Authors Note: Totally did not want to wait this long for an update, but hey, stuff happens you know? Stupid paying job. This chapter is pretty long though.

There's a few of you who review to EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER. I know who you are and I appreciate you very, very much. XD Lurkers, don't be shy.

Chapter Six- Overflow

It's almost completely dark outside, and I still haven't made it home from school.

Stan never walks with me anymore. He walks Wendy home first and hangs out for a while, like he used to do with me, and then goes home.

Wendy invites me along all the time, and I have bitten the bait a few times; once for cake and twice for cookies. Her mom is a diabetic, like me, and she's always baking stuff with that fake sugar to satisfy her sweet tooth. I had a good time, I have to admit. Wendy is really cool to hang out with, and they never made me feel like I was a third wheel. But the truth was I couldn't bear seeing all the little glances and touches they shared. I've gently declined every invitation since then.

Which is why I'm so late getting home, because I wanted to talk to Stan. Alone. The only way it was possible was to go to his house and wait for him to come back. I guess it would've made better sense to just call him later on, but I wanted to see him; wanted to see his eyes, his smile.

And most importantly, I had to somehow work up the guts to go along with the promise I made to Cartman.

I was so nervous about the possibility of actually lying to my best friend that I was already sweaty by the time I got there. I sat on his porch, chin in my palms and waited for what seemed like forever. I paced up and down the walkway like a caged tiger; then I was back on the porch. I repeated this as the sun started fading away, rehearsing line by line, over and over what I'd say to him. If I was lucky, and I hoped my Jew gold was, he'd simply listen to reason and not have sex with her. In fact, I was sure he'd listen to me. Why wouldn't he? I had faith in Stan and his faith in me. In the end, I wouldn't have to lie.

…Only he never showed up.

As the sky darkened to a deep green along the horizon, my excitement cooled along with my body temperature. Who was I kidding, anyway? I probably wouldn't even see Stan in the next week to talk to him about it, and by then it'd be too late. He wouldn't be a virgin anymore, and the thought of him doing that with Wendy repulsed me to the point of nausea. Even worse because I knew he'd tell me all about it; with graphic detail.

Sometimes being the best friend isn't such a sweet deal. At least not when you were feeling so crazed about him having a girlfriend and freaked out whenever they touched each other.

…So now I'm walking down the street, alone, like I've been finding myself a lot these days. I keep my head down, but as I pass the corner where the new fast food place is, the smell of burgers wafts around me, making my stomach rumble loudly. I pause, glancing inside the building through the clear, glass door.

My mom has a plate of food waiting for me at home. She always makes me eat, no matter how much trouble I'm in. Judging by the starkness of stars against the black sky, I'm in a deeper pile of shit than I'll ever manage to shovel myself out of.

I glance at my watch; Seven fifty-eight.

She is going to be pissed.

Reaching into my pocket, I fish around for change and come up with a handful of coins. The silver surfaces glint in in the artificial street light as I spread them over my palm with my thumb and quickly add up the sum. One dollar and thirty-five cents in quarters and a few dimes, plus the extra three bucks rolled up and stuffed into my back pocket. I take another breath of fast-food air, feeling my blood sugar drop another notch.

Well, fuck her. I don't care if she screams at me and I don't want her fucking kosher food anyway. We're American's for Christ's sake; I want a goddamn burger and some goddamn fries.

I shove the door open with more enforcement than required, disturbing the bell tied to the handle, and proudly order myself a burger, fries, and an extra large soda. I hesitate when the girl behind the counter asks me what kind I'd like, and stare at the colorful labels of each fountain drink that I've only gotten little sips of from Stan and Kenny.

Gaining independence from my overbearing mother is a beautiful thing, but putting myself in a diabetic coma is hardly what I'd consider a smart rebellion, even though I really, really want an ass-load of sugar right now.

…Fuck it.

I decide to take it to the extreme and order an extra thick milkshake instead.

My food is ready by the time I pay and she fills my cup with soft, creamy chocolate. I take it to the very back corner table, not feeling like being looked at by any of the other guests, or listening to them talk about their fucked-up day.

I only get half way through my french-fries before I hear someone shout my name over the low rumble of voices.

