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Summers always went by too quickly, never long enough to enjoy your small amount of freedom, and too busy to remember everything. Everything, as in sleeping in until noon, going to work, and then partying for the rest of the night with your idiot friends. Or at least that's how it was for Stan, Kenny, Cartman and I.      I stayed in bed for a few minutes, listening to the blaring annoyance that was my phone alarm. I don't hate school, but I sure as hell don't want to go back. Bustling hallways, dumbass teachers, and a reminder that time is going by too fast for my liking.     I sigh, picking up my phone and turning off the alarm before climbing out of bed and heading to the bathroom. It's that kind of cold, musty morning that I hate... I wish I could just wrap a warm blanket around me and wear it at school all day. However, the school doesn't allow that because the wannabe-ghetto girls ruined it for the rest of us.     Walking into the bathroom, I brush my teeth and fix my hair so it looks somewhat decent. I used to hate my curls, but at this point in my life, I couldn't care less what people think about me. Except for my parents, mainly because I hide a million things about myself around them.      Suddenly, there's a pounding on the door. I assume it's my mom, who has no idea how to be calm and quiet about anything. I used to defend her when people called her a bitch, but as I've gotten older, I realize that she kind of is one.      "What is it?" I ask, my tone a bit more pissy than I wanted it to sound.     "Don't talk to me in that tone, young man!" My mom yells from outside of the door, "I need you to drive your brother to school today!"      Why can't he just take the bus? That's what I did... whatever. Ike is a good kid and doesn't piss me off like everyone else's siblings do. Still kind of annoying, though.     "Okay, Ma!" I reply, opening the door and forcing a smile for her.     She looks me up and down and holds her hands together, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. I can tell that she's about to spend fifteen minutes talking about how I'm "growing up too fast." I sympathize with her, but I'm not exactly in the mood to console her.      Before I could say anything, she started going on and on about how she wished I was still her "baby" and reminiscing about my childhood. I kept nodding and saying, "Yeah..." as I walked into my room to get dressed. Even after I close the door to my room, she continues to talk from outside of it.     I put on a forest green crew neck with some sweatpants, grabbing my backpack and car keys. Mom's still talking; I ignore it. I want to get Ike to school on time, and myself... obviously.     Ike is already downstairs, sitting on his phone and watching TikToks. I guess I can kind of understand what my mom is going through, seeing as I feel the same way about Ike growing up.     He's in eighth grade now, which is weird because it feels like he was still a babbling little preschooler a few years ago. I still remember the day he came home after being adopted. I was so happy.     I smile, thinking about the early memories I have with Ike. I check my phone and see that it's seven-thirty, which means I should've already left by now. Goddamnit!      "Shit, c'mon, Ike, we need to get going," I say, opening the door and unlocking my car.     It's so cold. I hate the cold. I hate autumn and winter. August is a weird in-between, though. It's always freezing in the mornings and hot as balls by the end of the day. I hate that, too.      We get in the car, and I crank the heat all the way up, but it doesn't start working until ten minutes later, halfway to Ike's school. This car was used for fifteen years before it was returned, and my parents bought it for me. I'm grateful, but it's a piece of shit.      I drop Ike off at school right before the doors close, "Have a good day!" I smile.     "Yeah, yeah..." He replies, trying to hide his smile, before walking into the school.     I check my phone again; it's seven forty-five. Christ, if I'm late on the first day back...     I was late to school. By one minute.     "I'm sorry, honey, but we're going to have to mark you tardy..." The secretary says in her typical bitchy voice.      I groan, "I was a minute late!!! Just let me pass this one time, please?" I ask politely (for the fifteenth time.)      She types on her computer, her long acrylic nails clacking loudly against the keys. She looks up and down, from me to the computer a couple of times. I'm trying not to lose my shit.     "Hmm..."      My eye twitches.     "Your transcript is fairly good... I suppose..." The secretary pauses, "...we can let it go just this once." She says, popping a piece of gum in her mouth and chewing it obnoxiously.     "THANK YOU," I uttered through gritted teeth.      I groaned once more as I sped-walked to class, already pissed off for the day. This place really knows how to grind my gears, but I try to brush it off. I'll be out of here soon enough. Which is kind of a crazy thing to think about.      Walking into my first class, the teacher stared at me. With hatred. I didn't really know what I did to deserve that, because being late isn't that FUCKING SERIOUS!!! Thank God I have this class with the guys otherwise, I would have totally killed myself.     I sit down next to Stan and Cartman, covering my face with my hands and whisper-screaming into them. Stan looks at me and laughs, which is pretty typical. He thinks it's funny when I'm pissed off. Apparently, it reminds him of the way cats get all angry out of nowhere.     "I'm gonna jump into oncoming traffic," I announce, as I do anytime I'm slightly inconvenienced by...anything.     "Good riddance." Cartman snickers.     "Shut the fuck up, or I'll mention you in my suicide note." I threaten, as always.     He holds his arms up like he's going to fight me, "DO IT, BRAH!"      I roll my eyes, unfortunately, unable to hold back a smirk. I hate Eric, like, a LOT. All of us do, but sometimes he is kind of hilarious, mostly when he's not trying to be, like when he tries to explain his horrible actions.      He's also a lot more fun when he's drunk and/or high. He confesses to all the cringey and insane shit he's done that we previously didn't know about, like how he's taken it up the ass...by another man. And he swears he isn't gay...     I mean, I was able to get him to admit that Tolkien was sexy when we were both fucked up one night. I'm right, of course, but Cartman wouldn't admit something like that while sober.      Once the teacher was done lecturing about all of her rules and shit, everyone went back to talking to each other. It was nice to have at least one period with most of my friends, considering I was in a bunch of honors/AP classes that they weren't.     To everyone's surprise, Kenny took those kinds of classes, too. So, I have him at least. And we work together, so that's pretty nice...     "Kenny, do you work tonight?" I ask, hoping he says yes.     "Yeah, closing busser, dude." He sighs, "Fuck Olive Garden."      I laugh, "Dude, I close tonight, too! Fuck Olive Garden." I repeat.     "Is it really that bad...?" Stan asks.      "...I mean, would you want to kiss people's asses all day?" I asked in return.     "Fuck no!"     "Then yes, it's that bad," I answer.     Cartman chimes in, "I bet Kenny loves it! He gets to eat all of the scraps off of people's plates!"      "No way, dude..." Kenny has a disgusted look on his face.     Marjorine turns around, "Hey! Kenny's not gross, Eric!" She huffs.      Marj is always quick to defend Kenny, and it's been like that ever since they started dating years ago. I can see them getting married, honestly. And I usually wish marriage upon couples who are miserable assholes.     Like Stan and Wendy. They fucking hate each other. It's a bit annoying when they're both around... they just drain the life around anyone they're with. But she's so lucky to have him, and that makes it a million times worse.     Even though it had only felt like five minutes had passed, apparently, forty-five minutes did because the bell began ringing abruptly.      The rest of the day went by just as quickly, classes being nothing but rule overviews and meaningless conversations with the people I knew. Part of me didn't want the day to end, just so I could spend more time with people I cared about.     What sucks is that I only have two classes with Stan, and it's miserable when he isn't around. Why do I feel this way? I have no idea why. I guess I just really love having him as a friend.     But hey, at least after work, I'm going over to his house. We weren't able to hang out as much as we usually do in the summer because I always have a million things going on, and he was busy with work and therapy and rehab and... a bunch of rough shit.      So, I promised to go over to his house a couple nights a week and just...hang out like we used to. It's nice that we don't have to see each other every day to stay best friends. That's probably my favorite thing about our friendship: he'll always be there... and I will, too.      Our last period of the day is a study hall. I requested one, but Stan says he has no idea why he got one. I tell him he should still utilize it, but I doubt that he will. Stan is one of those people who don't need to study to be able to pass.     He thinks he's a complete idiot, but he's so intelligent... it makes me sad, sometimes.      I sit down at one of the tables in the library and take out my AP Calculus BC book because the asshole teacher has already assigned us homework. Whatever, math isn't hard for me, so I guess it isn't that big of a deal.     Stan comes in five minutes after the bell rings and sits down next to me. I give him a look. He knows what it means.     "Dude, I just needed to get a little high before going home." He admitted.     "You told me you wanted to stop smoking, too. I think living with your dad is a bad idea, Stan."  I sigh.     He shrugs, "I just feel bad for him. My sister's in college and living in Massachusetts now. My mom won't talk to him, and his parents are dead. You're right, though..."      I place my hand on his shoulder, "You can feel bad for him, but don't hurt yourself in the process."      Stan smiles. God, his beautiful smile. It's adorable, the most amazing smile I've ever seen. Every time, without fail, when he smirks like that, my entire body feels like it's melting.      The way his teeth are slightly out of place, his dimples and rosy cheeks...and on top of that, his perfectly blue eyes. I wish I could hide my feelings as well as some can, but my facial expressions speak louder than my mom when she's pissed OFF.     "Kyle?" Stan waves his hand in front of my face.     I blink a few times, "You have an amazing smile, Stan." I tell him.     Those rosy cheeks only got rosier, "Shut up, faggot."      I roll my eyes, "I could have told you that your roots are terrible, or your neck is a little long... but you get pissy over a compliment." I laugh.     "Fuck off."     "Maybe I will!" I keep laughing. I hope he thinks my smile is as great as I think his is.     I turn back to my homework and notice, out of the corner of my eye, Wendy walking into the library. I ignore her until she walks up to our table. Fuck.     "Hey, Stan!" She smiles, "And Kyle...what are you guys up to?" She asks.      "Nothing, really, babe." He replies, his entire mood shifting immediately.     I wish I could bring myself to like Wendy. She's a nice girl and hasn't done anything wrong to literally ANYONE. I just... I don't know. Something about her presence pisses me off. Maybe I'm jealous she spends more time with Stan than I do.      "What's wrong...?" Wendy questions.     "...nothing?" Stan's eyebrow arched in confusion.     "Yeah, right. Sorry I came over." She sighs before walking off.      The rest of the period is filled with silence between Stan and I. It's always odd when someone yells at you in front of a friend. Unfortunately, thanks to my mom, I'm used to that feeling.      The bell rings, and I look at Stan with sympathetic eyes. I smile, trying to cheer him up a little. I don't think it worked.      "See you later, dude." He says before walking off.     I sigh, my chest suddenly aching. I know feeling like this towards my best friend isn't normal... but I don't know if I can push it back anymore.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was around ten-thirty when I arrived at Stan's house, reeking of the smell of breadsticks and cheaply-made pasta. I brought a bag of uncooked breadsticks because I figured it would be a nice gesture...and they're free.      I rang the doorbell, struggling to keep my eyes open while standing before the door. I could collapse in Stan's front yard, sleeping in the damp grass. After a minute or so of waiting, Randy answers the door, wearing nothing but his boxers. I don't expect much less at this point.      "..."     "Can I just come inside?" I ask.     "...yeah, if you make those breadsticks..." After he proposes I make the breadsticks, I can tell how high he is.      I sigh, "Yeah, yeah, just don't eat them all."      "You REALLY think I could eat— how many breadsticks are in the bag?" Randy pauses, trying to count how many sticks are in the bag.     "Sixteen."      He points at himself, "You REALLY think I could eat sixTEEN breadsticks?!"      "I wouldn't put it past you. Can I come inside?" I can tell why Stan hates his dad so much. Aside from all the terrible things he's done, he's a fucking idiot.      Randy doesn't answer me, so I push past him and walk in, putting the breadsticks on a tray and shoving them in the oven. I lean against the counter, pulling out my phone to text Stan, telling him that I'm here.      "I'm here. Your dad begged me to make the breadsticks I brought... so I guess I'll be up in a second."     "jesus christ. srry dude. hes high rn, and hes totally gnna eat all of that fucking bread"      "Then get down here before he does!!!"     "damn ok."     I groan, pulling the bread out of the oven and letting it cool for a minute before lathering it with butter and salt. I know I'm not going to eat any of this, so it's gonna be a battle between Stan and his dad. I fear that Randy's going to actually fight for these.      Stan walks into the kitchen and smiles, the same smile that I would die to see every minute of the day. Well, I guess I couldn't see it if I were dead... it doesn't matter. He's wearing a wife-beater and some baggy sweatpants.      He must've actually gone through with working out over the summer...because that tight tank top showed off everything. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination...and I hated it.     It reminded me of that scene from SpongeBob: "Don't be intimidated, just try to imagine him in his underwear. Oh no, he's hot."      And that's when I realized I had been staring at him for far too long, long enough to make it noticeable. I quickly turned my head, shoving the bread onto a plate.      "What's up?" Stan asks, putting his hand on my shoulder. He's so close to me I can smell the cologne he's using.     My throat closes up, and my face begins to feel hot, "I'm fine, just a little tired..."      "You seem tense." He comments.     I pick up a breadstick and shove it in his mouth, "Fuck off! I'm not tense!" I yell.     Half of the stick drops to the floor, the other half still hanging out of Stan's mouth. He stares at me as he chews; I stare back. I wonder what he's thinking about and if he still thinks I'm "tense." Part of me wants him to see through it, and the other half is willing to pretend I'm pissed off.     Stan finishes the half of the stick and chugs some water afterward, "Let's just go upstairs." He suggests.     That certainly doesn't provide me with any answers.     I sigh, nodding and walking upstairs to his room. I take off my black button-up shirt and throw it on the ground before collapsing onto Stan's bed. I groan loudly into the bedsheets; he rubs my back gently.      "That feels nice...don't stop..." I beg, every part of my body aching.      "That's what she said..." Stan snickers, massaging my shoulder blades gently.      I turn my head to its side, "Shut the fuck up."     He shrugs. I can't help but stare at him a bit longer this time. I wish I didn't find him so attractive sometimes.      I sit up, running my hands through my hair, tugging at the coils just hard enough to feel something. Stan grabs a cart out of his bedside table's drawer. I snatch it out of his hands and hitting a blinker. Is that how you word it? I don't care.     "Jesus," Is all Stan says.     "I just need to shut my mind up. And my entire body hurts, this will help a little bit..." I explain.     "I get it," He replies before putting the cart up to his lips. I'm staring again.     My impulses are always insane when I'm fucked up, so I'm glad that it hasn't hit me yet. I ball my hands into fists anyway, preventing myself from doing anything stupid.      Stan looks back at me, "You've been staring at me a lot, dude. Is something wrong?"     "No." I lie.     He tilts his head slightly, like a dog; it kills me because it's adorable. Ew, what the fuck?! I'm going insane.      I blink a few eyes and fixate on some poster hanging on Stan's wall, feeling everything hit me like a ton of bricks.      "Kyle?"     I look back over at Stan, "...I miss all-day breakfast at Mcdonald's..." I frown.     "Me too, dude." He agrees.      "Sausage McMuffin... Sausage McMuffin, Stan." I whine.     "Dude, it's ten forty-five. We can get one in the morning." He reminds me.     I throw myself onto him, whining like a little kid, "YOU'RE A DICK! JUST LIKE WENDY IS- AND CARTMAN AND...and my dad and...uugghhh..."      "Wendy isn't a dick, dude. Maybe you're jealous." Stan teases.     "Nuh-uh... I don't want a girlfriend..."     Stan laughs a little bit. My face feels hot again, but I can only hope that he'll assume it's because I'm...feeling it right now.     "I get plenty of girls, Stan..." I reiterate.     He rolls his eyes, "You've only ever dated one person before. You and Nichole only dated for a year anyway...before she went back to Tolkien, that is."      I put my finger over his lips, "You don't even know... 'cause you don't party with us anymore..." I laugh.      Stan moves my hand from his face, "Oh, really?"      "Mhm...I've done it with Bebe...and Heidi that one night— and obviously Nichole. Am I a slut?" I continue to laugh, my head resting on Stan's lap.     "Heidi?!"      I nod, "Cartman always says that Jews are too ugly to get laid... but I think he's jealous."     "Dude..." Stan is a little surprised.     "I've never slept with a guy before, though. More and more lately, I want to, though... god- I am- fuck, it's so hot in here— GET THIS UNDERSHIRT OFF OF ME, STAN!!!" I tug at the shirt I wore under my button-up, struggling to get it off.      Finally, I'm able to pull it off, "Okay, I'm fine now..."      "Kyle—!"       I roll my eyes, "Shut up." I push him against the bed...and do nothing but stare at him.      I turn away and squeeze my eyes shut. Christ, I'm losing my fucking mind. I'm desperate for something— anything to make me feel fulfilled. Weed, food, sex... I'm facing the pinnacle of mania.       "I'm sorry." Is all I can say.      "...Do you just want to go to bed?" Stan asks.      "Yeah. Can we forget about this?" I ask in return.      "Yeah. I'm not bothered at all...you've had a rough day and are fried as fuck. Just get some rest." He smiles, that same fucking smile.      "Fuck...you're really hot sometimes." I smile back before hurrying out and into the guest room. Blame it on the THC.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I woke up earlier than I typically do so that I could get the hell out of Stan's house and avoid any awkwardness between us after last night. I also wanted to avoid Randy.      Part of me felt bad for leaving without notice, as we usually drive to school together when I'm at his place. My heart aches, I can't let go of the guilt. I take a deep breath and head into Stan's room to steal some clean clothes to wear for the day.     Rummaging through each drawer was like finding a needle in a haystack, and in times like this, I'm glad I keep myself as organized as I do. I grab cargo pants and a band tee (specifically Pierce the Veil) to wear.      I turn around and check to see if Stan is still sleeping; he is. He's all cuddled up with his thick comforter and hair ruffled, strands brushing up against his nose and cheeks. I smile, it's kind of sweet.     Ew. What the fuck? I shake my head and turn back around, taking off the clothes I slept in to change into what I'd stolen out of Stan's dresser drawers. His room is cold as shit; I can feel goosebumps forming on my skin rather quickly.     As I was putting his pants on, I accidentally bumped my elbow against the wall, which hurt like a fucking bitch.      Instinctively, I yelled louder than I wish I did, "SHIT— ow!"      I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that I didn't just wake Stan up. Or Randy. Please, god, not him. I hear a soft groan behind me and turn around.     "Please, please, pleaseeee...do not wake up..." I whisper-sang.      