Things I'll Never Say

Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.

Summary: bah…erm…songfic to Avril's "Things I'll Never Say." Style, of course. Kyle's POV.

Author's Notes: This is all Flabz's fault. I haven't done a songfic since January, and have been proud of myself for it. But then she plays me that song, and, well…here's this. Happy now?

-.-

I'm tugging at my hair

I'm pulling at my clothes

I'm trying to keep my cool

I know it shows

I'm staring at my feet

My cheeks are turning red

I'm searching for the words inside my head

The horn blares from downstairs while I'm struggling into a shirt. It's only 7:55, he's five minutes early. And yet, he sounds like he's in a hurry.

"Kyle, buhbie, Stan's here to pick you up!!" yells my Mom from downstairs. Shit…if she's even noticed I'm not down yet…this means I've got no time to even try to comb my hair. Slinging my backpack over one shoulder, I take the stairs two-at-a-time while working on the buttons of my shirt. By the time I finish, I'm at the door to his car, and he looks aggravated as I slide in.

"What took you so long?" he whines, and I flush. It's become more of a problem for me lately, and I can't even bear to look him in the eyes.

"Why are you early?" I counter, running my fingers through my untamed auburn curls in a pathetic attempt to get them to lie down.

"I've got shit to do this morning, Kyle," he says, putting the car in drive and speeding up the street as I fight G-forces to buckle in. "We're late."

I'm feeling nervous

Trying to be so perfect

'Cuz I know you're worth it, you're worth this

Yeah...

When we arrive at school, Stan parks in his usual space and is out of the car, running for the building, before I can even get my seat belt undone.

'Shit,' I think as I stagger from the car and replace my bag over my right shoulder. I wish I could be bothered to tell him. It would serve me a double purpose…I could stop living in secret, and my parents would be forced to acknowledge that I HAD a license and buy me a car.

I suppose the only thing that's stopped me is, well…he's not spent enough time around me lately. I see him pretty much five minutes in the morning (he has a rather blasé attitude towards speed limits, the drive to school is SUPPOSED to take ten minutes), maybe ten at lunch (we eat at different times), and five minutes in the afternoon (see the aforementioned attitude towards speed limits). Not nearly enough time to make the sort of confession I need to.

I just wish, above all else, that I knew why he was in such a hurry to get away from me lately. Perhaps he knew? No…that's impossible. It's only been documented two places: my private journal, kept in a locked drawer in my desk, and the letter I wrote him on my computer last week. It ended up around five pages, and I fully intended to print it out and deliver it to him because of the fact that I don't have the time (or, frankly, the balls) to tell him in person, but I couldn't muster the courage to do that either.

If I could say what I want to say

I'd say I want to blow you… away

Be with you every night

Am I squeezing you too tight?

If I could say what I want to see

I want to see you go down on one knee

Marry me today!

Guess I'm wishing my life away

With these things I'll never say

The first person I see, walking into the school, is Fatass. Still fat, still anti-Semitic, sill the son of a crack whore, and still very sore on that subject. I'm still his favorite target, with Kenny a close second, and the rest of the world right behind us. Slouching, I walk over to my locker with an uncomfortable weight on my shoulders as I dial the combination and pull out the books I need for the first half of the day.

"Well well well, who do we have nyah?" I hear from behind me.

"Fuck off, Fatass," I sigh, shutting my locker and turning around. He's propped his bulk up against the locker next to mine, so when I turn around all I can see is his pudgy face, leering at me.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you Jew?" he asks. "Since you can't be with the main object of your faggeh desires, you want the next best thing, huh?"

"Leave me alone," I say, trying to worm my way away from him, but his other arm, clutching papers and photographs meets my chest and propels me back into the lockers.

"No, Kahl, you leave ME alone. Bad enough you feel what you do towards who you do, I don't want anything to do with it. Ta, Jewboy." With that, he tucks the papers under my backpack strap and waddles off to go berate some freshmen who owe him money for something or other. Feeling a sense of dread, I take the papers and run off to find a secluded spot with which to examine what he just passed me. I end up in a Boy's bathroom on the second floor. Unfolding the papers, I see with dread two words in my favorite font…the one I use in my private writings… "Dear Stan."

