Stan got home rather late and was consumed by homework. He remembered how he had hoped he could take that afternoon to sort out his feelings, but his schedule got all mumbled up from following Kyle and homework. He ended up so tired, he could barely think straight while he changed into pajamas. When he woke up, he showered, threw on a red turtleneck sweater, some dyed out blue jeans and black army-like boots. He took his books and raced off to school after throwing his black pea-coat on. Classes were boring as ever, always allowing him to drift off into daydreams. At first he didn't know exactly who he was daydreaming of. Usually it was Kyle, but he had been trying to move Wendy there. Let her take over his mind like she used to…but now…he could hardly tell the difference. He slumped his chin in his palm as he blankly stared at the Global History teacher.

He tried to replace Kyle-related thoughts; replace them with Wendy. He tried to imagine what it would be like on their first time. He wasn't sure if he was staring straight when he imagined lying Wendy down on his bed and running his tongue over the peak of her breast; his brain, as if trying to tell him it hated him, replaced her with Kyle. His mind closed in on Kyle's tightly shut eyes, furiously red cheeks and partially parted lips; his mind echoed with the sound of Kyle's reluctant cross of a groan and whimper of pleasure. Stan gulped to himself before absentmindedly falling off his palm and letting his face slam right onto the table. He heard chuckling and giggling as he quickly picked his head up with a loud intake of breath. He tried to fix invisible stray hairs on his forehead as his teacher asked;

"Stan…are you okay?"

Stan was red of face, his mind still revisiting the alluring image. He probably looked like he was being treated intimately beneath the table right then; it disgusted even him how much pleasure he collected from those miniscule, momentary glimpses of sensual images. He shook his head negatively and replied,

"Nuh-yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Fine, I'm fine. I didn't mean like "no", I meant like "no, I'm fine" like…not…uhm…yeah, I'm fine."

Stan was not the most graceful with words, but that was possibly the most uncouth display of language he had ever uttered. How did Kyle do that to him? How was it that even when Kyle was far from him, that the mere thought of him drove Stan to this moronic state? Kyle didn't need to say anything, dress any certain way or touch him in any way; his existence alone sent Stan up the walls. He questioned that perhaps he was losing his mind to the other boy.

"Well…be careful." The teacher said cautiously; what else could he say, after all?

Stan raced off to lunch afterwards, gladly awaiting the sight of his Jewish friend scripting away at loose-leaf. He sat down beside Kenny; the blonde boy looked to him and smiled viciously. He inched over to Stan and asked, "Hey, you heard that Cartman asked Kyle out?"

Stan nodded, then Kenny added, "Good thing he turned him down."

"Why?" Stan asked on reflex

Kenny smirked again. Stan didn't know what to read from it. Kenny was either implying it was good because now Stan had a chance or it was good because now Kenny had a chance. He couldn't read it. He leaned a little closer and asked, "…do you…do you like Kyle too, Kenny?"

Kenny chuckled, cocking a brow before asking, "You scared of competition?"

Stan flustered; his chest flooding with envy again as he shot up out of his seat. He glared with shock writ across his face, "W-What?!?! You too!?!?"

Kenny smiled evilly again as Kyle sat down at the table. He was sitting beside Cartman again as he looked to them innocently and asked; "What are you guys fighting about?"

Stan couldn't believe it. Here he was, one table in the whole cafeteria, the whole town, the whole state, the whole world where all the boys had a secret desire burning in them. They all looked to Kyle Broflovski identically. Their bodies ached for Kyle's touch, their ears cried for his soft voice, and their hearts were all hungry for Kyle's. How? How did this happen? When? Why?

"We're not fighting about anything, Kyle, don't worry." Kenny responded sweetly

Kyle nodded and hummed in acceptance. Stan sat down again and looked to Kenny through the corner of is eye. He asked in a murmur covered by the volume of the cafeteria; "Kenny…don't you like girls, though?"

Kenny leaned in a little closer and told him, "I bounce either way."

"What?"

Kenny smiled, "Come on, Stan…we're all fucked up. We grew up in South Park."

Stan stared in wonderment; he broke out of the trance only when he heard Kyle's voice;

"Dude, can you hang out after school?"

Stan looked to Kyle; "…uhm…any particular reason?"

Stan didn't want to right out tell him that he just wanted to go home to sort out his sexuality. He didn't want Kyle to think he was troubled, he only wanted Kyle to be happy. It was Tuesday, meaning the next day they didn't have school; it would be Christmas eve, and the day after was Christmas, then it was Friday. He sighed; he had time. Kyle replied, "Nope…I just…I just had fun with you yesterday."

Stan blushed cutely as looked up to Kyle. Kyle appreciated it. He loved to see Stan being bashful and timid; it was unlike him. Stan stammered, "O-oh…well, then…then s-sure. I can chill."

Kyle smiled and told him, "I'm glad."

Stan looked away; why was he jealous? Competition? Wait, what? What was happening? Stan glared to his clutched fists…

I don't like Kyle. I'm not jealous…this isn't a competition including me. This is between Cartman and Kenny…not me…not me.

He looked to Kyle laughing at some joke Cartman made. He was so…so…infuriatingly perfect. His smile was almost corny in its straightness and pearl whiteness; his freckles were spread befittingly like sprinkled cinnamon. His curls were silky smooth under his always clean Ushanka; his body was strong, tall and carved to attract the desire of any living creature. His emerald eyes glowing as if mutated with evil, alien acid that bore holes into Stan's subconscious. Kyle Broflovski would surely be the end of him. But maybe…that was all he could ask of him.