Stan's eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. As the blankets fell from his chest, I quickly realized he was one of those freaks who didn't sleep with clothes on. Of fucking course.     "DUDE!!!" I shouted.     "What the fuck are you doing...?" He groggily asked.     "Getting some goddamn clothes on! You should do the same! Jesus..." I scolded him, but part of me wanted to see just how nice his muscles looked, unrestricted by fabric.     He rolled his eyes, "It's more comfortable to sleep this way! Just put your damn shirt on..."      I could tell that we were both staring at each other and not because we were having a conversation. His eyes wandered a bit more before looking up and into my eyes.     "...What do you want?!"      Stan blinked a few times, "...Nothin'."      I hurriedly put his shirt on and stormed off, heading to my car and locking myself in. I screamed and banged my head against the steering wheel a couple of times.      "I'M GONNA—" honk "—FUCKING KILL—" honk "MYSELFFFFFF!!!" I screamed, my head now pounding.      Sighing, I sat back and took a few deep breaths. I've only ever acted this way once before, but it wasn't this ridiculous. I need to talk to Marjorine. Badly. She's the only girl who could help me out here...without telling everyone my business.     I need to prepare her a bit, though, because this is going to be a crazy "debrief," as she calls it. I take out my phone, connect to the AUX, and play her "Uh oh, I'm falling in love" playlist. The first song that plays is "You Are in Love" by Taylor Swift.     What the fuck am I doing?      I get to school about twenty minutes early, which is insane behavior, but I need time to get some shit off of my chest. Marj is always here early anyway because her parents are stupid assholes who still control almost every aspect of her life.      I text her, telling her to meet me in the library. No one ever goes in there during the morning because PDFs of books can be found on the internet, and who even reads anymore? It's perfect.     A few minutes later, she walked into the room and sat down next to me. She smirked, which only made me feel pure embarrassment. I held my head in my hands and groaned.     "Who's on your mind, Kyle?" She asked.     I sighed a long, obnoxious sigh, "Fucking Stan. I just— I can't even act normal around him anymore!" I admitted to her.     Marjorine's jaw dropped, "You're gay?!"      "YOU WATCHED ME MAKE OUT WITH TOLKIEN AT CLYDE'S BIRTHDAY PARTY!!!" I screamed.     She laughed, "I know, it's just funny when you're mad. Anyway...tell me more~"      "Well, first of all, I'm wearing his clothes right now. All I can think about is how I want to buy whatever cologne he uses so I can spray it on my pillow at night." My face begins to feel hot, and admitting all of this out loud makes me want to shrivel up and die.     "It's Dior Sauvage..." Marj tells me, "Anyway— how long has this been going on?" She asks.     "..." I think for a moment, trying to pinpoint a timeframe, "Probably a year, I've just... pushed it away for that long. It wasn't until last night that I realized I was losing it."      She squeals, grabbing my hands in excitement, "What happened last night?! Oh, hamburgers, TELL ME YOU KISSED OR SOMETHING!!!"      "NO!"      Marjorine sighs, "Unfortunate."     "...yeah, sort of..." I mumble, "But, I just- got really high and was super fucking horny and acting like a jackass. And then, this morning, I basically saw his dick because he doesn't sleep with clothes on- and—" I explained before being cut off.      "HOW BIG WAS IT?!"      Now my jaw was the one that had dropped, "I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!"      "It doesn't matter..." She giggled, "But he's still dating Wendy, huh?"      I nod, "I mean, it's obvious they aren't in love at all, though..." I acknowledge.     Marj pauses for a moment, "I could talk to her about their relationship. She doesn't listen to anyone about relationship advice, but maybe..." She drifts off.     "No, Marjorine, that's a terrible idea. I just need to accept the fact that I'll never..." I slam my head against the table, "...date him..."      She puts a hand on my shoulder, "No, they seriously aren't doing good. I'm worried for both of them. Has he not told you anything?" She asks.      "It's the one thing I know nothing about regarding Stan."      Marjorine frowns, "All they do is fight anymore... Wendy said she almost thought he would relapse after their last one."      My eyes widen; those words hit me like a semi-truck slamming into another car. I remember learning about Stan's addiction and being the only person who was there for him every day. I remember the exact date when he was admitted into rehab.     I remember the drunken calls at three in the morning.      I remember the breakdowns and crying and self-loathing he faced.      I remember being clueless as to how bad it was until there were months I went without seeing my best fucking friend.      "...You need to talk to her today, Marjorine," I said sternly.     I stood up and hurried out of the library, texting Stan and apologizing for everything. Telling him how much I care, how I'm always here, and anything I can say to make things better.      Tears well in my eyes; I blink them away. Fuck, I really am in love with him, aren't I?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The days are blending together to the point where I'm starting to really hate being alive (once again). The beginning of the school year always does this to me, but it's only worsened over the years.     Some days, I truly wonder how I make it from classroom to classroom, or even drive to school, for that matter. If I'm not talking to someone or doing work, I'm disassociating and completely relying on my instincts. Human auto-pilot, I guess.      I was walking in the hallway on my way to AP Lang when Bebe stopped me. She literally stood right in front of me; I guess she must've noticed I was...not paying attention to my surroundings at all. It took me bumping into her to even notice she was there.     I should make a therapy appointment...     "Oh, shit, sorry, Bebe," I said, taking a few steps back.     "It's fine, I need to talk to you," Bebe said, and it sounded serious.     My brow arched in confusion, especially considering I haven't had a real conversation with Bebe since we hooked up...months ago. Then, my brain started coming up with all of these unrealistic and irrational scenarios that I wished I could silence.     She put her hand on my shoulder as we walked and gave me a concerned look, "So... Marjorine tells me you're, like, totally into Stan."      "I—" I take a deep breath before saying anything rude, "Yeah, but she wasn't supposed to tell anyone. And you're Wendy's best fucking friend, why do you care?!" I asked angrily.     "Shut up, they're literally going to break up in a week." Bebe replied in a meaner tone than I, "I'm just here to warn you. He may be your best friend, but you don't know how he is as a boyfriend."       I scoff, reiterating my previous question, "Why...do you care?"       "Because he's going to RUIN your life. Like a parasite in your brain. You already can't stop thinking about them, right? It only gets worse. Have you ordered Dior Sauvage? It'll only be a bit longer until you're clinging to his stolen hoodies at night and crying." She scolded.     My gaze averts to the floor because I've stolen (borrowed, technically) his hoodies before...and I just bought a sample of his cologne. She's telling me what's going on in my life as it's happening, and it freaked me out a little.      I can't even reply to her because I have no idea what to say. Bebe isn't wrong whatsoever...      "Knew it." She smirked.     "I- yeah, but..." I pause, "Even if we did get together, which we totally won't, there's no way he'd be the same with me as Wendy...I'm a completely different person!"      "That's what they all say..." Bebe laughs, "I know we aren't really friends, but I do care about you. Don't ruin your friendship. I mean, if you want to know everything...you could ask Wendy. She's pissed off at Stan again. He forgot their anniversary."      I roll my eyes, "This is weird. I'm not getting into this with you because Stan isn't gay, so it'll never happen anyway!" I tell her.      Bebe shrugs and walks off. That girl is all drama, and that's the only reason why I never dated her. But, she's good... because now I can't help but think that talking to Wendy wouldn't be a bad idea at all.      What's even worse is that we have Lang together... so maybe— No. This is ridiculous. Everyone is getting on my fucking nerves. God, I'm gonna crash OUT.      I walked into the classroom and sat down, getting my obnoxiously large textbook out. Textbooks for English? Ridiculous. Some days, I wish I was stupid enough to fit into general-level classes and not feel extremely awkward.      I glance at Wendy, thinking about all that Bebe had said to me not even five minutes ago. I shake my head, telling myself to focus on class over the stupid drama she wants to cause.      And, as if God is fucking with me, through my Airpod, I hear Britney Spears with, "I know you told me I should stay away..."      Christ, I guess I'm talking to Wendy! Digging myself deeper into this stupid fucking mess until I'm six feet into the ground and DEAD. Fuck you, Britney; I wish I didn't like pop music at all, but here you are.      Since it was just a day where we were working straight from the textbook, I was able to move over and sit next to Wendy. She gave me a confused (and slightly angry) look as I sat down, I just smiled.     "I just want to talk to you about Stan. I want to get both sides, y'know? He doesn't seem right at all." I lie; in actuality, I have no idea what's going on between them... per usual.      She scoffed, "Yeah, right. He's probably sending you to apologize for him..." She assumed.     "No, I wouldn't do that even if he asked me to." That part wasn't a lie; I don't apologize for people.      "Whatever you say," Wendy sighs, "He just...doesn't put in effort anymore. He doesn't remember important dates, he doesn't try to be intimate, I just...I think he's falling out of love with me. Maybe he's afraid to break it off, I don't know..."      I force a frown, but part of me is happy to know that Stan isn't just an asshole boyfriend. I hope. Why do I hope?! Jesus Christ, I'm losing my mind. I am losing my ever-loving mind.      Her eyes well with tears, "I love him so, so much, but I can't do this anymore. I need to move on, and I think he does, too. You won't tell him I said all of this, right?" She asked.     "Of course not. I'm not a piece of shit, Wendy. I just...wanted to know what was going on from all angles. He honestly doesn't tell me much; it makes me worry."      "Yeah... thank you." She smiles.     I smile back, my moral compass shattering. I feel so guilty, but at the same time...this information puts me at ease. If, just...IF we were ever to date... I can hope that he'll be a good partner.      But, hoping and wishing won't do me anything, unfortunately. Will I just have to settle with someone? I want to feel loved. I really do. But, lately, it feels like there aren't any options for me. I hate this. I'm going to puke.      After a long day of contemplating, hating myself, disassociating, and going back and forth on a million things regarding Stan... I was able to go home, spray some Dior Sauvage and cuddle up with one of the hoodies I had taken from Stan a while back.     I feel like a lovesick schoolgirl from those ridiculous Shogun animes/mangas. Falling head-over-heels for some mediocre, male manipulator-type-of-guy and acting a complete fool the entire series.      That is me. It's disgusting. But he's the only person who's ever cared for me like this, and is...so beautiful. Sexy. He's fucking sexy. I think it's the leather. Or maybe the messy hair and gay-ass eyeliner.     Every time I become conscious of myself thinking like this, I wonder if I could pay someone to run me over with their car. Over and over. Until I am no longer able to be saved.      I scream into my pillow. Over and over. Loudly.     My mom rushes into my room, "What's wrong, bubbula?" She asks.     "Nothing. It's...just been a day." I reply.     "Okay, sweetheart. Just let me know if you need anything or just wanna talk, okay?" She says before walking out, leaving my door slightly cracked.      I sigh, standing up and closing it the rest of the way. I lie back down on my bed and groan. This is terrible.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Friday had finally come around, but it wasn't a good Friday. Tonight was the first football game of the season, which meant that I had to play for a consistently losing team. I think South Park has yet to win a game in, like, three years.     Kenny and I joined the band during freshman year because everyone needs to have a fine arts credit to graduate (duh), and no one wants to take a lame-ass art class. The bad part is that we ended up liking it and look gayer than ever.      Stan and Cartman, however, opted to take the lame-ass art classes. Stan passed because he discovered a hidden talent for drawing and shit, while Cartman barely passed with a D+. How? I have no fucking clue, but it doesn't surprise me at all.     However, instead of being surrounded by weirdos who are oftentimes referred to as "band kids," we actually have normal people who are super fun to be around. The only shitty part is that we have to sit there for the entire game...every game...the entire season.      And sometimes, we have to play for the fucking middle schools, too. Those days are especially annoying. But I don't know if I'm as mad as I think I am. I mean, I get to hang out with Stan afterward and the rest of the guys, but... I'm just happy to see him.     Now that I know what's going on between him and Wendy, I feel like I'll be able to support him more. I want him to be happy despite tough times; it's the least I can do.      I also just... don't want him to relapse. But that's a thought I don't let myself think about for too long.      While walking to AP Bio, I see Stan walking down the same path I take to get there. I fasten my pace and catch up with him, tapping him on the shoulder. I smile, his surprised expression adorable as ever.     "Dude, you scared the living shit out of me." He said.     I laugh, "Well, I wasn't trying to. Where are you going?" I ask.     "Fucking pre-calc, dude. It's not even hard; it's just useless." Stan groans, "What about you?"     "AP Bio..."     He smirks, "You're too smart for your own good."      "Shut up; I'm only taking it for the college credit. Anyway, how do you feel about tonight? I'm pissed off because I am fucking EXHAUSTED. I just want to sleep." I complain, whining a little bit.      He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, we're going to lose, per usual. It's all these goddamn kids who come in knowing nothing, and our coaches suck. Plus, Denver has the best team in the state, so it wouldn't matter regardless of the idiot fucking freshmen."      "Damn," I don't have much to say because I don't...necessarily understand how to sympathize, "Well, at least we're all getting together after the game is over."     "I guess so. They're all gonna be drinking, though." Stan sighs.     I sigh right along with him, "I know, but I won't, and... if you need a minute, I'll be there."      He nods, "Thank you. I'll see you in eighth period, Kyle." Stan smiles before walking into his classroom.      I smile back before walking off, my thoughts becoming that of a dumbass girl's lovesick feelings about a boy who is only referred to by a code name... like "pineapple."      Feeling nothing short of suicidal, I walked into the band room where tons of kids were practicing for tonight. Unfortunately for us, our director is a piece of shit who expects us to be perfect. I guess it pays off, though.     I walk over to Kenny, who is pretending to be productive. It looks convincing from afar.      "Will you run me over with your car?" I ask bluntly.     "Only if you shoot me afterward." He says.     "Deal."      I sit down and groan, taking out my gay-ass clarinet. I quite literally took an online quiz to pick what instrument I should play. Big fucking mistake.      We've gone over these pieces about a million times, but it's never enough. Never. Ever. I decide to actually practice because I know if I don't, I'm gonna be the only one our director notices and calls out. Convenient for everyone but me.      One of the pieces was a Lady Gaga mashup because that really fits in with a football game, one of the straightest things a person can watch/participate in.      While I don't have the melody, I can still hear the lyrics in my head. All Eric ever listens to is Lady Gaga, so it gets stuck in my head way easier than I'd like to admit. And he still swears he isn't gay...     I want your love, and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance. I want your love and all your lover's revenge... 'cause I'm your biggest fan, and I'll follow you until you love me, papa-paparazzi. 
     Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be your papa-papa-paparazzi. Can't read my, no he can't read my poker face, can't read my, can't read my poker face.

Give me that thing that I love... let's play a love game, play a love game. Do you want love, or do you want fame? Are you in the game? The love game? 
     Insane. Too long. Too fucking catchy. And all of her popular songs deal with love in some way, shape, or form. The world is out to get me, I swear to God. Either it's a sign to say "fuck it" and make out with him, or to never EVER shoot my shot.      It was around six-thirty when the game actually started, and we played the motherfucking national anthem to kick it off. I hate this part because the national anthem should just stay out of sports, in my opinion.      But I don't make the rules, so I just deal with it like everyone else. At least I don't have to play with a stupid ball for three hours!      We sit down in our respective spots on the bleachers, and I notice that Wendy isn't with the cheerleaders tonight. She's never missed a game because I haven't either. Part of me thinks it's because she's getting real petty.      And after a few rounds, or quarters, or whatever the hell it's called, I realize it's abundantly clear that that's the reason why she isn't here. She chose this. She's fucking pissed.      Now I wonder what comes after this... a short breakup followed by getting back together? Or was this the final straw? I forced myself to think of other things, focusing on playing over Stan and his problems.      "Kyle, you good?" Kenny asks me.     "I don't know anymore," I say, sighing.     He doesn't say anything to me for a moment, "You'll get your chance. I don't think he'll say no, either."     "I TOLD MARJORINE NOT TO TELL ANYONE!!!" I screamed.     "She tells me everything...and all of her friends everything. I don't know what you expected." He laughed.     I groan, "Well, how are you so sure Stan will be fine with my being in love with him?!" I asked.     He smirks, "Who do you think he comes to for advice? He doesn't trust Cartman, and there are some things he doesn't know how to tell you..."      I stare at Kenny. In moments like this, I wish I had piercing blue eyes so I could really have an effect on the people I'm staring at. But, I'm stuck with hazel eyes that are just...pretty, I guess.      "He is most definitely into men. Romantically...sexually..." Kenny says with a smirk.     "YOU CAN'T STOP THERE!!!" I yell, grabbing him. by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously.     He laughs, which can be better described as a cackle, "DUDE!"     "KENNETH JASON MCCORMICK." I yell, "You tell me right FUCKING now what he said."     "Damn, you pulled out the whole ass legal name. Fine, Sheila." Kenny punches my shoulder softly.     I roll my eyes. I hate being compared to my mom, but I never say anything because I feel bad. Being chronically guilty is a curse.     He pulls up texts between him and Stan and hands me his phone. I read everything at least five times over because I can't believe what I'm seeing. Stan saying I'm genuinely attractive to him, and...     "I HAVE A NICE ASS??? Do I really?!" I wonder.     "Turn around."     I turn around and Kenny yells out, "Damn!"      "...He's such a whore. Jesus Christ..." I continue reading, feeling more and more shocked as I do.     However, part of me is relieved that he doesn't think I'm some hideous asshole. I've always been insecure, and this is really validating. On the other hand, I'm overjoyed to know that he's into me. I look at him out on the field and feel my face getting hotter.     Maybe this isn't entirely hopeless.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Once the game was over, the guys and I (plus Marjorine because Kenny and her are basically attached by the hip) drove up to Jimbo's cabin in the woods to hang out. He never uses it anymore and said Stan could keep it if he wanted to.     Naturally, he did because it's a lot easier to get away with shit you don't want your parents to know about—mostly mine, Marjorine's, and Stan's. Kenny's parents have been in jail for a few years now, and Liane is a careless whore.      