A Note From Ben: Greetings. I know, I know. I've got, like, a billion jillion trillion thousand hundred stories started that I don't update. I don't need anyone to point that one out, and nobody feels more badly about all of that than I do. This one is a bit different, however. This one is...special. It's always been special, and by far my absolute favorite story out of anything I've concocted thus far.

There are several reasons for that (though if you don't want to know about it, go ahead and skip to the title). It started out as a simple RP between Flabz and I. I filed the MSN log away because I enjoyed it and wanted the opportunity to re-read it. We went on to other projects and other RPs, but my mind kept coming back to the little gem that would eventually become the beginning of Lost (which some of you may be happy to know has nothing to do with being stranded on a damn island). I talked her into continuing the story and over the course of several months we completed the story. It was compiled into a large, raw file and stored on my laptop, where it sat for well over a year.

After she and I stopped being partners in insanity (a long story that I really don't feel like going into), a lot of the projects that we were working on simply got the axe. She's not online much anymore, nor am I. Stories like Remembering Stan will probably never be finished. This story, which is about to begin, is the last full collaboration we had. I am in the process of changing it from chat log text into a story, and you will see the end of it.

This story is special not only for that reason, but also because of the message it conveys (which still brings me to tears) and for the way it was written. The RPs were largely written from Kyle's point of view (though I still don't know how we pulled that off) and the story is told entirely through his eyes. Flabz reminded me every chance she got that she is as crazy about Kyle as I am about Stan. In our RP sessions, she was always the Kyle to my Stan. Always.

It is fitting, then, that this should be Kyle's story. I hope that it is not only a pleasing story for all of you, but also for the person who inspired me in so many ways. This one is for you, Flabz, and I thank you from the bottom of the bottom of my heart for taking the journey with me.

ACT ONE

Passion runs deep, it's scary sometimes,
When it's larger than life, for your peace of mind.
It's got me all the same.
I'm not sorry, that's true.
Anything, anytime, anywhere
for you.
-Anything, Anytime, Anywhere, Bruce Cockburn

The taste of love is sweet
when hearts like ours meet.
I fell for you like a child.
Oh, but the fire went wild.
-Ring of Fire, Johnny Cash

ONE – Hurt

“They hurt you!”

“Stan.....make them leave....”

“You sons of bitches!”

Kyle wakes up with a scream, his body drenched in cold sweat. He's had that same goddamn dream again, the one he's been having every night. He can't remember the details no matter how hard he tries, only that he's there with another person, maybe Butters, and something awful happens.

He brushes a hand across his face, clearing the sweat away. He feels sticky, dirty, vulgar. He feels like half his body weight has come out his pores and he needs a fucking shower. He rises from the bed and looks at the digital clock. 3:45AM. He could take a shower now, but his mother will have kittens if he wakes her up with the noise. He'll still be hearing about how inconsiderate he is when he heads off to school in three hours.

He shuffles down the hallway toward the bathroom, passing his little brother Ike's partially open door on the way. He stops for a peek inside. From the little bit of light that spills inside from the hallway, he can make out various debris on the floor, like discarded toys as well as some dirty shirts and underwear.

If I'd ever kept my room like that, mom would have sent me to boot camp to teach me to be more organized.

He moves along, not wanting to linger here too long. His mother has a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times. She is especially good at waking up at the drop of a dime in the middle of the night when her Jewmom sense tingles and tells her that one of her kids was up and about. Thinking about sneaking to the kitchen for a late night cookie? Don't try that trick in the Broflovski household, because you will get caught.

He makes his way to the bathroom and flicks on the light. He catches his first glimpse of his reflection and jumps in shock. It's like there's a complete stranger looking back at him. The bags under his bloodshot eyes are enormous, he has more than a few days worth of stubble on his face, and his teeth have started crusting over with some kind of growth. He breathes on his hand and brings it to his nose, only to pull away again. His breath is something right out of his worst nightmares.

