Sorry for the extra long wait.

Man, a thirty-six year old Kenneth McCormick mused as he stood in Kyle Marsh's backyard, Stan Marsh arguing with Eric Eric over how to cook steak on a grill as Wendy Testaburger-Eric and the rest of their graduating class watched (or egged them) on, were we ever wrong.

Eighteen-year-old Kyle Broflovski smiled as he opened the front door to see his boyfriend, Stan Marsh. Stan was wearing a black hoodie, unzipped, with a Bronco's T-shirt under. Paired with Stan's worn blue jeans and his black vans, Kyle thought Stan looked amazing.

Of course, Stan always looked better naked.

"Hey, sexy," Kyle greeted with a smirk. Stan chuckled, leaning down to peck Kyle on the lips, before he invited himself into the Broflovski home.

"Hey, beautiful. How goes?"

"You just saw me thirty minutes ago," Kyle raised a brow, "Not much has changed since then."

"Your clothes," Stan argued, looking down at what the Jew was wearing.

Earlier, Kyle had been wearing a white button down shirt with a gray vest, black slacks, and a pair of gray and black Dickies. Kyle's hair had been gelled down and stuffed under a black beanie, so that the red wouldn't clash. Now, Kyle's hair was back in its chaotic Jew-fro and he wore one of Stan's old wife-beaters with a pair of red cotton pajama bottoms.

Kyle laughed. "I felt like getting comfortable."

"I can get you more comfortable," Stan replied, eyebrows wiggling lasciviously.

"Sorry, Stan, you're going to have to wait," a female voice replied, and Stan flushed as he turned and saw a smiling Mrs. Broflovski.

"Uh, sure…." the brunet muttered shyly. Kyle snorted.

"Thank you for chaperoning Ike's sleep over, Kyle," Sheila continued, unhinged.

"No problem, mom. I'll just be upstairs doing homework, anyway."

"Make sure that's all you do," Sheila replied sternly, "If Stan is here to distract you, it may be best that he leaves."

Stan grinned. "I promise I'll be a good boy, Mrs. Broflovski. Are you going somewhere?"

The Jewish mother nodded. "Your parents seemed to be getting along so much better, Gerald and I decided to take their advice. We're going on a couple's weekend alone, but I completely forgot that this was the weekend Ike wanted to have a sleepover. I trust my boys, but I would feel better if someone was here to watch them."

"And, luckily, Kyle has no life outside of me," Stan said cheekily.

Kyle was quick to punch Stan—"Ow, dude!"—before turning to his mother again. "Really, mom, don't worry. I'm here, Stan's here; we'll be fine."

Sheila sighed again before hugging both boys with a grin. "Be good, boys!" She hugged Ike once he descended the stairs and joined Gerald as the older man walked to the car. With a final wave goodbye, the boys watched Kyle's parents drive away.

"Are you really gonna chaperone me?" Ike asked once the car was out of view.

"Are you getting alcohol?" Kyle retorted.

"…Not…anymore?"

Stan rolled his eyes. "I had whiskey at ten. Kyle, you and Ike smoked weed at eight and two. Ike's, like, twelve years old now. He can totally handle hard liquor."

"No, dude, I'm not gonna have my baby brother drink with his friends and make a mess of the house," Kyle frowned.

"C'mon, Kyle!" Ike begged. "Please?"

Stan smiled. "I'll help set everything up; they have a blast down here, we go have sex. Win, win for everybody."

Kyle stared hard at them for a while before sighing; Stan and Ike cheered. "Fine, okay. But, if my brother dies, it's your fault, Stan. And Ike: first of all, you owe me. Second of all, none of you walks in on Stan and me."

"Like I want to see my brother getting boned," Ike said, nose scrunching in disgust as he walked back inside.

"How do you know I'm the bottom?!" Kyle pouted, following the Canadian.

Stan laughed. "Kyle, it's your turn to bottom anyway."

Less than two hours later, the party was in full gear downstairs; upstairs, Stan and Kyle were cuddled in the Jew's bed. Stan mindlessly flipped through the channels as Kyle read a book. Surreptitiously, Stan glanced down at his lover and smiled softly; Kyle flipped a page and Stan pulled the red-head closer, hugging Kyle tighter. Contently, Stan inhaled the scent of Kyle's shampoo and kissed the other boy's forehead.

Kyle blinked. "Okay, what's wrong?'

"Kyle?"

"I love you, Stan, but I know your tells. This isn't you being romantic. This is you being worried. What's wrong?"

"…I was just thinking," Stan replied, voice dull.

