Kyle entered the kitchen; it was already around noon. He was ashamed at how he had let the whole day practically waste away just so he could sulk at how confused he had been. He sighed but his breath got caught up in his throat when he spotted Stan sitting at the kitchen table. Their eyes met for the first time since they had kissed; it was so uncomfortable Kyle was quite sure that he had come downstairs completely naked. He blushed and walked towards Stan, and went to make a sharp turn towards the cupboards, but Stan grabbed his wrist before Kyle could rush by him. Kyle looked to Stan with wide eyes; he was terrified again…terrified that Stan would kiss him again. Stan did not look at him, though, his charcoal hair painting a dark shadow over his eyes as he looked down to the floor.

Kyle's eyes were low and sympathetic, although Stan would not know. Kyle could clearly see Stan was upset, and Kyle wasn't about to ask why. Before Kyle could object to Stan's grip tightening around his thin wrist Stan told him in a murmur, "Just…forget what happened."

Kyle was taken aback by this. What just happened? He was gone for…an hour? Hour and a half and suddenly Kyle has to erase the curiously fond memory of Stan kissing him? Kyle began to ask, "…wh—"

Stan interrupted, though, "Just…let's act like it didn't happen. Then everything can be the same as before, right?"

Kyle's unbalanced mood was washed away and replaced with a deep sadness. Why was he sad though? He…he didn't know. He replied, "I…I guess…are you—"

"Good. I'm glad." Stan muttered as he let go of Kyle's wrist

Kyle was extremely concerned now as Stan rose, his face still not completely revealed to Kyle. Kyle went out to reach for Stan, but Stan immediately turned to him with the fakest smile and tears being held back as he added, "I'm really glad. So…what are you making for me? Heh, you know I can't cook, so I've kinda been waiting for you. Do you want me to shower first or something? Or did you use up the hot water?"

Kyle was grossed out by the plastic, humored sound of Stan's voice. Kyle played along, though. He figured it would only pain Stan further to press him with questions he clearly did not want to answer. Kyle told him, "Uh…no problem, dude. You can shower first, there should still be hot water…then you can take one of my sweaters and jeans or something if you want."

Stan's mind suddenly flooded with images of snooping around Kyle's boxers and what they usually contained. He shook his head, as if hoping that the thoughts would fall to the floor. He turned away, quickly running far from the Jew and all of the trouble he was causing Stan before calling to him, "Thanks, I will then!"

Stan knew Kyle didn't know. Didn't know the harsh treatment Kyle put him through. He knew it wasn't Kyle's fault that Kyle was so graceful, so honest, true and perfect. He knew it wasn't Kyle's fault that he made for a perfect companion. That was all he could ask of Kyle, though. That was all he wanted. It was all he could want from Kyle. He could never ask for anything more. Because if he asked for more he would lose everything he had. And Stan was scared of being alone, he was scared of having to walk this Earth completely on his own. He knew no matter if Wendy Testaburger walked by him, if his parents held to his shoulders as he strode, if all of America dubbed him the most loved above all others he would still feel completely alone if Kyle wasn't there. And he couldn't stand that.

Kyle stood where Stan left him. Kyle wondered what the Hell had just happened. Stan was upset. That meant Kyle was too. Kyle rubbed his temples as he let escape a gasp that helped hold back tears. Kyle was not a quick-crier…in fact, the last time he cried was when he was tricked into believing Stan was dead in the sixth grade. It seemed like such a long time ago. He stared at nothing, just wondered why Stan's eyes were filled with tears. He wondered what he had done wrong. What he did to deserve this. He didn't know and he assumed he never would. Had he just lost him? Was that the only warning? There were no second chances? Stan could barely look Kyle in the eyes, ran away from him, had to hide his real emotions…he had really lost him. Kyle's eyes flooded with tears as his hands sprung from their position on his head. He ran to the stairs but when he was about to call out Stan's name desperately, he realized he was too scared to call him back. Too scared to see how much Stan had changed in the hour and a half Kyle had been gone.