When we arrived, everyone but Stan and I quickly got to work on drinking everything in sight. I didn't mind, but I was worried about how this could affect Stan. He assured me it would be fine, but how would either of us know?      "Oh, man, that game felt so fucking long... I can't believe you guys actually made me come!" Cartman complained, a bottle of fireball pressing against his lips.      "Fatass, you CHOSE to come when you found out there would be funnel cake at the concession." I rolled my eyes.     He groaned, "Yeah, I fucking went for the funnel cake! Who wouldn't?! YOU!"      "I WAS AT THE GAME!!!"      "BECAUSE YOU WERE PLAYING THAT GAY-ASS RECORDER!" He yelled.     I scream, "IT'S A FUCKING CLARINET YOU JACKASS!!!"      Stan puts a hand on my shoulder, "Chill."      I sigh, sitting back against the couch, "Whatever."     Kenny takes out his Mexico Mango geek bar, taking a hit before Marjorine takes it out of his hands and does the same. As a kid, she always swore she'd never do drugs or smoke or anything like that, but I've seen her snort a line of perc off of Kenny's ass...so...     I used to be that way, too, though, extremely against all sorts of drugs and smoking, as well as drinking. But here I am now, smoking weed every morning and every night to make it through the day.      Part of me blames the fact that my parents only got stricter as I got older. That saying, "strict parents create sneaky kids," is absolutely true. I mean, every kid who has crazy, strict parents are the craziest people.      "Dude, Butters, hand it over!" Eric scoffed.     "You know it's Marjorine, you fucking asswipe!" Kenny fumed.     Usually, Marj never said anything about people misgendering or dead-naming her because she's too nice to correct them. Kenny, however, has damn near killed people over it.      She hands it to me, and I throw it at Cartman's head, "There you go, you piece of shit."      "Whateva! You can call me all the names you want, but it won't change the fact that Butters has a DICK." He announces.     "Cartman, shut up before Kenny kicks your ass," Stan warns; it's the most emotion I've seen from him all night.      "Seriously," Kenny says, glaring at Eric.     Marjorine sighs, "Fellas, it's fine...I mean—"     Kenny stands up, "It fucking isn't! He gets away with this shit all the time, and I won't stand for it! You are a GIRL, and CARTMAN is just a miserable asshole!" He yells.      "Kenny, please don't yell..." She asks.     He sighs, sitting back down, "I'm sorry, babe."     "I'm sorry, baaabbbbe~," Eric says in a high-pitched, mocking tone of voice, "Can you suck my girl penis, noooowww~?"      I groan, "If you're gonna cause issues, just leave, Cartman!"      "Fine! Screw you guys, I'm going home!" He declared before walking out the front door.      We all stay silent for a moment.      Marjorine takes the bottle of fireball Eric was drinking from and finishes it off before grabbing another. I don't blame her. She passes pretty well now... to people who don't know her. But South Park is a small town, so everyone knows everyone's business.      I feel for her. Sort of. I haven't publicly come out, but to me, it seems pretty obvious that I do like men. I look over at Stan, the anger plastered on his face makes me feel good inside. It's nice to know he actually cares.     "Dude." Kenny's eyes widen just a bit.     "What? Stan asks.     "He took my fucking vape!" Kenny groans.      We all go back to staying silent, the only noise coming from the heater in the corner of the room and the sounds of occasional sips from a bottle.      Kenny and Marjorine decided to leave a little bit after the incident with Cartman, mostly because Marj started bawling her eyes out once she was drunk enough to actually think about what had happened.      So, it was Stan and I, alone in his uncle's cabin... and for whatever reason, I didn't feel nervous at all. More or less, I was excited. Happy. Then, that feeling made me begin to worry.      "You okay?" I ask.     "Yeah, surprisingly. I was worried that they'd make me want to get the Jameson out..." He laughed awkwardly.      I smile brightly, "That's really great, Stan! See, you're making so, so much progress. I'm so proud of you." I say, trying to use a warm and comforting tone.     Stan's cheeks flush, that stupidly adorable smile appearing once again, "Thanks. It's especially surprising because..."      He pauses for a while as if the words refused to come out of his mouth. I was okay with that because I'd be willing to listen to anything Stan had to talk about, no matter how long it would take for him to actually say it.     "Um," He sighs, "Wendy broke up with me," Stan said rather bluntly.     I blinked a few times. It took me a minute to gather my words because I was celebrating this news on the inside. I'm an asshole, but at least I can admit I'm an asshole, unlike people like Cartman.      "I know I should sound more upset, but...it kind of feels like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders." He admits, "I mean, Wendy is amazing and beautiful, and there's nothing wrong with her, but... I think we've grown apart." Stan sighs.     He continues, "I think we both broke up with each other, mentally and emotionally speaking, months ago. Maybe it is time I start talking to other people. I hope she does the same."      My heart explodes into a glitter bomb full of happiness and hope. But Stan still says he's straight, so I'm still sort of hopeless. I can try my best; at least he's single now!      God, I'm a piece of shit.     "Yeah. You need to do what's best for you, dude." I smile, "Thanks for confiding in me..."      "Dude, who else would I tell?" He laughs, "My fucking dad???" Stan begins to laugh so hard that he hits me a bit, which only happens when someone says/does something really fucking funny.      I laugh along with him, mostly because his laughter is entirely contagious. Nothing was even funny, but I love it regardless.     "He'd be all like, 'All women are the same, Stanleyyyyy!!! They all leave and hurt you!!! Just like your mom!!! God, I'm worthless and fucking stupid!'" He said, impersonating his dad perfectly.     I laugh, like... laugh REALLY hard. Like, to the point where my face is hot, my eyes are welling with tears, and I can't even breathe. He pats my back, smiling wide and beautiful as always.     "Oh, Jesus Christ, Stan!" I sniff, wiping the tears out of my eyes, "That was perfect...oh my fucking god..." I exhale, trying to catch my breath.     His hand moves from my back to my shoulder and right on my jawline.     He holds the side of my face gently, "That laughter never gets old." Stan says softly.     My mouth falls agape, and the entire world starts looking a little brighter, "Are you high right now?"     "Just a bit... but I—" He sighs, letting go of my cheek, "I'm being ridiculous, sorry."      "...I'll do whatever you want for the weekend." I blurt out, "And then we can pretend it never happened afterward. Never tell anyone..." I suggest.     He looks at me like I'm crazy, "Dude...what are you saying?" Stan asks.     "Whatever you want me to say." I laugh.     "Are you high?!"     "...Just a bit," I reply.     He looks at my lip and then back into my eyes.      "Have you ever kissed a guy before, Kyle?" Stan asks me.     "A couple of times, why?" I smirk.      I can tell that he's biting the inside of his cheek, he always does that when he wants to say something but can't. I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, climbing into his lap a bit and giving him a short peck on the lips.     "No one will know, okay?" I promise him.     "Can you make it last forever?" He pleads, wrapping his arms around my waist.     I nod, leaning back in and kissing him once more; nothing crazy...but I don't pull away. Stan holds me tighter and pressing his tongue into my mouth. It surprises me, and I pull away in surprise.     "I'm sorry."      "...I just wanted to know how far you wanted to take this. I- I don't want to—" I sigh, "Like, I'm actually into men, and I...don't want to make you uncomfortable." I tell him.     Stan shrugs and pulls me back in for an even sloppier, passionate kiss... before grabbing a handful of ass. I don't mind it, even though it typically would bother me.     Oh lord, this is going to really get my hopes up, isn't it?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Stan and I headed to bed shortly after we made out... for about thirty minutes. It was a bit awkward after, but for completely different reasons. I was about to jizz my fucking pants, and Stan was probably questioning his sexuality like a motherfucker.     Or, at least, I hope so. I hope he's thinking about it a little because I would drop everything to be in his arms. I want this weekend at the cabin to continue forever. I want to remember what we did, and I want to tell everyone.     And there I was, making breakfast out of the few ingredients this house even had in it. There were eggs, and milk that was going to expire in a few days. So, omelets were the first thing that popped into my mind while staring into the fridge.      I didn't always have time to cook, especially because of school and the amount of days I worked. I loved it, so this was definitely a good start to my morning. A few minutes after I'd started cooking, I heard footsteps coming.     Usually, I wouldn't expect Stan to wake up this early on the weekend, but I can only assume he wasn't able to fall back asleep. The beds here are shitty; hard as a rock, probably because Jimbo doesn't ever have people staying the night here...unless they're drunken and completely unaware of all their surroundings.     "Good morning, Stan," I said, my smile able to be heard through the tone of my voice.     He yawned, "...morning, what're you making?"      "The only thing I could make without running to the store: omelets. Is that okay?" I asked.     "Yeah, I don't care," Stan replied in his raspy, tired voice.      A few minutes later, I had finished making omelets for both of us. I sat down next to Stan and ate, not wanting to talk about last night until he brought it up first.      "Damn, this is pretty good... considering that there wasn't much in the fridge." He says.     I smirk, "I try."     "Do you work at all this weekend?" Stan asked.     "Surprisingly, no. Why?"      He paused for a moment, "I just want...to spend every moment with you. I- I mean, I know that sounds so fucking gay, but..." His words tailed off into nothingness.     "Fine by me. We can go out somewhere tonight if you'd like." I suggest, grabbing his hand from under the table.     