Glancing up, straw in my mouth, I recognize Kenny among the few strangers, making his way toward my table with a smile. Or what I can see of his smile, which is mostly just the way his eyes squint into the shape of orange slices. I wave him over and smile back, happy to see a friendly face.

"Where's your other half?" He asks, referring to Stan, and slides into seat across the table from me.

I shrug, stuffing another french-fry into my mouth. "Don't know. Don't care." I lie. "You?"

"On my way home from Butters' house." He eyes my food. "Could I…?"

Without another word, I slide the fries to the middle of the table. "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately."

"Butters?" His mouth is already stuffed full. He's really hungry again tonight.

I nod. "Yeah."

"Mmm," He acknowledges. "Best friends."

I frown, puzzled at the statement. "Since when? I thought Cartman was your best friend."

"You thought wrong." He points at my cup. I nod and let him pull that over to his side as well. "I don't know for how long. I guess since we clicked and started hanging out all the time, even without you guys there."

"What… makes you best friends?" I wonder, curious to know if it's the same reasons as me and Stan, or if there's something different there. "I mean, what makes Butters special?"

"He's so… honest, you know? He's into the same things I am. I just have a filthy mind about it and he has a pure one."

He pauses to suck on the straw, burping loudly after a few swallows. "It's like those cartoons, where they have a conscience, and one's a devil and one's an angel? Butters is the angel, and I'm… well…" He laughs, managing to pull another smile out of me.

"We're the perfect balance for each other. He keeps me out of too much trouble, and I keep his life from being incredibly dull."

I look out the window, seeing nothing there but my own reflection. "Must be nice."

"Mmm?" He grunts, mouth full again.

"Having a balance in your life." I clarify, blinking away from the reflective glass. "It must be nice."

"You off balance, Kyle?" He smiles at me, somehow amused by it. I shake my head sadly and stare down at my burger. I'm not hungry anymore.

"You have… no idea."

I can feel him look at me; actually look for the first time tonight. He stops chewing for a moment, then swallows and folds his hands against the table top.

"Kyle?" I glance up at him. "What's up?"

Kenny is someone I know I could probably tell anything to. I don't think he'd laugh; I don't think he'd be repulsed. He just might not get it.

I look back at my reflection, realizing that whenever I need someone all I get is myself. My best friend is gone. Maybe I need to start accepting that.

"You can tell me," He urges. "you know it'd never leave this table."

I open my mouth, wanting to talk, but not quite sure where to begin. There's so much I could say. But I realize… I don't want to. Part of me just wants to stew in my own self pity for a while, and the other part of me is fighting with itself, trying to convince me that breaking Stan and Wendy apart by any means is the best possible thing for all of us.

"I can't… can't tell you Kenny." He looks hurt, so I elaborate. "It's too confusing right now. I don't want to tell you about it and have it come out wrong. I don't want to give you the wrong impression about things because I haven't exactly figured it out."

"Isn't that the whole idea of talking to someone?" He asks. "To help you figure stuff out?"

I rub the side of my head, which has a swollen knot from the baseball earlier, and consider it. "I don't know, Kenny. I guess I just… don't feel like digging into it right now."

He nods, tapping the table twice with the flat of his hand. "Alright. If you need a friend, I'm your guy. For now I should get home. You coming?"

I shake my head and watch him slide out of the booth, then I look down at my food. I've only taken two bites of my burger, but whatever appetite I had is long gone. Besides, he needs it more than I do.

"Take this with you," I hold it out to him, making him freeze in place. His eyes collide with mine, flickering with appreciation. It makes my heart hurt to know offering partly eaten, cold food makes him happy. I want better for my friends than that.

"Thanks, Kyle." He takes it carefully, pausing to flash me another hidden smile, and I watch him until he slips out the door and darkness swallows him up.

Once again, I'm all alone.

The plain black clock on the wall clicks to 8:20 just as I look up at it. It's really getting late, but I still don't feel like going home. I wonder if Stan ever made it back.

I pull my abandon milkshake toward me and take a long drag on the straw, filling my mouth with thick, frozen chocolate. I mush it with my tongue before swallowing, savoring every grain of sugar I can.

God, this stuff kicks ass.

I suck the straw deeper and longer, feeling my stomach get cold as it fills with the frozen dessert, and I don't even care about the brain freeze this time.