Immediately, Kyle became more worried. The Jew sat up, trying to catch Stan's eye. "Stan, tell me."

The brunet sighed. "I…I got offered a football scholarship…"

Kyle smiled, bemused, "That's…that's great! Where to? Somewhere on the east coast?"

Stan grimaced and shook his head. "Indiana. Uh…I got an offer from Notre Dame for a full ride."

Kyle's jaw fell slack.

"I guess they sent some scouts and they liked what they saw. I…I don't know that I'm going to take it, yet, because my first choice hasn't replied to my application, yet."

"Where is your first choice?" Kyle asked quietly.

Stan bit his lip. "University of California, in San Diego."

Kyle struggled to keep his voice calm, though he was panicking inside. "I, uh, I thought we were both going to aim for schools on the east coast. So we could be near each other."

Stan looked away. "I…I don't think I'm gonna get into Harvard like you, Kyle. And the school in Maryland rejected me. I don't know how much chance I have in UC if another Ivy League denied me, but...I don't know, Kyle. I don't want to go too far away, either."

Kyle let out a shuddery breath.

"Did…?" the brunet whispered.

"Harvard, you mean?"

Stan nodded.

"Yeah," Kyle whispered. "They, uh, offered me a full ride."

"…What do we do now, Kyle?"

Kyle leaned back, letting his head fall against Stan's chest. Stan's arms wove around Kyle and the brunet leaned back, resting on Kyle's headboard. Abruptly, Kyle remembered a silly Truth-or-Dare game; Kyle remembered Stan's kiss, and how it make Kyle feel; and Kyle felt guilty, because he'd loved the kiss and still dated Bebe when Bebe—while fantastic—still couldn't hold a candle to Stan. And because Kyle couldn't figure it out; because Stan might have been leaving Kyle permanently; because Kyle didn't want to think anymore, the Jew twisted around and forcefully kissed his boyfriend, sneaking his tongue in when Stan gasped.

Kyle's advantage lasted seconds, before Stan took control and rolled them over, hand already playing at the hem of Kyle's pants.

"You know," Stan breathed against Kyle's neck, "You won't be able to solve all our problems with sex, much as I appreciate the gesture."

Kyle chuckled. "Bet you I can solve all our problems with just one good snog."

Stan grinned, pulling his shirt off his boyfriend.

"Deal."

The day Kenny knew he was no longer immortal didn't start off as momentous in any way. In fact, it was the middle of their senior year when he realized that he'd no longer be able to come back to life. The events of his final death (well, penultimate death…) seemed like a dream until he avoided certain death by dodging a truck.

His final death had been seemingly normal and random—though adventure-related—as per usual. Spring break had arrived, so Kenny invited Bebe and Butters out to hang out.

"Both of them?" Kyle had asked, fingers flying over the PS3 controller (the aftermath of the Xbox One/PS4 wars had left Kyle scarred and unwilling to play any of the aforementioned systems). He and Kenny had enjoyed a day away from all their other friends, deciding that some time with each other was in order.

"Yeah," Kenny shrugged, "I think they both like me and I don't want to prefer one over the other just yet."

Kyle frowned. "You can't lead them on like that, Ken."

"I know!" the blond sighed, performing a move cancel and beating Kyle's character; they watched Chie Satonaka cheer for a bit before they put their controllers down.

"I know better than anyone," Kenny muttered, facing Kyle. "But I just can't see the end of this. They're both so amazing. How am I supposed to choose?"

"There's a difference between liking someone and loving someone," Kyle smiled softly. "It's not easy to tell the difference before you're absolutely sure—I would know—but once you feel it, it's definite."

Kenny hummed speculatively, then nudged Kyle's shoulder. "Maybe I should have fallen in love with you."

The red head laughed. "I am getting tired of Stan."

"Run away with me!" Kenny grinned, easily picking up the Jew in his arms. "The goddess of sex and war will bless all my endeavors because I have slutty armor!"

Kyle smirked, playing along. "Slutty armor? You can't seek the goddess' favor with a costume! Slutty isn't what you wear—slutty is in the heart!"

"Kyle, do you think I was born with these dick-sucking lips? I sucked endless dick for years! I've talked off the mountain! Fisted the wind! I've had things up in me that men tremble to name!"

And it was about then that Kyle's dad walked into the room—and promptly fainted.

Kenny and Kyle stared at Gerald as he lay on the ground, Kyle still in Kenny's arms. They stared for a while, and Kyle idly kicked his legs as they waited.