Oh, shit…

It don't do me any good

It's just a waste of time

What use is it to you, what's on my mind?

If it ain't comin' out (If it ain't comin' out)

We're not goin' anywhere

So why can't I just tell you that I care?

I read through the whole thing, and confirm that it's the letter I wrote to the man I love. Feeling as if things can't get any worse, I go on to the piece of paper that has photographs stapled to it. It's handwritten in a loopy scrawl that belongs to one person…the Fucking Fatass.

"Kyle," it begins, and I'm happy to see he writes better than he talks, "You pathetic fucking fag. A five-page declaration of love that your spineless Jewish nature prevents you from delivering…I don't think even Kenny was that bad when he was working to get Bebe. You're prolly wondering how I got it. Jew, I've had your computer sending me everything you do for the better part of a year. I know every porn site you visit, everything you write – coincidentally, thank you for all the English essays – and even have all your chat logs. Attached, Jew, is the reason your "true love" hasn't spent more than twenty minutes near your faggy ass all week.

Cartman."

Ripping off the sheet, I look at the first of the photos. The first has Stan opening HIS locker…

'Cuz I'm feeling nervous

Trying to be so perfect

'Cuz I know you're worth it, you're worth it

Yeah...

The second has an envelope falling to the ground.

The third is a close up of that envelope as Stan's fingers close around it. In the same font as the letter (which, coincidentally, is pretty damn close to my actual handwriting), it has written "STAN."

The fourth has him opening the envelope and withdrawing its contents…five pages, folded into thirds.

The fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth are Stan reading a different page, with a deepening expression of shock, horror, and revulsion.

The tenth has him turning green and dropping the papers on the ground as he runs for the bathroom.

The eleventh, and final, is a picture of Cartman rolling on the ground, shaking with laughter.

Oh, no. Oh no, no, no. That fat BASTARD!!!

If I could say what I want to say

I'd say I want to blow you away

Be with you every night

Am I squeezing you too tight?

If I could say what I want to see

I want to see you go down on one knee

Marry me today!

Guess I'm wishing my life away

(Uh) With these things I'll never say

Stan knows. He knows my secret, my wishes, and my desires. And I wasn't even the one to tell him…technically. Cartman robbed me of that opportunity to serve his own selfish desires. He's always been jealous of the dynamic between me and Stan. The dynamic that, for me, developed into a deep seeded love. Apparently, it didn't for him…and now, it probably never will.

Sniffling, I collapse against the wall and let my emotions take over. Just as the first tear slides down my cheek, I receive a text message on my phone. Opening it up, I see it comes from 227-8626…Cartman. The message itself isn't any better:

"Heh heh heh heh heh heh, I told Sta-an your se-cret, nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah."

It's the last straw. I dissolve into tears, openly sobbing into my knees against the cold stone wall of the empty bathroom.

What's wrong, with my tongue?

These words keep slippin' away

I stutter, I stumble

Like I've got nothin' to say

Cartman's done some pretty shitty things in his lifetime, but this really takes the cake. I mean, seriously. It's one thing to break up with someone through someone else, but to hack someone's computer and use one of their stolen files to confess for them to someone they love…it's a new low.

If I'd known Cartman had that kind of access to my computer, I'd never use it. Ever. I'm serious. I know that what he did is illegal, and I could turn him in and get him put in prison for a long time, but even that wouldn't take back the fact that he ruined my friendship with Stan and my life in general.

I don't think I'll ever be able to stop crying...the bell for first period rang five minutes ago, and I was in here with at least that much time to spare before then. It's ridiculous, and unmanly, and emo, and girly, but…I can't stop. Everything's RUINED. RUINED!! I can't look at Stan, and he probably can't look at me without wanting to vomit. It's not my fault I'm such a terrible person…

It's Cartman's fault for letting Stan KNOW I'm such a terrible person. Now, normally such rage against that Fatass would clear up any problem I had, but not this one. The wound's too deep, too fresh, and has had too much salt smeared in it.

