Stan sighed as his alarm clock went off. He turned over and slung his arm over the top button, shutting it off. He opened one tired eye and groaned. Today was the day. The day he forgets all about Kyle Broflovski and all the trouble he's caused. The day he opens his heart up to Wendy Testaburger once again. The day he stops smiling stupidly every time he thinks of Kyle, the day he stops having filthy dreams of Kyle, the day he stops caring too much about Kyle…today was the first day of the rest of his life.

He rose out of bed, gliding past his drawers and open door, into the bathroom down the hall. Today was the day. The blessed day that would conclude all of his confusing emotions; the day that his existence did not center around Kyle Broflovski's happiness. As he gallantly trotted into the shower he was overwhelmed with pride for his newfound resolve. Nothing would get in the way of him and his Wendy again. When he thought of Wendy, though, that boy…that stupid boy came to mind. No, Stan scolded himself, no he was done with that nonsense. He washed his hair and laughed bitterly when he felt his emo-flip; remembering Kyle's small jokes.

He left the stall and dressed in his room. He wore a red turtle neck sweater that hugged his entire torso, nearly outlining each and every athletically chiseled muscle. It folded a little as his hips, showing a little heavy on his shoulders. It met with the rim of his somewhat tight, dark blue, ripped jeans. They hugged his bottom and thighs then fanned out a little in a bell-bottoms fashion. They were torn and tattered at the bottoms which met his ankles, but the battered look to it fit in with the rips in other places. That lowered down onto his high-top converse shoes with red-black-white plaid designs. He dried his hair and stared at himself in the mirror of his room. He stared for a long while, he thought he may be glaring.

He did not know where his smile had gone, but he was glad it wasn't there. He didn't want to see it right now. He didn't know why. He just gazed at himself. There was no silken hair misplaced, there was no missing glint in his eye, there was no crease or spot of dirt on him. He was glowing with perfection. His somewhat pale features were illuminating and his serious expression was radiating in his eyes. He stared trying to imagine himself meeting Wendy, her not having to say a word of her love for him. He would just take her in his arms and kiss her all the while. He wouldn't think of Kyle, he wouldn't replace the image of her with him and he certainly wouldn't prefer Kyle over Wendy. He was done with confusion and dread and stupidity. He was done with uncertainty and wavering, he was finished with daydreams and repetitive thoughts of Kyle. He was finished and that should make him smile. But it didn't.

He closed his eyes and tried to paint the picture of Wendy kissing him in his mind. He stopped when he realized that it was unsettling his stomach; and not in the good way it used to. It made him sickish to think of her romantically. It brought back that wavering and uncertainty he had just so rightfully sent his declination. His eyes began to wet with tears again, but to calm the frustrated beat of his heart he imagined Kyle. He was standing before Kyle out in the snow and everyone they've ever known was there, watching in a grand circle around them. Kyle looked innocent and cutely confused as he always did when Stan got too close. Stan was about chest to chest with him, looking down on the red head whom had removed his Ushanka.

Stan smiled as he leaned in a little closer, bringing his hands up to the sides of Kyle's jaw. The tips of his fingers dug into the tight, silky curls and gently gripped Kyle, ensuring that he wouldn't try to escape. He was pleased to find that Kyle showed no intention of trying to leave. Stan's face grew closer Kyle's as he brought himself further down, pulling Kyle to his. Their eyes were low and although Kyle's eyes shined with confusion and something akin to fear he did not stop Stan from pressing their lips together. Kyle's hands slowly brought their way up to Stan's neck; fitting his thumb before Stan's ear and setting his fingers into Stan's hair. The cold winter air was whipping around them, but with all of the people that ever mattered to them looked unto them, they didn't feel cold at all.

Stan opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror again. He sighed a shaky sigh and shook away all of those far-fetched expectations as he rose and left the room. He was walking out the door, headed to the bus as he muttered to himself, "Today's the day."

The day to forget Kyle. The day to accept Wendy. The day welcome Ms. Testaburger and no one else, the day to retrieve tender care from the Juliet of his dreams, the day to love Wendy and only Wendy. The day to leave Kyle behind. The day to leave it all behind.

Kyle sighed as he heard his brother wake screaming at three in the morning. Kyle knew he wouldn't fall back asleep so he rose out of bed and sat at the foot. His bloody curls fell over his forehead and hung in front of his eyes. They were loose and tired as were the strings in his heart. He had come running home last morning only to find some greater power forcing him to realize he was in love with his best friend. He looked to his bureau across the room to the outfit he had set out for himself last night. It was a dark green sweater-vest with a printed symbol "SPHS" on it; translating into "South Park High School". The sweater-vest of which the hems were light orange fitted him tightly, as did the collared light orange shirt that went beneath it. He wore taut tan pants and dark green-black converse. He hated the high-tops, though, so he never bought any.

The outfit reminded him of being far away. That outfit was only an addition to the list of things that would hopefully get him a scholarship. He had to look official and responsible and straight with a wonderful sense of fashion. That is much harder than one would imagine, so he convinced himself that his mother picked it out for him, though his mother had no color-coordination skills whatsoever. He sighed. Being far away was scary. He thought of Stanley Marsh; that always calmed his racing thoughts and worries. Remembering all the times Stanley laughed and smiled and joked and ran and sweat. It was all enough to make Kyle happy; to just know Stanley was there and alive.

"I want her back…"

Stan's voice echoed in the caves of Kyle's mind. He knew it always would. His voice provided him a beautiful symphony of sounds and images. He wanted to cry, though. He did not want Kyle. He wanted Wendy and that was all Kyle knew to be real in the world. Kyle envied Wendy, he knew it was true only to himself. He would never admit it to another soul. Never. Not even Stanley Marsh. That shocked him the most. Day after day, bus ride after bus ride, sleep-over after sleep-over he had slowly fallen in love with him. Each moment passing he had loved him more deeply and more deeply yet, moments passing even then told him that the clock was not counting minutes, but counting the infinite moments of profound, tender emotion which was conclusively the product of one boy's existence. What was shocking was not how strongly he felt for Stan, but the fact that he felt so strongly and would never tell him. That his heart bled for him, but he would never speak a word of it, so scared of the rejection of society, of his mother, of his father, of his brother and worst of all…the rejection of Stan. Today was the day, Kyle reminded himself. Today was the day that Stan was getting back together with Wendy.

It was going to be a glorious day for Stan, one to be remembered. Kyle shut his eyes, trying to hinder the tears that begged to fall down his face. His fists were balled against his knees in aggravated sadness. He couldn't stop that. He couldn't take Stan for himself. He couldn't take Stan away from Wendy, he couldn't take Stan's pride and joy from him…it wasn't his place. He gasped as his eyes opened, the tears finally falling. Wasn't his place? No. It wasn't his place to love. It wasn't his place to love Stan. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He rose out of bed and showered and dressed. He cared privately for each curl, ensuring that he would look dashing and breath-taking all this coming afternoon. He was walking out the door. Thinking only of how fathomlessly he was in love, and how he would never speak of it.

As he walked the necklace with the star of David that he had wrapped around his forearm dangled quietly. His other wrist held a Livestrong bracelet; the yellow one, Kyle was a sucker for originals. Kyle was only a few feet away from the bus stop when he saw Stan standing a few feet away from the sign. Their eyes met just as the wind went by, lifting Kyle's silky curls and convincing Stan that the blush across Kyle's face was due to the cold weather. Today was the day.