Authors Note: Hurray! I'm so sorry for the crappy ass delay in getting this chapter out. There have just been SO MANY THINGS happening lately. But guess what? Here it is! And… it's full length chapter size and not short like my last two. Heh.

Fuck, I hope you guys like it. A few of you seemed less then thrilled with the last installment… so here's hoping I've somehow got my kick back.

XD ?

Chapter 18- Butterflies

Kenny kidnaps me after school, swooping me right out from under Stan's passion-fired anger and promising him that he can have me back right after a few "romps in the hay". Butters gives him a disapproving frown, but he smiles warmly at Stan and claps him on the back.

"Come on, Stan." He says, guiding him off school premises. "Boy, do we got a lot of- lot of ground ta cover. Let's talk, buddy."

Kenny watches me as they go, his eyes dark. "Yes." He mutters. "Let's."

I try to give a sidelong glance toward Stan's retreating back, but Kenny slings his arm around me and pulls me in the opposite direction, toward the park. I know already that I'm not about to enjoy myself. Kenny may be the friend who loves a good time at any cost, who can make anything into a sexual innuendo, but he's also got the firmest hand when it comes to serious situations. He's a no-bullshitter when the welfare of his friends is at stake, even if it's the friends themselves he's got to bitch slap.

He prolongs the wait for the inevitable lecture with small talk; the kind reserved for grandmothers and great aunts at family things. How've you been? How's school? How's Ike? …until I finally explode.

"What is this Kenny, some sort of Jewish death-march? Nazism is illegal, you know!"

"Relax," he snickers, pointing at a large, grassy hill near the back of the park. "We're going right up there." He smiles, shaking his head as he starts up it. "Such a firecracker."

"What?" I snarl, trudging after him. "I heard that!"

"Yeah, yeah. Fucking relax, I said." He pulls me down beside him once we get to the top, and we lay on our backs, our heads next to each other and our legs pointing in opposite directions.

"You're not smoking." I realize after a moment, and I can sense his smile beside me.

"Nope."

"When did that happen?" I wonder.

"The cigarette you fed to the squirrel the day we went ice-skating is the last one I tried to smoke." He sounds thoroughly pleased with himself, and with good reason. I'm proud of him, too.

"Wow," I murmur, blinking up at the sky. "That's great, Kenny."

"You don't sound especially thrilled about it."

I ponder this, picking at the grass under me. "It just makes me realize how little we actually hang out anymore. It's kind of sucky."

"Kind of?" He teases, reaching up to pull my hair. I yelp like a retard and grab at it. "It's okay, Kyle. I miss you and Stan, too. But you've had your issues lately and it was in everyone's best interest to stay out of it. Now that Stan's decided to join the land of the living, I hope things can go back to normal."

I hope so, too, but I don't say it for some reason. We're quiet as we listen to the breeze and watch the clouds float slowly across the sky, then start up a game of calling out what we see in them.

"A bunny." I'm the first to point one out.

"Boobies." He counters.

"Clover."

"Weiner."

"Heart."

"… That's not a heart, Kyle. That's an ass." He states, poking his finger into the air and tracing the shape. "An ass in really tight pants."

"Goddamnit, Kenny." I hiss, but I'm laughing. He turns his head toward me, smiling, and I look back at him.

"It's good to hear a smile in your voice again. I don't think you realize it, but you've been gone just like Stan. I've missed you."

I watch his face, waiting for the joke, the perverted remark; but he looks so serious, so caring. I look back up toward the sky, taking in the sea of infinite blue, and then I close my eyes…

And breathe.

"You gonna tell me about it?" Kenny asks carefully, his voice tame and tranquil, like I'm some sort of highly breakable china-doll that will crumble if the wrong pitch hits the air, and I wonder if I've really gotten that bad.

"About what?" I ask, my eyes still closed, still breathing. It feels good to stretch my lungs, like I haven't used them in years.