"Your dad has issues, man," Kenny finally said. "I hadn't even gotten to the part where I described my slutty armor to you." (1)

Kyle had laughed. "I love you, Kenny. Figure out who else loves you."

And Kenny had hoped that this latest outing would provide more answers in choosing who he loved most, but instead, some fanatics kidnapped Butters—convinced he was their Messiah—and Bebe and Kenny had to go save him. As they escaped the underground compound, they encountered Manbearpig, who refused to let them pass. Kenny threw himself at Manbearpig in a rage and promptly died.

Kenny opened his eyes, seeing the familiar ceiling of hell.

"Oh, there you are," Damien glanced at him from the other side of the couch Kenny was lying on. The blond sat up and mildly glared at Damien. Usually his arrivals in hell were much more comfortable.

"What's with you?" Kenny finally asked, when the frosty silence endured longer than he anticipated.

Damien's face lost it's guardedness; vulnerable dark eyes looked at Kenny and Kenny gulped, unused to seeing the prince of hell so sad. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, but Kenny found he couldn't figure out what was wrong. Unnerved, the blond looked at his lap and gasped.

Kenny was translucent.

"What the hell's going on?"

"It's going to suck without you here," Damien griped.

"What do you mean? I'm always here," Kenny replied.

"Not after this one," Damien said.

Kenny's hand shook, his lips drawn together tightly as the possibilities crashed on his head.

"Not after this one?"

"Goodbye, Kenny," Damien smiled, albeit sadly, "Satan would've seen you off, but he's busy. He'll see you at his next party, though."

"Not after this one?" Kenny repeated, breaths short and uneven.

"I'll see you when it's time."

Suddenly, Kenny woke up to Bebe and Butters standing above him, mirroring worried looks. Overhead, the birds flew and they were beautiful…

And Kenny was no longer immortal.

"I'm alive." Kenny breathed, amazed.

"Kenny, are you okay?" Bebe asked frantically.

Butters frowned. "I can't believe we were able to revive you. Is everything all right?"

"I'm mortal," the blond replied.

Bebe and Butters looked at each other, expressions showing their confusion. Finally, understanding flashed across Butters' face and he smiled.

"Kenny can't come back anymore."

Eyes widening in realization, Bebe grinned down at the blond boy who lay sprawled on the street. "You're mortal like we're mortal, now? That means…"

Kenny's breath shuddered out of his lungs; useless muscle in his chest contracted, trying greedily to inhale what was just effused. Once, twice, until Kenny's chest finally expanded with air and Kenny's head became light with the possibilities.

"No more trucks hitting me. No more inadvertent deaths in the middle of swordfights. No more odd, crippling disabilities forcing me to kill myself; no more getting eaten; no more funerals; no more tombstones."

"No more death," Butters smiled. "Well, at least until you really die, anyway."

Suddenly, fear gripped Kenny's heart—colder than any of his deaths. "But I can't come back anymore if I die. If I died now, I'd die for good."

Bebe sat up, quickly unloading a few rounds of bullets onto oncoming fanatics still intent on getting Butters before she smiled down at Kenny. "But now you also get to live, Kenny. You don't have any excuse not to live to the fullest anymore."

"Now you have one life to live how you want and this life counts more than any of the other ones you've lost," Butters supplied, helping the other blond stand. "Now you get it."

Fear subsiding, Kenny smiled at his companions.

"Yeah. I get it, now."

"I've made my list!" Wendy cheered, sitting beside Eric on her bed. Her boyfriend laid back, his own list resting innocently on his broad chest.

"So, let's see what we've got," Eric replied lazily.

Wendy reached over and turned his list, glancing at the five messily written items. She grinned happily as she noted that three of his items matched three of hers.

"So, our middle ground universities are Harvard, Yale, and Brown."

"Brown is absolutely a last resort," Eric frowned.

"Of course," Wendy waved her hand absently. "No proper genius wants to go to Brown."

"So, Brown is our backup; have you already applied to Harvard and Yale?"

"No," Wendy scooted back, laying her head on Eric's chest. "I wanted to wait until Kyle applied so I would know what standard they would accept. If Kyle gets in, I'm guaranteed. Ever since we started studying together, we've been tied for Valedictorian."

Eric groaned. "Don't remind me."

Wendy and Kyle's study sessions—or study orgasms, as Eric referred to them—were the most boring two hours Eric had ever endured, only bested by the one time the boys had gone zip lining. At first, both Stan and Eric agreed that at least one of them should supervise their significant others to make sure the sheer intelligence in the room didn't somehow manifest itself into an anatomy lesson. But after two attempts to withstand the sheer dullness of the study sessions—not to mention the additional two hours spent cowering in a corner from Wendy's feminist wrath—Stan and Eric had mutually decided to trust their partners and to avidly avoid the "Study Room" at all costs.

