"And why is that?" Stan asked, sarcasm and disbelief tainting each syllable.

"Because," Kyle sighed, "I love you."

Gah...it's soooo short! -smacks forehead- Oh well. I've got something up my sleeve. Well...kinda. o.O It just didn't fit with this chapter.