'Cuz I'm feeling nervous

Trying to be so perfect

'Cuz I know you're worth it, you're worth it

Yeah

I'm so busy crying my eyes out that I don't see nor hear the door open. I don't see or hear the person walk over to me, or crouch down beside me…on the opposite side of me from where I discarded the letter and pictures absently before I broke down in tears.

What I do hear is his voice. "Kyle…" he says, and the shivers it sends down my spine are enough to stop my crying and get me to look at him. He's got a concerned look on his face, like he's worried. And he doesn't look green either…that's strange.

"Your first period teacher called mine and asked if I knew where you were," he says. "Fatass suggested that I look for you up here. What's wrong, buddy?" He called me "buddy." Breaking down into tears once more, I make an absent-minded gesture to my left where the papers and pictures lay scattered. Should be obvious enough.

Guess I'm wishing my life away

With these things I'll never say

After he gets up to go look, he comes back and I feel a reassuring hand on my shoulder, the other pulling me in close and letting me sob into his chest. This redoubles the number and intensity of the tears and sobs…I'm closer to Stan than I have been in weeks, I'm inhaling all that he is…and I can't have anymore. I swear sometime that boy has no idea what he does to me…

He murmurs something above me, and with a sniffle I look up to him with a bloodshot, questioning expression. He's wearing a sheepish grin and has a blush of his own.

"I said, uh, 'It's going to be alright, beautiful,'" he says, blushing deeper. It brings some color to his beautifully tanned face, framed so nicely by somewhat-shaggy black hair – not crew cut, but not emo-hair either – and enlivened by his brilliant blue eyes.

Of course, that's all I can realistically manage before my mind explodes behind the force of what he just said. ZOMGZ HE CALLED ME BEAUTIFUL!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!11!1! OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!

"St-Stan?" I stutter, questioning.

"Kyle?"

"'Beautiful'?"

"Hehe…" he says. "You caught me, Kyle." He's smiling now…more than I can manage.

"But…but…you ran off to puke when you read the letter! You've avoided me all week! Where do you get off calling me beautiful! I'm not beautiful, I'm the ugliest person in the world…I've got a gay crush on my best friend in the world, and he has to lie to me in order to spend time around me without puking…I'm a terrible person!" I insist, eyes swimming with tears. A firm hand catches my chin and forces my eyes onto Stan's, which are in a similar condition, and have actually begun to leak.

"Kyle. Listen to me. You ARE beautiful. You're the most beautiful person I know. I ran off to puke because of my own nerves after I read the letter. I'm not lying to you, Kyle…I've been avoiding you because I've been too nervous to speak to you."

"Nerves? B…but Stan…that means…"

"Yes, r-tard, it means I love you. Now shut up and kiss me." Who the hell can say no to that!?!

If I could say what I want to say

I'd say I want to blow you away

Be with you every night

Am I squeezing you too tight?

If I could say what I want to see

I want to see you go down on one knee

Marry me today!

Guess I'm wishing my life away

With these things I'll never say

We miss the rest of the period. Between making up for an inadvertently lost week of make-out time and making me look presentable, it's a damn miracle we leave the bathroom before lunch. But when we do, we've got our hands clasped together and we're both running to find a certain Fatass. When we do, he takes one look at us holding hands and mutters something that sounds like "fags," for which we both punch him in the face and kick him in the balls, leaving him writhing in pain on the floor.

As we retreat towards our next classes, we both call out, "Thanks, Fatass!!" behind us, because, even though he never expected it, it was through his actions that Stan and I were able to get together. I think I hear a weak "Hate…you…fags" behind us, but we're out of reach of him.

These things I'll never say

I'm on Cloud 9 for the rest of the day, and when we get home, Stan makes sure I stay there for the rest of the night as well.

Fin

-.-

Author's Notes: I was close to crying myself a couple places in there. Heheh…see Karen!?! Angsty/sad, but ends happy!!

Anywizzle, review, please!!

Phoenix II