God, when did he stop taking care of himself? When did the well-groomed and image-conscious Kyle Broflovski become such a disgusting slob? He thinks back, trying to remember the last time he took a shower or brushed his teeth, and draws a blank. He takes this as a sign that it's been far too long and strips down to the skin, only to discover that the problem is a lot worse than he imagined. His boxers are crusted and stiff, there is a fungal growth between his testicles and thighs, and the smell when he takes off his clothes is so musty it's unbearable.

“Why the hell didn't anyone tell me I was getting this bad?” he wonders aloud.

He can't imagine his mother tolerating such filth in her house. Why hasn't she said anything? Kyle remembers an incident when he was seven years old, when he left skidmarks in his underwear. His mother went apeshit, lecturing him for over an hour on the importance of good bathroom habits and anal cleanliness. She hadn't changed much in the last nine years, so why had she allowed him to get so damn filthy?

The answer to all of this is simple: she didn't allow anything; she hasn't seen him for a good two weeks. Memories come flooding back to him like a river. Up to this point, he'd just been letting the days drift in and out and melt together like blocks of cheese in a fondue pot. All of a sudden he can remember his mother banging on the door

(was that yesterday two days ago last week)

first begging then demanding that he open up and grant her admittance. It was reminiscent of an incident from his childhood in which he and his friends had locked themselves up with a bunch of baby cows. Their parents had tried to get them to come out by bribing, begging, threatening, and finally bartering.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit, shit shit. I've been in bed for....”

He closes his eyes and counts the hazy days. It's hard to get an exact number. He feels like someone who has lived a great deal of time either stoned or drunk coming down and trying to remember what the fuck they did. It makes his head hurt like a sonuvabitch and he prays to Moses that there's some Aspirin in the medicine cabinet.

“Fourteen days,” he says at last, shocked by the number. “I've been in bed for fourteen days.”

He's surprised he isn't dead, but he reckons that somewhere in the haze, he got up to at least get a drink of water or use the bathroom. His bedsheets aren't covered with piss and shit, so that's probably a correct assumption. He just can't remember doing any of it.

Come to think of it, he can't remember what caused all of this in the first place. What the hell would drive someone as rational and self-composed as himself to lay in bed for such a ridiculous amount of time? He racks his brain to force it to give him the answer he's looking for. No dice. Try as he might, the memory just comes back 404 – FILE NOT FOUND.

“Fuck!” he swears, kicking the trashcan. It makes a loud crashing sound that echoes off the tile walls and makes him wince. He's sure that whatever luck he was being blessed with that was keeping his mother downstairs and asleep has just gone down the shitter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He knows it will only be a matter of time now until his mother comes knocking, and when she does there will be hell to pay for waking her at four in the morning. He turns the shower on, adjusts the knobs, and climbs in.

-_-

An hour later, Kyle is walking around Stark's Pond, trying to piece together his Swiss cheese memory. He thinks that the reason he's been having that damned dream and the reason he's been bedridden for a fortnight are connected in some way, he just can't figure out how. It would really help if the dream didn't vanish like a fart in the wind each time he woke from it.

Aren't recurring dreams supposed to mean something? He ponders as he steps over a large patch of icy ground. I heard or read somewhere that they're supposed to be some kind of warning or message...

Problem with that is Kyle doesn't really believe in the supernatural. After all he's seen and experienced, which ranges from the abnormal to the downright bizarre, he's still a firm believer in finding a rational explanation for everything. When they were small children, his sometimes friend but always tormentor Eric Cartman tried to pass himself off as a psychic detective. Kyle refused to acknowledge that there was anything special about him and stuck to his belief that everything can be explained logically, right up to the end.

"K...Kyle...."

A familiar voice catches his ear and he looks up. Stan is standing there, looking at him with eyes as big as hubcaps.

“S-Stan,” he stutters back.