"About you and Mr. Marsh." He's still looking at me, I can feel it. "I plan on talking to him next, so if you don't fill me in, he will."

Fuck you, I think, and regret it. Kenny is only trying to help. So I open my eyes, taking in the sky, the blue, the bunny shaped clouds.

"He says he wants me." I say simply. Kenny doesn't so much as blink. I look at him, and he stares back, not surprised in the least. I blink back up to the clouds, slipping my hands, cold from picking at the damp grass, behind my head. "He tried to kiss me, but I told him I didn't have any feelings for him."

"So your feelings changed." He muses, drawing all the wrong conclusions. I shake my head.

"No, they didn't change. I lied to him."

There's silence. I can feel Kenny's breath still beside me; I feel him freeze, then suddenly…

"What!"

I sort of expected that, but I still flinch a little at his tone. "I told him I didn't have any feelings for him." I repeat. "You know. Like that. And it was a lie. You know just as well as me how damn much I want him."

I hear Kenny choke for words, a series of strangled noises issuing from his throat before he pushes himself up and turns on me.

"What the fuck, Kyle!" He shrieks. I look up at him, squinting against the sun. His hair is practically glowing in the light. "He said he wants you, and you told him you don't? He tried to kiss you and you said no! Kyle, what the bloody fucking hell is wrong with you! Are you brain dead or just plain retarded?"

"Hey!" I yell in my own defense, scrambling to sit up. I poke my finger into his chest, grinding the tip into his skin. "You, Kenny, you are the one who watched me like a fucking serial stalking hawk, warning me at random moments to keep my hands to myself! You are the one who told me not to screw my friendship up with Stan by giving in to temptation! I'm only taking your advice! Now I'm the retard! What does that make you!"

"Practical!" He spits, his tone a dead-ringer of 'WELL, DUH!'. He grabs my hand, yanking my finger out of his ribs. "Kyle, you're stupid!"

My face twists in complete outrage, my teeth bared in a ferocious snarl. His insults hurt, and I hate him. "Stop calling me fucking stupid, Kenny!"

"Okay!" He says urgently, holding his hands out in front of him. "Okay, but Stan is giving himself to you! And you're not taking! For the love of Pete, Kyle, why aren't you taking?"

"I already told you." I murmur, looking down at the grass, watching it dance in the breeze. Sadness washes over me suddenly, making me feel helpless. I hate fucking feeling helpless.

"You know what, Kyle? You always do this to yourself." He accuses, pity and exasperation rocking his voice. "You over goddamn think all the time and it gets in the way of common sense. You find a way to make everything so fucking complicated when it's really very simple."

"It's not simple." I argue.

"It is." He counters.

"And how do you figure that?" I demand, but all the bark is out of my voice. "Things could get really weird if it turns out this isn't right for us."

He's already shaking his head. "If you would have tried to molest your very straight, very girl crazy best friend, that could have gotten really weird; but that isn't the case here." He crosses his legs Indian style and hold his hands out, as if presenting some sort of object. "He read all the signs from you and decided he wants it, too. This is not the same thing as one gay friend lusting after and trying to push a relationship on a straight one. This is two best friends who feel a lot more than friendship for each other and want- and need more."

I fold my knees up to my chest, staring off somewhere in the distance, thinking it through, and I realize I am trying to find a problem. It isn't because I want a reason for it to not work; but because I want it to work so badly, I'm afraid I'm overlooking something that could spoil it.

"Stop analyzing, Kyle." Kenny admonishes, pointing at my nose. "I know that's what you're doing."

I look back at him, almost smiling, but the nervousness stops it from reaching my face. "You really think we could still be friends if it didn't work out?" My voice is reluctant, especially as his face lights up. He feels me crumbling under his influence, and it's obvious it pleases him.

"I know you would." He promises, eyes glowing.

"How do you know for sure?"

He drops his gaze, shifting his legs around.

I frown. "Kenny?"