Stan's cheeks flush, "Okay... and, and we can do whatever... and no one has to know?"      I turn and give him a look, "What are you thinking of doing, you slut?" I started laughing, damn near choking on the food in my mouth.     His face turned a bright red, "I JUST WANTED TO KNOW, DUDE!!!"      "If you want a piece of this ass, now's the time to say something." I joke... sort of.     He punches me playfully before finishing his food, then proceeds to turn on Criminal Minds on TV. I've never watched this show, nor did I know that Stan was into these types of shows.     "FBI show, huh?" I sit down next to him, my hand interlocked with his once again.     Stan shrugs, "Yeah, it's good. And Matthew Gray Gubler is in it..."     "He's fine as fuck..." I comment.     "I guess so. He just isn't my type...like, in a man."      I look over at him, "Then what type of guy would you date...?" I ask.     He doesn't waste any time, even thinking about it for a minute, "Curly hair is better on guys than girls. Taller... freckles are always nice."      "Stan, that's literally me." I blink a few times.     "I know."     I blink a few more times because I genuinely can't believe he's saying any of this right now. Is he fucking with me? Please, god, don't be fucking with me right now.      Stan smirks and pulls me in for a short kiss, "This feels right."     I'm staring at him with my mouth wide fucking open. I am going to both bawl my eyes out and cum at the same time. Please, someone, save me from whatever this is before I get too attached to the feeling of it.     We kind of just laid around for the day, watching random movies and TV shows and...unfortunately, acting like a couple. I loved it, but I was mad that I loved it...because he DOESN'T WANT TO DATE ME.     He was consistently kissing me and touching my body in ways that weren't necessarily friendly; I had no idea what to think. I know I'm in love, but what does he think this is? Is it casual? Is it a situationship?      I'm confused, and yet I'm not mad about it. I think right now, I'm just happy to be getting this much attention from a single person. If anything, I'm the whore in this house.      "Where do you want to eat, Kyle?" Stan asks me, hand on my thigh as we're sitting on the couch.     "I don't care, whatever you want." I shrugged.     He sighed, "I mean, there's literally nothing around here... you wanna just go to Chili's or something?"      "I said I didn't care. I'll go wherever as long as it's not a barbecue place." I reiterate.      "So...you do care." His brow arches.     "I just assumed you wouldn't pick a barbecue place because you know I'm Jewish... I can't eat pork."      "Oh shit, yeah. Okay. Chili's!" He smiled, laughing a bit.     "We should probably change, though, we've been wearing these clothes for, like... two whole days." I realized.     Stan smelled his shirt, "...Yeah. I think there's some here, but I can't guarantee anything."      "I just don't want to have to go home right now. My parents are pissing me off." I sigh.     We walk into one of the bedrooms and raid the closet for some clothes. Fortunately enough, Stan had left some of his clothes from one of the times he'd stayed here. I picked out some baggy jeans and a Tomb Raider shirt.      He just grabbed a large jacket and some cargo pants, which is basically what he wore every day. I mean, it looked comfortable, so I can't necessarily blame him.      I began to just change in front of Stan, assuming it wouldn't be weird or anything. However, as soon as my shirt was off, his hands were wrapped around my waist. I turned around and stared at him.     Stan wrapped his entire body around me, caressing my chest gently. I held my breath, trying not to scream and ask him what we were. I'm crashing the fuck out.      Eventually, he did let go so I could finish changing. I wasn't as touchy while he got ready, but part of me wishes that he wanted me to be. I want to be wanted by someone...without any conditions attached.      "Ready to go?" I asked.     "Yeah, I'm fucking starving."      Upon arriving at the restaurant, we only had to wait a few minutes to be sat, and once we were, Stan basically ordered the entire fucking menu. One thing I don't get about him is how much he can eat... and not gain anything.      Fast metabolism bitches piss me off. Mostly because I'm jealous. I just ordered one of their salads and soup because I knew if I got anything heavier than that, I'd probably puke it up later.      Stan got the ribs, plus the mozzarella sticks and the soup. If I had to enter anyone in one of those eating contests, it would be Stan. Cartman, too, but he wouldn't look as good doing it.      Once we got our food, Stan's plates were DEVOURED within minutes. He was eating the ribs as if he were trying to show off his... bedroom skills. I fear that it was working on the unintended audience consisting of only one member.     Me.     I realize that I'm fucking disgusting, but some people are into genuinely disgusting things...so I'm not the worst out there.      "You wish you could eat this, huh?" He smirked.     "Sure."     I really didn't. Cartman actually tricked me into eating a porkchop one time, and it was fucking gross, so I'm glad I don't like it if I can't have it to begin with. I just wanted to get back to the cabin and get fucked, or something.     Is this what it feels like to be a woman during ovulation week?     Jesus.     Once we got back to the cabin, all I could think about was what could be next. I mean, Stan and I were seriously acting like lovers. If this weekend is all I get with him, I want to be slutted OUT.      "So...did you have anything else in mind?" I asked.     "Nah, all that food has me tired as fuck. I might go to bed a bit early if that's okay." He said.     Damn.      "Okay... would you care if I joined you...?" I wondered.     "...Sure."      We went into the room Stan was staying in and got into bed. I held Stan close, touching him the way he was with me earlier.      But five minutes into basically spooning him, he was out like a light. Another thing I was jealous of was being able to fall asleep within minutes. I sighed, holding him a bit tighter.     I loved him so fucking much that it was pathetic, but I knew deep down that nothing would ever happen between us. And even if it did, I doubt he'd be the one to initiate it. I wish he would, but it's not gonna happen.     Maybe being bold was the way to go. Doing the things I swore I'd never do... just for the experience. To feel something.      I'm gonna have to get high as shit first, though.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I woke up with Stan still entrapped in my grasp, his back pressed gently against my chest. I smiled, kissing the back of his head gently. He wasn't aware, so I could pretend he was mine for a bit. Even if that sounds so fucking stupid and disgusting. God, the lovey-dovey shit is killing me.      "I love you so much, Stan. I know, it's pathetic. But if you saw what you looked like right now, I don't think you could blame me at all..." I whispered, chuckling softly.      For about fifteen more minutes, I stayed there, lovingly staring at his resting body. I watched his chest as it moved up and down, matching his breathing and feeling at peace as much as he probably was in the moment.      It's astonishing to me how love can make someone feel so happy over something as mundane as watching that person sleeping. I wonder if he feels like this about me. What little things make him feel whole?      Stan's eyes fluttered open, "...oh, hey..." He looked up at me and gave me a little smile.     "Morning, Stan... did you sleep any better tonight?" I asked.      "Just because I stayed asleep doesn't mean I feel any better than the previous night." He yawned, sitting up just to lay back down.      I placed my hand on the back of his head, his cheek pressed against me. I stroked his half-bleached, half-black hair with my hand; my breathing slowed, and my mind wandered off a bit.      Stan moaned softly, "Mmm..." and then took a deep breath, "Don't stop that, your hands feel so nice..." He ordered, or at least I assumed so by the tone of his voice.     "I wasn't planning on it unless you wanted my hand stroking you somewhere else." I joked, laughing just a smidge.     He arches his brow, "Would you? The morning wood is bad, dude, if you couldn't already feel it." Stan says nonchalantly.     "I— Stan, I was joking." I blink a few times, "Are you serious?"      "...Um."     I sit up, my entire body heating up within seconds. Was this really going to happen? Or would it be a one-and-done handjob? I was clearly appalled but not mad whatsoever. I don't think Stan picked up on that last part.      He sits up as well, "Are you good?" Stan asks with genuine concern.     I nod, "Yeah, sorry, you caught me off guard, dude."      "...So..."     "Come here, Stan." I smile.     He moves a bit closer towards me, and I pull him in for a kiss. If this is how it's going to happen, I'm gonna make the best of it. After all, one has to know. No one will know.      We make out for what feels like an alluring eternity but is more like a few minutes. I pull away and kiss down his neck and chest, leaving a few hickeys behind along my way. His breath hitches with each kiss, more as I move further toward his waist.     "Kyle— you don't need to do anything crazy—" Stan tells me; I can tell he's a bit worried.     "I want to. But, if you don't want me to, I won't." I smirk, looking up at him.     He stays quiet, his hand moving to the back of my hand, holding onto my coils softly. Usually, I wouldn't let ANYONE touch my hair, but...I can make an exception just this once.      Since Stan sleeps like a fucking caveman (in the NUDE), I don't have to waste my time by ripping off any clothes. However, some people are into that shit. Sucks for him if he is, then.     I wrap my lips around his tip, slowly licking and teasing it, all the while looking up at Stan to see his reactions and facial expressions. I think that's my favorite part about sex: seeing the way they feel while being pleased.     His breathing quickens slightly, "Kyle, man, don't fuck with me like this—" He begged.     "Whatever you say," I roll my eyes before going all in.     I move my head up and down, taking all of his length easily, sloppily sucking him off. His grip on my hair tightens as he moans ever so softly and quietly; I find it cute, regardless of how loud he wants to get.     "Kyle— Jesus Christ..." He mumbles, leaning his head back.     I wonder if this is the best head he's ever gotten. I fucking hope so, seeing my competition is against one other person...and that's it. I kept going for a bit longer before pulling away at the last second.      