A few more long drags and I press my hands to my temples as a sharp pain envelops my head. "…Oooow!"

…Or maybe I do.

"Kyle!"

I look up habitually, dropping my hands to the table. Stan maneuvers through various tables and chairs, making his way toward my booth. I hide a smile behind another sip of milkshake.

"Goddamnit," he mutters, shoving a stray chair out of his path and stepping over a kids meal toy someone abandon on the floor, then comes to a halt when a particularly overweight woman backs out of her seat right in front of him.

"S'cuse me," He recites, sounding terribly annoyed. My amusement increases another notch. He was raised with good manners, but sometimes he's polite in the rudest way, I swear.

After "excusing" himself, he practically pushes the women out of the way and stomps over to me.

"Hey, Stan." I smile, not at all put off by his mood and secretly hoping it's because of Wendy. After all, he's never mad at me.

In response, he slams a fist onto the table, eyes blazing into mine. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

…Of course, there's a first time for everything.

My smile pops with a blink. "Huh?"

"My parents told me they got a call from your mom, wondering if we'd seen you! No one knew where the hell you were and nobody's seen you since school let out, Kyle! I was worried out of my fucking mind!"

He is pissed; yelling, screaming at me, something he never, ever does. But I don't think he's letting lose, don't think it's as bad as it would be if we weren't in public. His hands are shaking, face red, and I know that he's holding back.

"Stan,"

"Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?!" He demands wildly, not even noticing all the people staring at us. "It's not like you to disappear! I checked everywhere! Even that goddamn tree house we built when we were kids! I couldn't fucking find you Kyle!"

"Stan?"

"-I've been looking for two goddamn, miserable, fucking hours!"

"Stan!!!" I grab his hand, breaking off his rant, making him look at me rather than through me. "I'm okay."

His eyes are wide, terrified. We stare at each other; me bewildered, him torn between anger, worry, and paranoia. I squeeze his hand.

"I'm alright." I say again, quieter.

Stan collapses into the booth, falling next to me rather than in the seat across the table. His shoulder's sag in relief and he rests his forehead in his hands.

"I thought something happened to you," He speaks softly now, raking fingers through his bangs and making them stick up everywhere. "I thought I lost my best friend."

"I'm sorry, Stan." He looks at me; deeply, wholly, and I wish that he'd never stop. I try to lock his gaze into mine so he can't pull his eyes away, thinking I can somehow entrance him.

"Where the hell have you been?" He breathes, sounding almost close to tears.

"…I was waiting on your porch until you got back. Only you never showed up."

"Dude, you knew I was with Wendy."

My eyebrows furrow. "Yeah, I did. And if you did anything besides ram your tongue down her throat, you would have found me on your porch a long ass time ago."

His eyes flash, but not with anger. With something I can't quite identify. "…I do more than just that."

"No, Stan, you really don't." I argue gently. He looks down, breaking eye contact; breaking my heart. "But we've already had that fight before." I shrug it off and shift restlessly in the booth, not wanting to fight with him any longer. "I have… something else I need to tell you."

"Yeah?" He's studying his hands, but he's not really seeing them.

"Something about…" I start, hesitating; wondering if I really, truly want to fuck things up for him. I look down at my shaking hands, swallow back dread, and decide for once that I don't want to let Cartman down. "… S-something about …Wendy."

His head jerks up at the name and he stares at me again. It makes me feel weird, this time because his expression changed.

"…Okay." He practically whispers, twisting his fingers together. I recognize this; Apprehension. Something is making him uneasy.

"We should start heading back. Get you home," He says. "You can tell me on the way."

Carefully, I study him, willing him to look at me again. But he doesn't. Something about him is off, but for now I let it go.

"…Kay."

He slides out of the booth, me following suit behind him, then grabs my milkshake.

"Don't forget your…" He pauses, frowning in puzzlement, and then shakes the cup like a bell. He can feel the thickness.

Uh oh…

The lid is pried off, revealing a tiny wasteland of frozen diabetic nightmare.

"…Milkshake?" He murmurs to himself. "KYLE!"

I flash him a huge, uncensored smile that tells him I know I've been a bad boy and I'm damn pleased with myself. He lets out a short, choked sigh of defeat and then shakes his head with a small laugh.