He sighs, long and loud and exaggerated before answering slowly. "Because I've done it before." He wipes his palms against his knees. "And you and Stan have a deeper, longer friendship than me and Butters."

"WHAT?" I yelp, having lost all control over the volume of my voice. Kenny grins up at me; sheepishly, devilishly. "When the fuck did that happen?"

"Last year." His smile fades, but he doesn't look ashamed. "It was different for us. It wasn't this whole romance factor like you and Stan. It was just two buddies experimenting with their newly blossoming hormones."

"You mean you guys-"

"Yeah." He nods, completely serious. "When we decided it was just experimenting and wasn't for us, it stopped, and guess what happened then? That's when we became like this," He twists his index and middle finger together. "And we have been best friends ever since."

I look away, staring sightlessly off into the distance; dazed, shocked.

Amazed.

Kenny touches my shoulder after a minute, waiting until my eyes meet his again to speak.

"For once in your life, Kyle," He pleads, penetrating my soul with his baby blues. "Let yourself have something you want."

The breeze picks up, and I watch him blink against it. Kenny is more grown-up and makes more sense than anyone I've ever know in my entire life.

But I would never say that to his face.

I wake up that Saturday with a post-it stuck to my forehead.

At first I'm startled, but I quickly recover and sit up. I peel it from my skin, leaving a sticky trail of leftover glue behind, then read the simple message:

You've got mail.

The handwriting is unmistakably Stanley, and I wonder exactly when it was he had snuck in here to stamp me with his message, and how long he had stayed. I read it again and look at my computer. It's already fired-up, my screensaver of colorful dreidels spinning happily across the screen. Curious, I leave the comfort of my bed and cross the room to my desk, disturbing the mouse with a smooth jerk. The screensaver disappears in a blink.

The first thing I notice is that Stan has changed my desktop background from a picture of Terrance and Phillip to one of me and him on our trip to Six Flags last summer. We're standing side by side near a stand of balloons and glow sticks, eating churros and smiling at each other. It hadn't been an expected picture; Kenny had been snapping random photos all day, and this is one of many that had emerged. It's difficult to look at and not see how close we are. I focus on Stan's image longer than I should, realizing how utterly happy we both look.

I swallow back a knot in my throat, coast the mouse pointer to my email icon and double-click, then scroll past a few junk emails and a chain forward from Butters to click on Stan's name. The subject heading is blank, and the email itself is simple: A picture of a human eye, with the caption "clue #1" underneath.

I blink, a little more than surprised by it. "Clue for what?" I wonder aloud. I scroll further down, finding one last, simple sentence:

Clue #2 is feeling hungry.

My eyebrow shoots up. I think it's safe to say Stan may have gone completely mad. Then again, maybe I'm even worse for being as intrigued as I am. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but I'm a Jew, and I want to know what all these clues add up to. I click off my email and swivel around in my chair, contemplating.

Hungry, I think. "Well, it's either gone to Bennigan's for breakfast or it's in the kitchen." I decide, and head downstairs.

"Good morning, Kyle." Dad greets me from the couch, barricaded by a mug of coffee and the morning paper.

"Hey, Dad." I respond, full speed ahead toward the kitchen. There's another post-it, bright as day, on the middle cupboard:

I wonder where it could be?

Even on paper, the words have a certain ring of banter in them, teasing me.

"Goddamnit." I curse, eyeing each cupboard and wondering just how funny he thinks this is. I'm almost stubborn enough to say 'screw it', head back upstairs and sleep some more. Almost stubborn enough, but not quite.

I start first with the cupboard the note had been on, carefully pulling out all the cups until it's empty, but evidently he thought an obvious place would make it too easy on me. Aggravated, I move on to the next one, then the next, getting a little more careless with every passing moment I find nothing. Dishes are starting to pile up around me when a monstrous gasp fills the air.

"Kyle!" I hear my mom scream from the entryway. "What in the name of creation are you doing!"