It all comes flooding back to Kyle in an instant. All the events of the last two months, things which he's blocked out, are suddenly jerked to the front of his mind with such force that it makes his heart skip a beat. All of the tears, the anguish, the torment...they return to him with horrifying crystal clarity.

It's over, Stan.

O-over? But why Kyle?

It just is. I'm...I'm sorry. I have to go.

No, please. KYLE NO!!

Kyle tries to push all of this away again, back behind the mental barrier where he had it. He doesn't want to remember the hurt look in Stan's eyes, doesn't want to see him begging him not to leave him. He was literally on his knees that day, sobbing and pleading for Kyle to stay, asking over and over what it was that he'd done wrong. Kyle had walked away, giving his ex-boyfriend only a warning not to try and contact him again, that it was all over forever and that they both needed to move on with their lives.

God, I never thought I'd see him brought so low. Stan Marsh on his knees, no shame, no dignity. Just...

"I.....I didn't know you'd be here,” Stan says, stepping closer and cutting him off mid-thought.

Kyle moves back purely by instinct, making the distance between himself and Stan even greater than it was. Stan notices this and frowns. His eyes take on that hurt puppy dog look and Kyle has to look away.

“I didn't think you would be either,” he says, staring at a nearby rock as if it were the most amazing thing to ever lay in the snow.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," Stan replies. Kyle nods in acknowledgment but says nothing. Honestly, he can't return the sentiment. He hasn't thought of Stan in weeks. Still, Stan takes this nod as permission to continue, so he does just that. "Kyle, would you....be willing to talk for a few minutes? I....miss you so much."

“Please don't....” Kyle says, fumbling for some kind of excuse, some kind of exit strategy that will get him out of this situation. “Don't start this...I made myself clear to you last time Stan.”

"I know, Kyle,” Stan says, looking down at the ground and shuffling his feet like a small child. Kyle remembers how endearing little things like that used to be. Like the way Stan sometimes blows bubbles in his chocolate milk, or the way he uses his whole face when he smiles. Things like that were what made Kyle fall for him in the first place. They were just so damned adorable.

No, I can't go there. It's over and I mean it's over.

“Stan...” he warns.

I just don't want to lose you,” Stan blurts out suddenly. “Not as a boyfriend, and not as a best friend."

“But even as best friends,” Kyle counters, “as time goes on... I know you Stan, and I know you will try again.”

Stan takes a step forward, closing the gap between them once again.

"Why not?” he asks. “Kyle, we were so great together. We made each other so happy. I've never knew I could be so happy until we got together.....and I never knew I could hurt so much until....I lost you."

He looks down at his feet, and Kyle can tell he's on the verge of tears. He casts his eyes away, not wanting to see Stan lose it. He steps back, unable to shake the feeling that if it happens too many more times he'll wind up cornered with no place to go. He doesn't consider Stan to be dangerous; he was always the perfect gentleman. He just doesn't want to get trapped. He doesn't want to be here at all. The thought of the Broflovski home has never been more appealing.

“Stop it, Stan,” he says. “This won't change anything.”

Stan doesn't seem to hear this.

"Kyle, you mean everything to me," he says.

“I said stop it, Stan!”

"Okay."

Stan wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and looks out over the dark water of the lake. It's a little more visible now with the light of dawn just beginning to crack the sky. Kyle remembers how they used to skate there as kids. Those were good days, pleasing to think about. When they were skating, it seemed like everyone was a friend and all grudges were temporarily put on hold. They even got along with that British kid Pip, skating with him and others they labeled “Melvins” as easily as they skated with their friends. Those were such simpler times, and he can't stop himself from wondering when everything got so damn complex.

Kyle breaks from his musings and uses Stan's distracted gaze as an opportunity for escape. Perhaps he can just leave him here, staring out at the sunrise...

“Look,” he says, backing up again, this time in the direction of the road, “I... I gotta go, okay?”