"Damn you." He playfully smacks his palm against my forehead to let me know it was a retarded thing I'd done, then takes a long drag on the straw.

"It's double thick." I inform him when he seems to be having difficulty slurping it up. I pull it toward me and suck it up with ease.

He blinks, watching my mouth with piqued interest. "…Damn, Kyle. It's too bad you're not a girl; you could put that talent to good use."

I pull the straw away from my mouth, feeling my heart thud beneath my ribs, and unconsciously wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "… On you?"

He smiles brilliantly, and I find I'm holding my breath in anticipation of the answer. But he only laughs and claps me on the back. "C'mon."

I toss the rest into the open trash can on the way out, and can't help but wonder what our relationship would be if I were a girl.

Stan avoids all conversation of Wendy throughout the walk home. I thought that's what I'd wanted all along, but all it does is raise my suspicion and I wonder why he isn't going on and on about her like he normally does.

Instead, he pulls out a pack of poppers that Kenny gave him earlier, and we snap them at each others shoes in a war that lasts less than two minutes. Once the laughter dies out, he talks to me about school and basketball, about Kenny and Butters and how entertained they keep each other, about the stars and all the weird thoughts that go through his head when he stares at them, and about how he's getting sick of football because everyone thinks he wants to go pro and how he'd rather saw off his own balls first.

Mostly I just listen, and it makes me feel like I'm at peace for once. All this attention, conversation, connection; it's so good I almost burst with happiness. I am still his best friend, and by the way he smiles at me, gives my shoulder little touches, I can tell that he's missed me, too. And that kind of almost makes up for it all.

But I haven't forgotten what I need to do. Once I have, it could be like this again. All the time.

When we get back to my house, he confronts my parents for me and makes up a story about how I went with him to study at Wendy's. He tells them that he promised me he'd call them right after he called his own parents to let them know where we were, and that it'd slipped his mind since we were studying so hard. He says that if they were mad at anyone, it should be at him.

My mom tells him how good of him it is to own up to his short-comings and insists he stay and have dinner with me, which was keeping warm in the oven.

"Stan?" I whisper over our bowls of rice and chicken, then glance toward the living room to make sure they're still absorbed in television. "Why'd you cover for me?"

"You're my best friend." His breath disturbs the steam rising from his plate, making it swirl toward me. "Besides, I owe you one for covering for me when I snuck out with Wendy a few weeks ago."

"Thanks, dude."

He switches the subject again, but I don't care, because right now it's just me and Stan laughing and eating, kicking at each other under the table like some sort of twisted, macho form of footsie. For a while, I'm able to forget all about Wendy, and sex, and how mixed up I've been. But it doesn't last.

We wash off our dishes and put them away, then climb the stairs to my room. I close the door behind him, and then another staring contest evolves.

"What did you want to tell me about Wendy?" He finally asks, dread snaking back into his voice.

"Is everything okay between you two?" I ask in return.

He swallows and nods. "Yeah. It is. It's just… kind of hard to talk about with you. Especially now that…" He trails off, picking invisible lint off his shirt.

I eye him up and down. "Especially now that what?"

A smile cuts across his face. A guilty smile. "Nothing, Ky. It's just hard because I know you feel like she replaced you."

"And she didn't?"

"No."

I'm glad he didn't even have to think about the answer to that, but I'm thrown off again by the intensity of those eyes, and the fact that he's hiding something. He's never been able to keep things from me very well.

I circle around him and peer out my window, letting it go because I know he'll eventually crack. He always does.

"I just wanted to tell you again how I feel about this; even though I know you don't want to hear it. Sex is a big thing, Stan. I know that sounds gay, but it's true. We've learned the hard way too many times that following what everyone else is doing because it's cool is just plain retarded."

"That's not the reason, Kyle."

I frown, feeling that pain in my stomach again. He's not suppose to argue about it. He's suppose to agree. Cartman told me to scare him, and maybe I'm going to have to. I turn to face him.

"And what about STD's? Syphilis, herpes, AIDS?" I fire at him, waving my hands dramatically in the air.

"This is Wendy, okay? Not an infected whore." He answers coolly, and I can tell he's trying not to get offended on her behalf.

"It doesn't matter!" I wail. "How do you know she hasn't been with anyone else?"

"Because I trust her. Because she's honest with me even when it hurts." He rubs his arm and looks at the carpet.