"Looking for something." I answer, pointing out the blatantly obvious.

"Looking for what?"

"I'm not sure yet." I continue to dig.

"For goodness sake, young man, you are destroying my kitchen!"

"I'll clean it when I'm done." I promise, annoyed with her pestering.

"You bet your little Jewish tushie, you will!" She barks. "And you will do it right this instant!"

"Alright, Ma, I get it. Jesus." I hiss, just as I reach for a clear canister of cookie cutters. I can already see the note folded inside. "HA!" I pry the lid off, sailing it in the direction Mom had just vanished from, and pull out the particular shape with the note taped to it. When I pick the paper off is when I realize it's not just any random cutter; it's a heart. A heart shaped cookie-cutter.

I'm frozen again, the way only Stan is able to freeze me; my own heart tripping over itself as I stare at the simple piece of metal in my hand. The clues so far are perfectly clear; an eye and a heart. 'I love…'

I read the newest note:

Clue #3- Time to wash up.

Easy, I think. I stand from my crouching stance on the floor and practically demolish the piles of dishes strewn about as I head for the bathroom, the large silver heart still clutched in my hand. Mom nags me again on my way up, but I tell her I'll be right back to clean up after I use the bathroom.

I close the door when I get inside, squeezing my eyes shut and taking a breath before flicking on the light. The note is posted in the center of the mirror, slightly crooked. I approach it like I would a sleeping bat, my mouth dry, pulse racing. I reach up carefully when I make it to the sink, and pull it down for inspection:

Look straight ahead. Can't you see, it isn't about sex.

I do look, slowly, even though I already know what I'm going to find; a mirror, a reflection.

Me.

The nerdy, redheaded, fiery little Jew-boy in all his pathetic glory, staring back at me in disarray; hair a mess, clad in boxers and a simple white T-shirt, cheeks flushed, lips slightly chapped.

And Stan loves it.

That's the completed puzzle, the reason for all these post-its, the big shebang: I love Kyle. From Stan. Amen. Glory hallelujah. No joke. Thee end.

My reflection and I gape at each other, understanding the words, but blown away by the meaning. My face pales, eyes shining wide and bright against it, heart pounding like thunder in my chest.

"… Shit."

The single word echo's loudly off the walls.

It takes nearly an hour to clean up the mess I'd made in the kitchen, and I manage to complete the task with only minimal complaining from Mom that I was putting it back wrong. When I've finished, I spend the better part of my day wandering aimlessly around South Park, deep in thought, hands wedged into my pockets. I don't talk to anyone, and I avoid eye contact so that they won't talk to me, either. I don't want to be bothered; I want to analyze.

But I'm starting to think Kenny may truly be on to something when he said sometimes analyzing makes things seem more complicated than they really are; because by the time I get home, I still don't feel I've come up with any solid resolutions, and I feel even more doubtful than I had to begin with.

I eat dinner in silence, focusing on my family talking amongst each other, allowing their voices to drown out my thoughts so that I can have some peace of mind for a little while. Afterward, I follow them into the living room and start up a game of crazy eights with Ike while we watch a movie my parents had rented. We're on our fourth game when the phone rings, and the sound sends a rush up my spine.

Dad answers, and I hold perfectly still until he recognizes the caller. "Oh, hello there, Stanley." He greets. I feel my blood rush to my limbs and face. "He's right here, just a minute."

The phone is dangling in my face a moment later. I take it timidly and hand my cards over to Dad, who settles into my spot and resumes playing with Ike.

I linger off to the side of the living room, breathing into the phone before managing to say anything. "Hey, Stan." My voice is weak, and I sound completely lame.

"Let's play a game." He says, not seeming to notice.

"Oh no," I sigh. "It took me almost an hour to clean up from the last one."

There's a moments pause before he asks, "…Did you find all the clues?"

"Yeah."

"And you figured out what they mean?"

I squeeze the phone, trying not to tremble, but my voice gives me away. "Yeah."