Kyle's eyes shined like gold, highlighted by the thick tears that begged to fall onto his cheeks. He could only look up the stairs, refusing his tongue and throat to interact and call out to Stan. His legs wanted to run up the stairs and barge through the door and take Stan in his arms no matter how decent he was. He didn't want to lose Stan…not like this, not for some stupid…no. That kiss wasn't stupid. And Kyle knew he wouldn't forget it. And he knew Stan wouldn't either. Kyle remembered how soft Stan felt against him, their hands blanketed in each other's hair, their chests pressed against each other so closely that they could feel each other's hearts racing and bumping against them. He tried to memorize the feeling of Stan's kiss traveling past his lips and treating him in a way he had never known before. He realized he had never been so close to a human body. Sure, he had hugged his parents, he had kissed the cheeks of relatives and he had fallen asleep next to Stan, but…this was different.

It felt like it was the first time he had ever felt connected to anything. It felt as if his heart had been witness it would have guided him by saying, "That's right." He felt now as if he couldn't even shake the hand of Stan without implying something incorrectly. He didn't want Stan. Not like that. He would never doubt that. He would never question that. He didn't love Stan in that way. So there was nothing to fear. There was nothing to doubt. No matter how hard his heart pushed for him to scream and cry desperately for his best friend to return to him, he wouldn't give in. He would stand tall with dignity until the surely bittersweet end he knew this situation would meet. Bittersweet because Kyle knew that it could only end two ways. One way, they would grow to be comfortable with each other again, but they would never be as they were. Each silence would be an awkward one, they would never be able to share secrets…their relationship would be forever changed. The second way, though, was worse; much worse. The second way, they would never grow to be comfortable again and these next three days would be their last together.

Kyle gripped the railing so tightly his knuckles shown white, but he soon let the tension die in his muscles. He still refused to let fall any tears as he silently promised himself that he would let Stanley Marsh go.

The next days were filled with uncomfortable silences, and each hour felt to the both of them as if they were slowly been torn further and further apart. There was very little talking, for if they spoke they would awkwardly overlap each other or accidentally interrupt. This was one of the little details that upset Kyle the most; they had lost their natural rhythm. Kyle wished over and over, inwardly of course, that he could look at Stan. Stare Stan in the eyes with pride and humor so they could be strong again. But every time he tried, Stan would return his gaze and Kyle would drop his eyes. He didn't know why; he felt shattered whenever his former best friend would look to him. Look to him as if it were his fault, look to him as if he were in pain and Kyle was the only one who could save him. Kyle was the only one who could help, but it still wouldn't have been enough. This pained Kyle to no end.

Stan tried to replace images of Kyle in his mind's eyes with Wendy, but it only hurt to try and have someone take his place. Stan found some odd comfort, though, in the fact that Incubus was right; love did hurt. Stan soon learned that Kyle was quite frightened to look him in the eyes and when the day came that the soot-like fog passed and sunlight entered through the windows, revealing two feet of snow Stan had a feeling it was his last chance to say good-bye. Stan's parents were home, although they couldn't pick him up. He was going to walk home; he knew it would be no trouble normally, but now, with his heart heavy as stone, his lungs useless and his mind distracted with thoughts of Kyle Broflovski, it could be the hardest, longest travel he'd ever taken home. Both him and Kyle stood in front of the door, Stan's hand gripped the knob tightly before turning it.

His brain reminded him that this was probably the last time he would face Kyle again. He knew he was causing Kyle pain with his simple presence. He never wanted to mean pain to Kyle. Never. He only wanted Kyle to be happy. So he turned around and with a more well-acted smile he uttered, "Thank you, Kyle."

Those three words were all he could think of to say. He would've liked to have elaborated, but his words would hit Kyle and pain him further. The less he said, the better; the shorter the awkward silences, and the shorter awkward good-bye. Kyle replied softly, "Don't mention it, Stan."

There were no more "dude"s or colorful, joking insults. That would be too informal from where they stood now. Because although there were no more than two feet apart, they were two million light years away from one another. Their expressions were well painted and would probably fool anyone on the streets, but they could both tell that each other was in intense pain. But they needed to save each other. Kyle needed to rid himself from Stan to save Stan from doubt and confusion, and Stan needed to leave Kyle to free him from worry and despair. This was all they could do for each other. This was all they could ever ask of each other. And they both knew this was their unhappy ending. Stan turned on an angle a little before murmuring, "Well…thanks, again…I'll see you at school."

They both knew that they wouldn't speak in school, but nevertheless Kyle replied, "Yeah. Bye."