"What?!” This has brought Stan back to the present and Kyle gives a sigh of frustration. “No, please don't!" Stan cries.

“It's... it's over.”

Stan starts to cry. Kyle finds it nearly unbearable to watch. He wills his body to move, to turn, anything to spare him the spectacle before him. It nearly destroyed him the first time, and he has no desire to experience it again.

"No....” Stan sobs, “God....no. It can't be!”

“Stop it!” Kyle nearly begs. “Please stop this, Stan.”

"I can't help it, Kyle,” Stan answers, stepping toward him once again. Kyle is tired of retreating and decides to stand his ground. "I can't,” Stan repeats, his voice thick with emotion and phlegm. “Without you, my entire world is empty. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you! I never stopped, and I never will! You're...."

He stops to wipe away the tears with a loud sniffle. Kyle finally finds the strength to turn his back on Stan, yet finds he feels no better. Somehow, he isn't surprised. The whole damn thing is a lose-lose situation.

“I...I...I dont love you, Stan,” he stutters. “I can't lie to myself...or you.”

Yet somehow he does feel like a liar. A dirty, stinking, no good liar. Somewhere down inside, he knows that he still has feelings for Stan, feelings that are screaming at him and telling him the same things that Stan has been mumbling through his snot and tears: don't go, don't walk away from this, it was so magical. He stifles these feelings quickly and mercilessly, like a soldier bringing his combat boot down upon a rose.

“You don't believe that any more than I do,” he hears Stan mutter quietly from behind him.

“Don't tell me what I do and don't believe,” he replies, feeling the tears threatening to come in his own eyes. He braces himself and forces it to pass. He's been through too much to lose it now. “Just drop this.”

He wills his foot to move forward, and to his surprise it does. One foot, then the other, slowly but gaining speed. He thinks back on an old holiday jingle he used to hear his friends sing in preschool.

Put one foot in front of the other.

Soon you'll be walkin' cross the floor.

Put one foot in front of the other.

Soon you'll be walkin' out the door.

He finds this somehow encouraging and makes sure it repeats over and over again as he tries to make his way out of the park.

"Where are you going?" he hears Stan call out.

“Home,” he replies, “I'm done here.”

"Kyle, no!"

He hears a sudden scuffle of feet and sees Stan rush around him. He jumps in his way, intentionally blocking him. Kyle feels his quick temper begin to slip. He doesn't like being harassed.

"Why are you doing this?" Stan demands.

“DON'T!!” Kyle barks, turning his back again. He's now facing the wrong direction, back into the park, but this doesn't register with him. He just doesn't want to be looking at Stan. He finds he's been grinding his teeth, something that he only does under the heaviest of pressure.

He feels a soft hand cup his shoulder, a gesture which is supposed to be comforting but only adds to his anxiety, not because it's uncomfortable but because it's so damn familiar. It's a warmth that Kyle used to know quite often. Whenever they'd dare to walk together holding hands, or when they'd be at Shakey's and Stan would reach under the table and link fingers with him...or the time they got caught in the rain and wound up in a liplock behind South Park High's scoreboard.

I remember that most of all,he thinks miserably. It was our first kiss. It was so wet, but so...

He banishes this memory before it can fully take hold, but he is too late. It has already chipped away at his defenses and made him vulnerable. He finds he wants to turn back to Stan and throw his arms around him, but refuses.

“Please don't turn away,” Stan says. “I want to be able to look into your eyes, your wonderful green eyes."

He says nothing. He just bites his lower lip, trying to keep himself under control.

"Kyle,” Stan probes, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “please look at me."

“Let me go,” he whispers.

"I....can't let you go, Kyle. I love you too much to ever let you go."

“Don't love me,” Kyle says, his voice cracking. “It can't ever be returned.”

He knows this won't stop him even as the words form in his head, but he's desperate for a solution. He'll try anything, say anything to get Stan to just walk away and leave him in peace.