More silence, and it seems to go on forever. I almost think he's hung up until he speaks again, his voice husky. "Go up to your room."

"What for?" I wonder, and it makes him scoff.

"Don't be so stubborn, and just go up to your damn room." He commands.

"Alright, alright." I snap, stomping off up the stairs.

"Are you going?" He asks, making absolutely sure.

"Yeah, I'm almost there, don't get your boxers in a bunch."

My eyebrows furrow as I reach the top of the stairs, confused because I can see a ribbon of light streaming through the bottom of my door even though I haven't been upstairs since this morning. It obviously wasn't me who had turned it on.

I grasp the door knob and twist carefully, giving a gentle push. The door swings open slowly, revealing none other than Stan himself, standing in the middle of the room, waiting for me. We stare at each other, and I'm mesmerized again by everything about him; his hair, his body, his lips, his eyes.

…Those goddamn eyes.

"Close the door." He tells me, still talking through the phone, his eyes never leaving mine. I obey, too far under his spell to argue. "Lock it." He says next, and again, I comply. Then we're back to staring at each other, still clutching our phones.

For probably the first time in my life, I take Kenny's advice, and I don't allow myself to think. I just feel, and everything I feel when I'm next to Stan is nothing short of feeling like I could fly. It's like magic, adrenalin, happiness, and freedom, all rolled up and flowing through every inch of my body.

"Hi." He murmurs simply.

"…Hi." I answer. Another pause. "What are you doing here?"

The words sting him a little, and I see it reflected on his face. "I wanted to see you."

"Most people use the front door." I remind him, offering a soft smile. He returns it briefly, but he can't seem to retain the expression. He looks down at the floor.

"…Kyle, I'm scared." He declares. The words make my own smile fade into a frown.

"Of what?"

He looks back up at me, and the pain in his eyes makes my heart ache. "Of losing you. I don't want to lose you to this, Kyle. If you really don't want this-" He struggles for words, struggles against a lump in his throat. "Then I would gladly keep your friendship over nothing. I don't want to lose it all. I can't lose that. You're way too big a part of me." He trails off, and there are so many things that I could say, so many things I want to say. But I think I've been doing way too much talking, way too much caring only about what I have to think. I've been selfish, incredibly so, and I'm not going to interrupt him; I want to hear what he has to say. Maybe I'm too late, maybe he doesn't want me anymore. I feel my heart sink a little at the possibility.

"But at the same time, I'm afraid to not try." He continues, picking at the hem of his shirt. "I think you're afraid too, and that makes sense, but… we don't have to be scared if we're in it together. You're my other half, Kyle. My- you're my soul-mate, whether or not it ever goes past our friendship. I know you are. And I need you."

He stands, his feelings completely exposed and vulnerable, right in from of me, and all I can do is stare at him. He is the epitome of perfection, the meaning of love, my whole life. I couldn't clearly express to him what I'm feeling inside; the enormity and honesty of it. I don't want to taint his words with my own, which would pale horribly in contrast with his. I can't even begin to form them, so I watch him, in utter amazement.

"Don't look at me like that." He begs, sounding completely miserable.

"Like what?" I breathe. My heart is pounding madly.

"…Like you hate me."

I move my head slowly, from side to side, my eyes holding his intently. "I couldn't ever hate you, Stan." I whisper.

And then the magnetism overtakes me, and I feel my body slam against him. I'm clinging to him half a second later, crushing my lips against his, sliding my tongue along the length of his lower lip; tasting him, breathing him in. The phone slips from my hand and lands with a thump as my arms encircle him, wrap around his shoulder's and pull him closer. He melts into my touch, pulls my waist deeper into him, holds me tighter. Then he's kissing me back; thoroughly, passionately, turning my blood to liquid fire. My fingers slide up through his hair as I move my head to the other side, delving my tongue deeper, thrusting it slow and gently against his. I'm swallowing his moans, I realize, and the revelation of it generates a whimper of my own deep inside my chest.