It was still a point of frustration for Eric, though, who feared Kyle's influence on Wendy—something he dare not say to the brunette's face, unless he wanted another two-hour lecture on his inherent patriarchal tendencies.

Wendy smirked at him knowingly. "You know we barely talk during those sessions."

"Which is why I wonder what the point of it is."

Wendy shrugged. "We communicate in subspace."

"…Oh, my god, he's influenced you. He's got you reading Scott Pilgrim, isn't he?!" Eric cried.

A dark look settled on Wendy's face. "And what's wrong with that? Are you saying I wouldn't be interested of my volition and am only interested because Kyle said I should be?"

Eric, thankfully, knew when he'd put his steak-covered head in the lion's mouth.

"You know what? You're right. You can like anything you want and it has nothing to do with Kyle. So, about Harvard?"

Wendy smirked again. "I'll be getting in on my fantastic academic scores and impressive resume. You're not dumb, Eric, but you're also not the most dedicated student at school. How are you planning to get in?"

"Bribery and nepotism," Eric shrugged. "I have a few friends in high places."

Wendy gave him a side-long glance. "Mitch Conner?"

"Mitch Conner."

"Mitch Conner isn't even a real person, Eric."

"You tell that to my psychiatrist."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Why are you even still seeing him?" The brunette gave him a licentious leer. "Far as I know, your TMI is very impressive nowadays."

Eric grinned back easily. "Do you feel like measuring it again?"

"For the sake of science, I do believe I am obligated."

It was a particularly trying day for fifteen year old Stan Marsh; one that had him sitting at Kyle's kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey staring back at him innocuously. As Bebe and Kyle continued their "not-quiet-a-relationship," Bebe monopolized more of Kyle's time and Stan was steadily beginning to feel abandoned. Today in particular, Kyle seemed to forget that he and Stan were supposed to spend the night together at Stan's. When the end of the day rolled around, and Stan stood excitedly outside waiting for his best friend, Kyle strolled by with Bebe clinging to his arm.

He never even said bye.

Hoping that Kyle would still remember their arrangement, Stan had gone to Kyle's house, opened the door with the key that Kyle trusted him with, and searched for the Jew. The house was empty now; Kyle's parents and his little brother had just left, bidding Stan goodbye before taking off to a trip to Canada for the weekend so he and Kyle could spend some time together.

A thoroughly pointless thought.

"One little drink wouldn't hurt…" Stan mumbled to himself, white-knuckled hands gripping the table.

Stan jumped as the front door swung open; hurriedly, he put away the whiskey and whipped around, expecting to see Kyle's mother come back for something she forgot.

"Hey, dude!" Kyle pouted, walking through the doorway. "You didn't wait for me after school. I went to your house looking for you like an idiot. Figures you'd be waiting for me here like a creeper."

Stan frowned. "I didn't wait for you? Bebe was…"

"Don't get me started," Kyle groaned. "I told her I couldn't hang out with her tonight or for the weekend cause it was our time, and she told me that she thinks I like you better than I like her. When I told her that, yes, I do like you better, she dragged me out of the school to 'talk' about our relationship. I really like Bebe, but she's kind of…high maintenance."

Stan blinked. "So…you didn't ignore me?"

Kyle tilted his head, bemused. "Did I? If I did, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. You know I'd never do that if I could avoid it, right?"

Stan smiled shakily. "Y-Yeah…"

"You don't believe me!" Kyle gaped. He stormed over to Stan and smacked Stan's head; the brunet winced, but there wasn't much force behind the hit. "You asshole. Of course I'd never abandon you for Bebe. Even if she and I start going steady, you're my number one, right?"

The taller boy laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Yeah, of course. You're my number one, too."

"I better be," the Jew smirked. "Now about engorging ourselves on pizza. I prefer meat lovers, sans ham."

As Kyle strode out of the kitchen, talking about what they could spend the weekend doing, Stan glanced back at the whiskey cabinet. Apparently, Stan had lingered too long.

"Stan?" the boy in question jumped, turning to see that Kyle was right beside him now. "Why are you staring at the alcohol cabinet?"

Stan swallowed, gaze turning away ashamedly. The silence answered Kyle.

"I see…did you drink any?"

The brunet shook his head.