"I couldn't stop loving you if I tried," Stan says, ever the romantic fool, ever the stubborn jackass.

Kyle takes his hand and places it over Stan's. For a brief second he holds it there as that familiar skin-on-skin contact, that electric feeling that sends goosebumps of pure pleasure up and down his entire body, reminds him of better days, back when he and Stan were still together. This second seems like an eternity to Kyle and he isn't sure he's going to be able to bring it to an end. He eventually does and pushes Stan's hand off of his shoulder as he originally intended to do.

“Enough of this Stan,” he sighs. Stan returns it.

"Okay, Kyle,” Stan says, defeat evident in his tone. “I'll make a deal with you. Turn around and look me in the eyes. If you can look me straight in the eyes and tell me you don't love me, I'll go and you'll never have to see me again."

He knows what Stan is up to immediately. One thing Kyle could never take was Stan's eyes. All Stan ever had to do to get what he wanted was look his boyfriend dead-on and Kyle would melt like a stick of butter in a nuclear reactor. There was just something about those blue pools of light that he found breathtaking and more than a little bit sexy. He learned pretty fast that whenever they had an argument and he wanted to stay mad for awhile, it was best not to let Stan pull the old “look me in the eyes” trick.

“Or I can just walk off now,” he says, moving away toward the pond. He stops at the water's edge and picks up a rock. He gives it a fling and it sails out a good ten feet. Kyle watches it through the dim light of early sunset, a dim kind of visibility similar to a movie fade-in. The sun has not quite made it over the tops of the trees or over the mountainside yet, but it's now bright enough that Kyle can see about three-quarters of the way across to the other side.

He bends down to pick up another rock and isn't surprised to find Stan standing beside him when he rises again. He ignores him as best he can and sends the rock flying. It goes out a bit farther than the last one and skips across the water, giving it a clearance of an extra thirty feet. He smiles at this and considers picking up another one. He's never been the athletic type, but his throwing arm isn't half bad.

“Good shot,” Stan says.

“Mmm,” Kyle replies. A non-committal answer. Maybe if he grunts enough, Stan will give up and go away.

“I'll bet you a dollar I could get a rock past yours, though.”

Kyle casts a glance his way and sees Stan grinning over at him. None of this has affected him at all, or if it has he's doing a hell of a good job of not showing it. He's still the same loveable goofball he's always been.

“Stan...” he groans.

Instead of answering, Stan pulls his arm back and lets one fly. It sails high over the water, clearing both of Kyle's original stones in it's initial ascent alone. It goes way out, beyond their visibility in the weak morning light. Kyle hears it hit the water, skip several times, then go down with a splash. Stan smiles again, but Kyle is in no mood to return it. He just picks up another rock and chunks it.

“Kyle, stop,” Stan says gently. He walks over to him and steps behind him. He reaches around him and takes Kyle's hand gently in his own. “You're too tense, and you're not putting enough snap in your wrist.”

He guides Kyle's arm back and shows him how much strength to put into it, how to control his movements, and how to snap his wrist at just the right moment. He endures this silently, not willing to admit that he enjoys at least spending time with him again, doing things together without having Stan pressure him into getting back together. Maybe there might be hope for their friendship after all. It seems unlikely, but....

He performs his toss perfectly and the rock sails out in a gorgeous arc before skipping several times across the water. Kyle is surprised when he hears not a splash at the end but the distant sound of a rock thumping into the side of a tree. He's somehow managed to send it sailing all the way across to the opposite shore.

“Wow!” he exclaims, turning to Stan with a look of surprise on his face. “That was awesome!”

“Amazing, Kyle,” Stan responds with a nod. “Great job.”

“Thanks,” he says, turning and starting along the path that leads around the lake. Stan falls in right beside him, matching him footfall for footfall. Kyle braces himself for the question that is going to inevitably come up. He doesn't try to fool himself into thinking it won't, because Stan has already tried too many times in the past hour for Kyle to believe that it's going to end just like that, with Stan giving up and settling for being just friends.