"Stan! That's stupid!" I shout at him. "Even if she is clean, what about babies?!"

"Babies?" He cocks his head slightly to one side.

"Yeah, babies! That's what sex is! The recipe to make a baby!"

"… Dude, sick."

I sigh angrily, rubbing again at the knot on my head. It really hurts.

"Look," He murmurs, coming to stand beside me. "I know you're worried about me, and I'm really, really glad you care about me that much. But I'll be alright. I'm not stupid and I know how to use protection."

"That doesn't always work." I cross my arms, flashing my eyes heavenward.

"What is the real reason you're so upset about this?"

I feel my anger waver a bit, desperateness trying to water it down, but I fight and get it back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do." He grabs my arm before I can turn away again and forces me to face him. "You don't care if I have sex, Kyle, you care if I have sex with Wendy."

The words almost make me lose my balance. It's not suppose to go like this; Stan isn't suppose to have the upper hand in this conversation. I've got to gain back control. And since he's not cooperating with Plan A, He leaves me no choice.

"You know what, Stan? You're right. I don't want you to have sex with Wendy." There's a relief that washes over me, and I realize actually saying it, that's it's true. It's not that I didn't want him having sex. I just didn't want him doing it with Wendy. But I wonder; if it were anyone else, would I be okay with it? Who would I be okay with him touching, and really, why did it matter so much to me?

Stan chokes for words, tripping over his tongue and finally comes out with, "Why?"

I turn away again, anger gone, and stare down at my shoes.

Just say it. I coach myself. Tell him you caught her blowing Craig.

"Kyle?"

I ball my fists and squeeze my eyes, trying to muster up the courage to do this. My palms are perspiring. It's now or never. I spin toward him, reopening my eyes. He looks scared, worried.

"I… saw Wendy…" I manage to get out.

He lowers his chin a little to his chest, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, silently telling me to continue.

My knees start to tremble. "When you were out last week," I swallow back a lump of sick. "I saw Wendy with… I…I" His mouth is formed in a tiny frown, and there's a worry line etched between his brows. He looks… so scared. "I can't do this."

My knees give out and I crumple to my bed. The pressure in my chest releases, and suddenly I can breathe again.

"What the hell is going on?" Stan questions.

I sigh, deciding to come completely clean with him. "Stan, I… was going to lie to you about her. About Wendy."

"Lie to me?"

I'm too much of a coward to look at him right now, so I don't. "Yeah. I had this- this plan with Cartman."

"Cartman?!"

"Please, Stan, I need to say this. I have to confess."

He glares at me. "What were you going to lie to me about, Kyle?!"

Nervously, I rub at my arm, but now that my eyes have manage to find his face, I hold it there. "I was suppose to talk you or even scare you out of screwing around with Wendy. And when that didn't work, I had to move to plan B."

"To lie to me." He fills in, scoffing bitterly at my nod. "What, Kyle? What the hell kind of shit were you going to fill my head with?"

I release a long sigh. "I was going to tell you… that I saw Wendy giving Craig a… blowjob behind the school."

What I expected was for him to scream at me, punch me, slam out of the room, and probably even all three. Instead, he stands, silently taking this in, his expression unreadable behind a mask of hard-set lines.

"You have feelings for Wendy, don't you?"

"What? No!" I yelp. "Stan, no. I do not want Wendy. I do not like Wendy. Fuck, dude, I'm not even attracted to her physically! Cartman is!"

"And you expect me to believe you'd go through all this for fatass? Oh, because you're such great friends, right?"

"It's more complicated than that." I try to explain, but he isn't hearing any of it.

"I can't believe you, Kyle! You're suppose to be my best friend!"

"I am your best friend!"

"Then why would you lie to me about something like that? Why would you lie to me at all?!"

"Because I can't fucking stand it anymore!" I confess on exploding emotions. I spring from the bed and pace madly around the room. "You're always with her all the time. You're always touching and kissing and telling her how fricken wonderful she is all the time! The jealousy is tearing me apart and I can't take it anymore!"

I feel better. Better in the way of relief for coming clean and confessing it all, but not better at all about the situation. There's a foreshadowing dread hanging thick in the air and I'm going to suffocate on it.