Stan looks at me, a bit disappointed. I smirk once again.      "If you want me to make you cum, I think you're going to have to ask politely for it." I laughed.     "Don't be like that..." He whined, his dick twitching ever so slightly.     "Tough luck."      He looked at me for a while before resting his head on my collarbone and looking at me with bedroom eyes, "What if I scream for you like I'm a used-up slut?" He asks.     "DUDE!" I never expected those words to come out of his mouth because it was completely out of character for him.      Stan shrugged, "I've never been on the other side of things..." He continued.     I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to lose my mind. But, this was a good type of losing my mind. The sexy, kinky, kind.     "Please?" He asked...ever so politely.      I take off my pants, "You're lucky no one's going to know about this...otherwise you'd never hear the end of it from Cartman and Kenny." I snickered.     "Which is exactly why I'm asking you." Stan grinned.     After getting myself situated, I decided to give Stan a choice, "Pick your position. I'll give you that much."      "I'll do one that I know feels nice when you're on top." He said, bending himself over the side of the bed. I was surprised. It was just hitting me how easy this was, especially considering how willing he was to do this.      I got up behind him and quickly realized this wouldn't be the best without some sort of lubrication. I looked around in drawers, the closet, and under the bed and eventually found some Vaseline.     "Christ, I guess I have no choice." I sighed and put some on my fingers first, "You good?" I asked Stan.      "Yeah. Yeah, now or never, I guess."      I began fingering him gently, trying to acclimate him before putting myself in there. The last thing I want to do is hurt him and ruin the experience.      Stan moaned very softly once again, not reacting much, but I could tell that he was still enjoying himself. I did that for a few minutes before thinking to ask him if he was ready for me.     "Just tell me when you're good, okay? I don't want to hurt you or anything." I stated.     "Y-yeah, go ahead," He assured.     I slowly enter him, not going too quickly as I thrust. I mean, this was my first time with a guy, too. I don't have any idea what I'm doing, so I'm kind of waiting for Stan to give me the green light.      Stan groaned, "You can give a little more than that!"      "Damn, sass! Sorry I care!" I grip his sides and begin going at a faster pace.     When he said he'd scream for me, I honestly thought he was joking, but as soon as I got more into it, so did Stan. Consistent moans and whimpers escaped his mouth, no shame attached. It was honestly really sexy.      And after a few more minutes, I was beginning to feel it, breathing heavier than I was before. I wanted to go faster; I wanted to get as deep as I could. I wanted him to know how badly I needed this.      "Stan, can- can I go faster?" I asked between breaths.     "Fuck, please—" He moaned.     I stopped for barely a second before going back in as quickly as I could, pressing Stan harder against the bed, causing it to shake. His hands gripped the bed sheet as I pulled him back onto the bed and pushed deeper and deeper.     We were both sticking to each other from sweat, but it almost didn't matter how gross that was. This felt amazing. This felt right. It felt like there was so much more attached to all of this than pure horniness.      We kept going for a little bit longer before both orgasming, too exhausted to even move from the spots we were in on the bed. I mean, I didn't even feel like pulling out.     "Fuck..." I exhaled.     "That was the best sex I've had in a while..." Stan admitted.     "Was it really?" I asked, smiling wider than I wanted to.     "Yes, dude— holy fuck, does the weekend have to be over?!" Stan sat up a bit, smiling as well.     I felt my cheeks flush, "I mean, there's always tonight... and every weekend from now on... and the nights I stay over..." I suggested.     But before we could even move on with our conversation, I could've sworn I heard some movement from somewhere else in the cabin. I ignored it; I hear random shit like that all the time. My brain fucking hates me.     Unfortunately, I probably should've said something because before either of us could even react, the door swung open and slammed against the wall. It was Randy, looking pissed OFF.     "STAN! WHERE HAVE YOU— oh JESUS Christ—" His eyes widened before he turned around, "IS THIS WHAT YOU'VE BEEN DOING ALL WEEKEND?!" Randy yelled, still facing away from us.     I hastily removed myself from Stan, trying to get my pants on as fast as I could. Stan did the same. Of course, a good moment was ruined before we could properly appreciate it.     "Dad- I— I'm sorry, I was going to tell you, but—" Stan began before getting cut off.      Randy interrupted him, "Yeah, sure, you were going to tell me that you were FUCKING KYLE!!! Your mother is going to be so pissed at you for skipping her weekend with you to get BACKSHOTS from a JEW!" He scolded.      Stan and I just stared at each other. He looked like he was going to start bawling his eyes out, which wasn't a typical sight to see. It made my heart shatter into a million pieces. I wanted to die.     I took a deep breath, grabbed my bag, and quickly left. There was nothing left to do or say, nothing that could've saved either of us.      Fuck living in a small town with so few people that they always know where to find you.      Fuck keeping secrets, too. Because now that's ruined for us, too.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It seemed my phone was being blown up by my mom as soon as I got into my car to go back home. Randy was probably quick to tell my dad what happened, which meant it was only a matter of time before my mom knew.     My parents weren't entirely homophobic. They support gay people who are strangers, but when it comes to family members, especially their children, that's when it becomes a problem for them.      I received a LOT of lectures as a kid about "if you're gay, I'll still love you, but... we can't support you." It was just wonderful having to pretend I was something other than what I was. What I am— for years. I mean, I still am, for fucks sake.     Well, I guess not anymore now that they've gotten light of Stan and I. I sat in my car, taking a long, deep breath before answering one of her several calls in the past five minutes.     It, unfortunately, connected to the Bluetooth in my car, so it felt a little more like she was actually there, screaming in my face like a maniac.      "KYLE! When were you going to tell your father and me that you were a homosexual?! Especially with Stan, I mean, are you serious?" Mom screamed.     I could already feel my throat closing up and my eyes becoming watery. I blinked them away, trying to collect my words before answering her. Walking on eggshells never stops hurting, but it sure as hell gets a bit easier after seventeen years.     "He isn't my boyfriend, at least." I told her, as if that were a good thing, "I've been bisexual since, well, for as long as I can remember. It's not that big of a deal, Ma."      She yelled, "WHAT, WHAT, WHAT?! Not a big deal? You were having sex with him, Kyle! What the hell else have you been keeping secret from us?!" Mom asked.     "I—" Before I could even say anything, she was screaming at me again.     "Don't say another word. We'll talk about this when you get home, young man!"      And then she hung up. Now that I was able to breathe and let my guard down... everything fell apart within a matter of seconds. I'm not one to cry, but tears were streaming out of my eyes uncontrollably. I was bawling my eyes out, holding my knees to my chest, and wishing I'd never come here at all.      I grabbed the steering wheel and started banging my head against it so hard that the horn went off a couple of times. I felt ridiculous, dramatic, and absolutely fucking idiotic. But it was as if my actions weren't mine whatsoever. My body was taking over quicker than my mind could try to stop it.      "WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!" I screamed, grabbing onto and pulling my hair as tightly as I could, ripping out more than a few strands of it.      I sat back and held my hands behind my back, tears still pouring out of my eyes. I tried to take a few deep breaths, but each time, it came out as a pathetic sob. I can't say I've ever felt this terrible before, but I could only hope I'd never experience this again.     Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I put my car into drive and left, crying the entire way home. I hope no one that I know sees me like this.     Once I had arrived back home, it was a struggle to actually move from my seat in the car. After a few minutes of sitting in the driver's seat, doing all that I could to prepare myself for what was to come, I was able to get up and head inside. Slowly.      As soon as I opened the door, I saw my parents sitting on the couch with their arms crossed angrily. My chest ached, more due to fear than anything else, though.      I sat down in the chair adjacent to them, looking down at the green carpeting. I held back another wave of tears; crying in front of them was the ultimate sign of defeat. I need to be stronger than that.     "Kyle, what the hell were you doing with Stan, exactly?" Dad asked in a condescending tone.      "We were hanging out, and it just...happened," I replied.     "Did you like it?"      I sighed, "Do you have to be weird?!"     "Don't get a tone with your father! What else have you been hiding from us, Kyle?!" Mom shouted, nearly jumping up from her seat.     I blinked away a few tears, turning my head away from them, "I'm sorry."      "IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?! You're sorry?!" Dad was yelling now, too, which wasn't typical of him.     "I didn't know it was a big deal. I don't know what else you want from me." I bit the inside of my cheek so hard that it began bleeding. I kept going even after that point, though.     Mom scoffed, "Not a big deal?!"     I shrugged. At this point, I couldn't hold my tears in anymore. They fell down my cheeks from my already puffy and bloodshot eyes. I stayed silent because I'd rather not draw attention to the one thing I didn't want them to notice.      "You really are a fucking faggot," Dad carped, "Crying your fucking eyes out over nothing."      