It's a matter of when he brings it back up, not if.

He thinks briefly of telling Stan to take a hike, to not follow him. He could pass it off as just needing time alone to think, but he'd feel more dishonest and dirty than he already does. He eventually dismisses this and just allows his old friend to walk beside him in silence, enjoying the peace while it lasts.

“Kyle?” Stan asks after several minutes.

Here it comes, Kyle thinks miserably.

“Yes, Stan?” he replies.

“Can we at least talk about....”

“Don't, Stan,” Kyle snaps, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

"Kyle, please.....!"

“You know my answer already,” he replies, coming to a stop and crossing his arms. Stan stops and looks back at him, his exhaustion visible on his face. He hasn't been getting much sleep, and Kyle doubts he'll be able to stay standing for very much longer.

"Kyle, please just do one thing for me...”

“No!”

“After all we've been through together, is it too much to ask for?"

“Yes, it is.”

Kyle does an about-face and walks off in the opposite direction for what seems like the thousandth time that night. He doesn't even have to look behind him to know that Stan is following again. He's getting pretty sick of being polite for Stan's sake. As much as it's going to hurt him to do it, he's going to have to be firm and more than a little bit rude.

"Why?” Stan declares as he follows behind. There is a challenge in his voice. He's daring Kyle, trying to provoke him into doing what he wants. “Because you can't do it? That's it, isn't it? You can't look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me. All this stuff you've been spewing about not loving me is just a bunch of hot air, and you know it."

“JUST GET LOST STAN!” Kyle screams, wheeling about on his heel and getting in his ex-boyfriend's face. He still refuses to meet his eyes, because he knows all the fight will be taken out of him if he does that, but he makes quite a show out of looking at a spot on Stan's lower forehead. “I DON'T LOVE YOU, I NEVER HAVE, I NEVER WILL!”

Stan grabs him by the arms and holds him, obviously to keep him from turning and walking off again. Kyle doesn't like this at all. He squirms and tries to get away, but Stan has one hell of a grip and isn't letting go without a fight. Kyle really doesn't want to have to resort to kicking him in the balls.

"WELL I LOVE YOU, DAMN IT!” Stan screams back. “I LOVE YOU MORE THAN I CAN EVER TELL YOU AND...."

“AND WHAT??? IT DOESN'T MATTER! IT'LL NEVER BE RETURNED! YOU'RE WASTING YOUR TIME!”

Kyle gives another squirm and finds Stan unrelenting.

"THEN WHY CAN'T YOU LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU SAY THAT?" Stan demands.

“I'VE DONE NOTHING BUT SAY IT! WHAT THE ELSE DO YOU WANT?!”

He tries to push Stan away. When that doesn't work, he begins kicking and shrieking as though he is being raped. It's quite a spectacle, but Stan isn't fazed by it. He just holds Kyle tighter and raises the volume of his voice.

"BUT NOT ONCE DID YOU LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU SAID IT!"

Kyle gives another wiggle and finally gives up. His only way of escape involves assaulting the one person in the world he'd never want to put his hands on, even as bad as things are. He's trapped, he's at Stan's mercy, and with Stan as loud and unruly as he is now, that frightens him. This fright apparently shows in his face, because Stan's face suddenly adopts a “What have I done” expression and he immediately lets go. Kyle backs away from him and rubs at his arms where his iron grip had nearly cut off the circulation.

“Stan,” he says with a sigh, “you can't accept the fact I don't love you. This is exactly what you did to try and win me in the first place, go on and on at me until I gave in, but I can't this time.”

This is a bare-faced lie, but Kyle is beyond caring. This situation has gotten way out of control and he wants to be free of it. He never signed up for this shit.

"If that's what you really believe,” Stan says, “that I manipulated you and pestered you into something you didn't want, then....I'm not gonna fight for this anymore."