"But I couldn't do it, Stan." I plea, unable to take much more of his silence. "I couldn't ever lie to you. I don't even know why I tried, I'm just… I've just been so fucked up lately!"

"Dude, Kyle, it's okay."

"No it isn't! It isn't okay!" I deny. "I don't even know who I am anymore!"

Warm arms wrap around me, pulling me close. So fucking close. He hugs me tight, but pulls back right away. He doesn't want to seem gay.

"It's okay." He promises me, clutching both my shoulders. "I haven't been there for you lately. Part of this is my fault. There's so much pressure right now with tests coming up and all these retarded sports our parents make us do. You've needed someone to talk to and I haven't been there like I should. I'm sorry, dude."

I blink at him, confused again. There's so many emotions swirling through me, and I'm too tired to sort them out.

"Lets just forget this ever happened." He continues. "You don't need to be jealous, Kyle. Lots of girls would go out with you."

Lots of girls…

My head spins. Girls? I wasn't jealous that he had a girlfriend and I didn't. I was jealous that he had a girlfriend and… what? That I wasn't it? That was crazy.

"You know what would be fun?" He smiles at me, but I only stare, dumbly, in response. "We could go on a double date."

"A double date?" I raise a skeptical eyebrow. "With who? Not with Bebe?"

"No, not with Bebe." He puts a finger to his lips, pondering. "I'm sure Wendy could think of someone. Look, I wanted to talk to you about that anyway. Wendy has tickets to the new theme park in Denver and she really wants you to go."

"Why?"

"I don't know. She likes hanging out with you. What's wrong with that?"

I kick bitterly at the floor. "Nothing, I guess."

"Go out on a double date with us. If you have a good time, the four of us can use the tickets. It'll be cool."

I don't want to go out on a double date. And I couldn't give two shits about having a girlfriend. I was trying to get something out, trying to make sense of it, and he doesn't get what it was. I don't either. Not exactly. But I do know that getting involved with some girl isn't going to make me feel any better.

"Please?" He begs, and I already know I'm going to give in.

"Goddamnit." I sigh. "Fine, but it'd better not be Bebe."

"It won't." He promises, smile so wide it's practically sticking out of his face. "I'll have the details tomorrow."

"Alright, whatever."

"You'll thank me for this." He swears on the way out.

I slam the door behind him.

Just fucking great. The last thing I need is to add another person into the equation to get mixed up about.

Frustrated, I march to my bed and yank a magazine out of my pillowcase; the one Kenny left here three days ago. The insides are littered with pages and pages of colored images of naked women, all in provocative positions. I'm going to get Stan off my mind if it's the last thing I do.

I flip through, greedily taking in every picture until I find one that seems particularly stimulating. I spread it out on the bed and unzip my pants.

The image easily arouses me, I'm glad to say, and am soon engaged in my own perverse thoughts. The only problem is the way I have to force my thoughts to stay on the picture. When I close my eyes, they wander again to the way it felt the first time I'd been touched.

By Stan.

When I think about it, I've never actually thought of Stan, only of the sensations he created in me. It was the fact that I'd had an amazing hand job that got me off. Not the person who'd done it.

Wasn't it?

I pull a picture off my nightstand; Stan and me, arms around each other. Maybe it's time to figure this out better. Maybe it's time to put this question I've been avoiding to rest.

My hands keep up their rhythm, buried inside my open pants, and I take in the image of Stan. His face, his hair, his mouth. I scan down his body, pause on the fly of his pants. The bulge in my own becomes uncomfortably tight, so I pull the confining material away and continue massaging.

Looking back at the image, I picture him turning toward me in the picture, locking his lips against mine. His hand sides across my thighs and then up, teasingly, playfully.

I gasp loudly as the pleasure I'm feeling increases. My free hand moves to the picture, and I run my finger over his body, then close my eyes and replay his strip dance and the way my hands looked sliding down his torso.

A moan escapes my throat, and then one gasping breath after another as I feel myself overflow down and around my fist.

It takes a few moments before I can open my eyes. Panting heavily, I look at my hand, still enclosed around myself, and then down at the picture of me and Stan, which is covering the magazine I was suppose to be looking at. My question had been answered, and there was no way to argue it any longer.

My eyebrows furrow.

"Dammit!"

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TO BE CONTINUED...

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