It's too much, and we break off suddenly for oxygen. We're staring once again, taking in great gulps of air. His eyes are blazing wildly behind a cloud of lust.

"… Wow." He pants, breath quivering.

"Yeah," I gasp. We're still anchored together by our arms, and I'm aware of his hand caressing my side, my own massaging his neck.

"Kyle," He whimpers, and looks at me with those eyes, moves closer, until our breaths are one against each others skin; until my heart is beating so fast it's more of a buzz, like hummingbird wings. He pauses when our lips are half an inch apart, his head tilted slightly, in the perfect kissing angle adjacent to mine. I'm trying to keep my breath steady; trying to calm my gasps of air, but I'm still breathing heavily. I can't help it. Not when he's so close, not when he's looking at me like he craves me more than the oxygen he needs to survive; like he's never wanted anything more. He moves his hand up to cup my face, and his stilled thumb comes to life, rolls down my cheek and across my jaw. The sensation makes my knees tremble, and my eyes slip closed. His breath ghosts warmly against my face as his mouth closes over mine again.

It's sweeter this time, warmer. I feel my bones melting at the ginger probing of his tongue, and my knees almost buckle. He notices my weakness, and takes the necessary steps back to reach my bed, pulling me with him by the belt loops. He pulls me down with him, then pushes me over and settles on top of me. His leg is tight between mine, and fuck, is he hard. I can feel the bulge pressing against mine. I moan into his mouth, my hands trailing down his back to grab his ass and pull him tighter against me. He breaks the kiss again, burying his face in my neck. His lips move against my skin as he speaks.

"We don't have to rush things." He tells me, his breath hot in my ear. "Neither of us has done this before."

I freeze underneath him, the desire clearing almost instantly from my head as I remember that I never told him…

about Cartman.

"What's wrong?" He asks, concerned by my sudden change in mood.

My lips part, but it takes a minute to get my voice working again. I don't want to tell him. I wish I had the option to take it back instead of admitting to it. But I can't lie to him. He needs to know. I can hear the dread in my own words. "There's something I need to…" I swallow, hating the worry in his eyes. "I'm… not a- not a virgin, Stan."

He blinks down at me, shocked. He didn't see that one coming at all. "What?" He asks, disbelieving. "…Who?"

And now comes the really hard part. I close my eyes, rubbing them with the heels of my palms, then pull them away and look at him again.

No more secrets.

"… Cartman."

His jaw falls slightly slack, and his eyes glaze over. He's trying hard to make sense of my words, and it doesn't look like it's working. He pulls himself up, scoots to the edge of the bed, and just stares, incredulous, at the floor.

"Stan?" I call him, sitting up slowly. I stare at his face, wishing he wouldn't look so mortified. "It was only once. The day I thought you told me you were screwing Wendy. I… I went insane. I wasn't thinking at all."

His eyebrows are furrowed deeply, and he's still not looking at me. He seems to be holding back, fighting something inside.

"It was the biggest mistake of my life. Stan, I'm so sorry."

He grits his teeth, nearly shaking with the turmoil of it all. Then suddenly, a loud breath escapes him, almost a mourful sob,and his face softens.

"You're not some door prize to me, Kyle." He says, his voice soft with just a tinge of hurt. "It doesn't matter who had you first. Just as long as I can have you from now on." He blinks, turning his face to look at me. It bothers him more than he's letting on; his tear stung eyes give him away. But he's saying he loves me anyway. He's willing to work it through. I touch his face, like I've wanted for so fucking long, and watch his eyes flutter closed.

"Don't you know... I've always belonged to you, Stan." I drag my fingers across his jaw, pulling him against me in another kiss.

His touch sends ten thousand butterflies swarming though my stomach and out my throat.

Next chapter: EPILOGUE!

-BC3 (OMG, please review, I'm nervous this time. lol)