He turns and walks off then. Kyle gives a great sigh of relief but says nothing. He can't say that he's not happy to see Stan go, though it isn't because he doesn't like Stan; he just doesn't like hurting Stan. If he'd had his way, of course, they'd still be together, happy and content, and none of the shouting and fighting and crying would have ever happened. Shit, he loves Stan more than he thought it was possible to love another human being. Father Maxi frequently told them the entire time they were going out that they were committing a great sin and were bound for hell. This was a great joke to them, something to laugh about as it rolled off of their shoulders.

Up ahead, he sees Stan turn around to look back at him. He tenses up, afraid that Stan is going to come back and start begging again. Stan just stands there, looking at him as though his heart is breaking into a million pieces, which Kyle realizes is probably exactly what is happening. He figures Stan is in good company, because his heart is broken too.

"This hurts, Kyle,” Stan says. “This hurts bad. One thing we always promised each other, as friends and then as boyfriends, is that we'd never hurt each other."

Kyle looks into his eyes for the first time. From that distance he figures it's safe.

“You don't know what hurt is Stan," Kyle says before turning to walk off toward home. He's had enough, and for once he's almost positive that Stan won't follow. He gets ten paces before he stops and, for good measure, casts a look back over his shoulder. After all that's happened since arriving at the park, it won't hurt to be safe; this is a mistake. He sees Stan back on the path where he left him. He's on his knees, sobbing uncontrollably into his hands and mumbling something Kyle can't hear, perhaps a prayer.

Kyle's heart goes out to him. He knows he doesn't deserve any of this. He always treated Kyle like gold, something that hasn't been forgotten. To have to hurt him like this is more than his heart can stand, and it makes him so sick to his stomach he actually has to fight back the urge to vomit.

Go back to him, a voice inside, the irrational and romantic side of him, says.

I can't, he answers. Don't you get that? I want to, but it won't help anything.

If you ever loved him, go to him now.

Kyle knows he shouldn't, but against all sense and rationality he does so anyway. Stan doesn't notice his approach at first, so broken and grief-stricken is he. He can't hear anything but his own sobs and cries in his ears. When Kyle kneels down and lays a gentle hand on his shoulder, he looks up in surprise. He doesn't expect it will be Kyle who has caught him crying like a small child, so the look on his face is akin to a boy who has been caught masturbating by his mother.

"Stan," Kyle coos, trying to sound comforting.

"Kyle.....?"

He wraps his arms around him, gently hugging him. He feels Stan's arms wrap tightly around his middle and he lays his head in his gorgeous black hair.

"Enough of this," Kyle says, and kisses him gently on the top of the head.

"K-Kyle!" Stan sobs, "Why?"

"Shh.... "

He hugs him closer and rubs a hand down his back, trying to get the tears to stop. He can't believe he's actually done this to his best friend, his love, his life.

"I don't understand," Stan cries into his chest "I don't.....understand."

"I know you don't,” Kyle answers. “You will, though. But for now..."

He pulls Stan away from his chest and kisses him on the forehead, then cups his face in his hands. He uses his fingers to gently brush away the tears.

“Were...were you testing me or something?” he asks, then hiccups.

“No, I wasn't testing you,” Kyle answers, “this wasn't my idea.”

It is the most honest he's been with Stan since this whole miserable mess started.

"I love you, Kyle."

"I..."

Kyle wants to say it back, because he does love Stan. More than anything, he wants those beautiful words to come out of his mouth and see Stan's face light up with delight. They catch in his throat, however, and he finds himself unable to continue. He curses himself when Stan hangs his head and nods sadly into his chest, misunderstanding Kyle's silence. He puts a finger under Stan's chin and lifts his face back up.

“If I say it, I lose everything,” he says, his voice as soft as cotton swabs.

“Kyle, what's going on?” Stan asks, finally catching on that things aren't as they seem. “Tell me.”

“You,” Kyle responds with a sigh, “or my family and life.”