"Oh…then, I'm proud of you." Kyle smiled, hugging a shocked Stan gently. "I know it's hard and I'm honestly surprised you haven't relapsed once. I'm proud you were able to stop yourself."

"I-It wasn't me," Stan admitted quietly, "I heard you come in and hid it."

Kyle grinned, pulling away. "Then I'll just have to be there every time you feel like you're about to drink."

"That sounds like a big commitment for a guy with a girlfriend like yours," Stan sighed bitterly.

Kyle shrugged. "She'll have to get used to it if she wants to date me. You're my number one, Stan. Call me whenever you feel the need for a drink."

Stan nodded, smiling softly. "Thank you, Kyle."

"Now, let's go play some playstatio—"

"Kyle?"

Kyle paused, turning back to face a still immobile Stan. "Yeah, dude?"

"Why are you dating Bebe if she's high maintenance?"

The question seemed to confuse Kyle; it took several long moments before Kyle's mouth moved, only for the Jew to close his mouth again. Stan strained himself to watch every twitch in Kyle's face, hoping against hope that he would somehow be able to read an inkling of attraction on Kyle's face. Finally, Kyle made a sound of irritation.

"Aren't I supposed to?"

Stan started, bemused. "I…I don't know how to respond to that."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't the answer usually supposed to be, 'I like her' or 'She's hot' or something? You make it sound like you're forcing yourself to date her."

Kyle bit his lip. "Can we not talk about this, Stan?"

Stan wanted to insist that they needed to talk about it; he wanted to demand answers from Kyle. Why would Kyle date someone out of a…a sense of duty? If he didn't even think of her attractiveness as a reason to date her, then Bebe really had nothing to offer Kyle that Stan couldn't offer in spades. Why would Kyle think of dating Bebe before dating Stan? Stan fortified himself—maybe Kyle needed to know Stan was an option before Kyle could consider it. If Stan could just man up and tell Kyle how he felt—

Ping!

Whipping out his cellphone quickly, Stan glared mutinously at the text message he'd received.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.—Kenny'

"Who's that?" Kyle asked, frowning.

"It's Kenny."

'Do what?' Stan texted back.

"What does Kenny want?" Kyle asked, and Stan was surprised to note a touch of bitterness in Kyle's tone.

"Aw, are you jealous that I'm hanging out with Kenny more often?" Stan grinned gleefully.

'Tell him how you feel. You'll end up driving him away' was the reply.

"No," Kyle snorted. "I just don't want anybody interfering with what should be our time."

Stan rolled his eyes, "Whatever you say, Kyle."

"Put the phone away, then."

Stan laughed, complying easily. "Hey, you wanna play strip poker?"

Kyle let out a startled chuckle. "Why the hell would we do that?"

Stan shrugged and sent Kyle a coy look before going upstairs, confident that Kyle would follow. Even if he couldn't profess his love for Kyle, it wouldn't hurt to start dropping very obvious hints. Kenny was the wisest guy Stan knew, so it was probably best to follow his advice…with a few amendments.

"It's kind of hot, dude. We're gonna take our clothes off anyway. May as well have fun doing it," Stan defended.

The Jew snickered. "You're on, then. But you're gonna lose for sure. You can't win against Jews when money is involved."

As it figures, Stan lost pathetically to a visibly more embarrassed Kyle. As the night wore on and the pizza dwindled away, the unnatural heat of that spring night was excuse enough for Stan to strip naked and jump in Kyle's bed. After a few well-placed taunts, Kyle ended up stripping as well and joining the brunet. Hours later, when Bebe walked into the room and cursed a blue streak two miles wide at Kyle for cheating on her with Stan, the brunet really couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty.

But when Kyle's heartbroken and frightened green eyes begged Stan for help, there was now way Stan could refuse.

"Fine," Stan sighed the next day, discreetly eyeing Kyle's body for as long as he'd be able to, "I'll help you win her back."

"You're the best, Stan," Kyle smiled fondly.

"I know."

And for all of Stan's doubts about Kyle abandoning him; for all the time Kyle seemed to be spending with Bebe instead of Stan; for all the times Kenny would steer Stan away from telling Kyle what he really felt…

Well, Kyle never failed to show up whenever Stan needed a drink—whether or not Stan called him.

(1) If you don't already, I recommend reading the Oglaf comics. The inspiration for these lines came from the "Appeal to Heaven" strip.

Sorry this chapter is a bit short and a bit uninspired, but I need to get something out so I can get my mojo back. I'll probably come back to this chapter and change it later, but for now, I need to work through some stuff.