"Your family doesn't approve."

"I'm disowned and lose everything if I'm ever with you again."

The look on Stan's face is a mixture of realization and shock.

"Kyle,” he asks, “why didn't you just tell me?"

Kyle hears his mother screaming, ordering him not to even contact Stan Marsh again. It was Father Maxi who turned them in, although their relationship wasn't that big a secret and it was really only a matter of time until Sheila found out. When she finally did, she hit the roof and started throwing around phrases like “abomination unto God” and “wicked filth”. At the end of her tirade, she slapped Kyle across the face and called him a pervert before ordering him to cut off all contact with his best friend.

“Can't I at least go tell him why I'm not allowed to see him anymore?” he asked.

“Not at all, Kyle,” she replied.”It was your constant contact with that boy that caused this in the first place. I always said that you two spent too much time together for it to be healthy. Now, I'm putting a stop to it.”

“But mom!” he whined back, sounded very much like Cartman. “He deserves to know the truth! He'll only be confused if I just start avoiding him.”

“I don't care,” she said, pointing toward the stairs.”You will go to your room and not come out until I tell you to. He'll figure it out.”

He'd done as he was told, but defied his mother in the end by calling one more meeting with Stan behind her back. It was then that he'd called it all off, coming up with a bullshit excuse for the whole thing.

"H-how could I tell you, or anyone, something like that?" he stutters. It's another bullshit answer, but the best one he's got. In truth, though, he knows the answer is simple cowardice. He didn't have the guts to tell Stan that they couldn't be together because once again he couldn't stand up to his mother.

“Because.....we're best friends,” Stan answers, once again more kind and forgiving than he should be. Definitely more than Kyle feels he deserves. “We should be able to tell each other anything."

“I.. I dunno why, but I couldn't tell you that,” Kyle says. Another lie. “And the issue still stands.”

“I see.”

“I...I cant live without you,” he says, “but I can't just leave my family.”

“It's not fair,” Stan replies, reaching up and running his fingers through Kyle's hair. Kyle closes his eyes and leans into it. He remembers they used to do this all the time, when they were watching TV, when they were sitting alone in Stan's car, when they were snuggling together. It's something that Kyle knows he could never tire of. Just the feel of his love's fingers in his hair, gently stroking and rubbing, drives him crazy. It feels as if every follicle and nerve is being stimulated, driving him into a frenzy of passion.

“Mmm...” he moans, closing his eyes, forgetting completely that they aren't supposed to be together anymore. To hell with it all. This is simply divine.

"I love you, Kyle,” he hears Stan whisper. “It shouldn't have to be this way."

"Mmm,” Kyle moans again. “I know.....I...I can't choose...."

He feels Stan's lips brush his and then lock on. An electric sensation runs through his body, making him suck in his breath and instantly making his dick hard. He returns the kiss hungrily, taking in as much as he can like a man who has been lost in the sands of the desert and has finally found a lush oasis. He feels himself lost in the sensation and before he knows it, he is grasping madly at Stan, holding on to him for dear life.

When they finally break apart, they look at each other, smiling. Stan chuckles slightly and the old sparkle is back in his eyes.

“I won't make you choose, Kyle,” he says. "I'll do everything in my power to get your family to accept us. I won't put you in a position where you have to make a choice. You mean too much to me for that."

“They won't ever come around to us Stan,” Kyle replies with a shake of his head. It's pointless to even hope for. Sheila doesn't change her views for anyone.

"We'll find a way, okay?” Stan replies in an attempt to reassure him. He still doesn't get it, but that's okay. Kyle loves him for even being willing to try. “Let's not worry about that now.”

Kyle looks directly into his eyes for the first time and feels himself melt inside, just like he knew he would.

“There are those beautiful eyes I missed so much,” Stan says with a smile.

“How could there even be a choice?” Kyle replies, wrapping his arms around him again. “How can I leave you?”