It was getting to the point where all I could taste in my mouth was blood, biting down so hard I was completely fucking up my mouth. I stood up, finally looking over at them and just...screaming. Not words, but an agonized scream.      "I CAN NEVER CATCH A FUCKING BREAK, CAN I?!" I was no longer in control, the words spilling out like oil in the middle of the ocean, "You wanna know what I've hidden from you? FINE! I drink almost every weekend after work, and then I get high and do crazy shit that I can barely remember!" I laughed.     I kept going, even though I should've never started to begin with, "And I've slept with plenty of people! I've done it with girls, mostly, and I BET THAT'S STILL A PROBLEM FOR YOU. And, yes, I fucked Stan, but he wanted it more than me. So if you're going to belittle and demean ANYONE for being gay... LET. IT. BE. HIM."     Neither of them said anything. They just stared at me in pure disbelief and rage. I hurried to my room and locked myself in, putting my AirPods in and blasting "The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess" by Chappell Roan.      How many times can a person listen to Kaleidoscope? We're about to find out. I might also experiment with how quickly someone can get drunk. Taking up any addiction or bad habit seems like the best idea right now.      It's not like me to be impulsive, or emotional, or...any of this. But I don't think I care about anything but Stan anymore. I'll fuck him every day if it means pissing people off. I'll never be complacent ever again if I can't even be gay in front of my parents.     I looked under my bed and found a half-empty bottle of Everclear. How convenient. I chugged it faster than I could even form a thought. I just wanted to forget all of this. I wanted to feel something other than hurt. And, when I did, it was ruined. It's always ruined.     Pulling out my phone, I started to text Stan. Why? I needed him. I needed someone. I wanted him. I love him. Fuck, God, I love him.     "ssstsannn i miss you please i love oyu pelase"      "kyle... what.     "i lobe you. please. my mim is so m mean but i just mneed you. right mow plsee"      "dude, are u drunk?"      "im sorey. imzsorry ikm oso sorry i forgot not to text you"     "it's fine. it doesn't bother me when it's u bc ur the only person who cares abt whether ur bothering me or not. is everything ok?"     "no. m y mom is a piefe of shig and i dont wana doo this anymore. pleae stnan get me out of here. wy dnt my pRENTs jsut lvoe me like every other kid? im thier baby. why are they mean to their baby?"      "idk, kyle. parents are shitty a lot of the time. my dad was pissed but he didn't make me relapse or nothing... u need to get out of that house."     "i want to. iw ant you so bad stan yo uhave no idea. i llvoe oyu s much. o love you. i love you. i love you."     "i love u too. i really do. go take a nap and call me when u wake up, ok?"     "okay.... nuight night."     "gn :)"     I placed my phone down on my bedside table and got comfortable in bed, closing my eyes and forcing myself to go to sleep. It was only noon, and I wasn't that tired, but I did it because Stan wanted me to.     And if he was the only thing making me happy anymore, then I'm going to listen to him and do as he tells me for the rest of time.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I didn't sleep one bit, or at least it didn't feel like it. My phone alarm went off, signaling that it was already six-thirty; I let it blare for about five more minutes before turning it off. I still didn't get out of bed, though.     My eyes hurt, and when I rubbed them, I could feel how puffy they'd gotten from crying the night before. I sighed, scrambling through my bedside drawer, and took out the bottle of immediate-release lithium I was prescribed when I was diagnosed with bipolar.      Usually, you're only supposed to take two a day or some shit like that. I have no idea, but I do know that the maximum is twelve hundred milligrams. That's four pills.     I took eight. Immediate release, my ass. Sometimes, I wish that I only dealt with the manic side of this disorder rather than the depressed side. It's a lot easier to go through the days with consistent energy and a euphoric sense of adrenaline throughout the day.     At seven, I finally got out of bed and threw on an oversized hoodie and some sweatpants; I absolutely DRENCHED them in Dior Sauvage. I'd bought it a few days ago online, and when it came, I planned on having everything I owned smelling of it.      I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, and tears immediately formed; I quickly blinked them away before I suffered from another sobbing spell, especially before school.      "Please, God, just get me through this day." I prayed (ish).     Walking downstairs, I avoided eye contact with my mom, hoping she'd just ignore me for the rest of the time. That would hurt less than her pretending that nothing ever happened to begin with.      I grabbed a RedBull from the fridge, cracked it open, and chugged the entire thing before walking out of the door and sitting in my car, waiting for Ike to get in so I could get the both of us to school. Just a little bit late, that is.      After a minute or so, he was in, and I drove off. I was disassociating pretty hard, but I still noticed my hands shaking uncontrollably like full-on tremors. I assumed it was my body being weird, and then I remembered that I had taken way too much lithium this morning. Oops.      Part of me hoped it would kill me. A shitty thought, for sure, but I think every teenager in America is suicidal at this point. And if they're not, they're probably homeschooled with crunchy parents.     "Kyle? Is everything okay?" Ike asks.     It's almost as if I didn't hear the words coming out of his mouth, but I definitely did. It took me a hot minute to respond.      "Uh...hm...I- yeah, um, yeah." I stop in front of his school and rub my temples.     He blinked a few times, "You're just...shaking a lot. And sweating. Even though it's fifty degrees outside and cold as shit in here." Ike noted.     "...what?" It was as if he wasn't even speaking English, "Wh- I— okay...have a good day." I said before driving off.     I made it to school just in time, not late enough to get bitched at by the secretary, that is. However, getting inside the building was a struggle. I was consistently losing my balance and tripping over seemingly nothing.     However, I did make it to my class just as the first-period bell rang. Once I sat down, I was feeling a bit better than earlier. Until my stomach started to hurt like a motherfucker. I should've been worried, but I still wasn't.       Stan (who I didn't even notice at first) tapped me on my shoulder, which caused me to jump like I had encountered a jumpscare in a video game. My head turned almost as quickly as I'd jumped, and that sudden movement had me feeling nauseous.     "...Dude, are you good?" He asked.     My mouth opened. I wanted to speak, but I literally could NOT process what he was saying at all. I closed my mouth after a second because I was convinced that I was going to puke any minute now.      "...huh?"     "Are. You. Good?" Stan asked once again.     I blinked, "I— ohh... I...um, that's a good ques-question. I... god, I'm gonna fucking puke—" My words were mushing together, but I wasn't going to admit that I absolutely overdosed. Fuck. I didn't think it would be this bad.      Stan put his hand on my arm, causing me to jump once again, even though I saw him reaching for my shoulder. I felt my hands shaking once again as if the tremors were traveling through my skin.      "Dude, do you need to go to the nurse or something? What the fuck are you on??" He questioned with a lot of concern.     Before I could answer (or even process his questions), he took my hand and dragged me to the bathroom closest to our classroom. I don't even know if our teacher cared enough to say something about that. Maybe they noticed me literally tweaking in the middle of class.      Speaking of tweaking, Tweak was in the bathroom we walked into. He was sitting on the nasty floor, cart in his hands. Each time his head twitched, I swear I could feel it in my bones. That's never happened before, but it was happening now.      "Oh, good, you're here. Look at Kyle and tell me what he's on because he can't even fucking speak." Stan told Tweak.     "AH— Jesus, okayymmm..." His head twitched, and he scratched at his neck, "I don't think he's on anything, this- mhhhh... looks like something else..."      Even though Stan was holding my hand and keeping me upright, I still managed to stumble over fucking nothing and have to hold onto the bathroom sink for more support.      "...I'm gonna fu..cking throw up, Ssstan," I mumbled.     "Can you tell me what's going on first?!" Stan yelled.     The sudden rise in his voice must've struck a chord, and not a nice one either. Like a bunch of notes that could never go together, still played together for longer than anyone wanted it to. I began bawling my eyes out.     "ohhhh...jessuusss..." Tweak muttered.     "TWEAK! Go find a different bathroom, Jesus Christ!" Stan demanded.      He left rather quickly, and Stan grabbed me by my shoulders. I didn't really see much of it, though, because the constant flood of tears had my vision blurred like never before. It took me a minute to get there, but I wrapped my arms around Stan and sobbed into his chest.     Those few minutes of straight crying felt like hours. It was horrific. It was vulnerable. It was the worst thing in the world. But it felt like the only thing that's made sense in a while. To just bawl. I did feel like a dumbass girl, though.      "Kyle...what happened?" Stan asked for probably the hundredth time.      "I took way too much of my meds this morning because I hate myself, and I just want to fucking feel something." I finally said.      He sighed, placing his hand on my cheek, "And what about last night?"     "My parents screamed at me, and then I lashed out at them and...and I just—" I turned to one of the stalls and threw up. Ew.     Stan waited for me to... be done and then grabbed a bunch of paper towels and got them wet, wiping my face off. It was cold and comforting. It made everything feel just a smidge better.      "I would kiss you, but you just puked, and that's gross. And, it's no longer the weekend..." He laughed.     I groaned, "I'm sorry, I'm a wreck right now. On top of all of this, I'm hungover as shit. I'm sorry. This is all my fault." I sniffed, on the verge of tears again.     "Neither of us did anything wrong, dude. We just have shitty parents."      "I guess so." I leaned against the sink, holding the damp paper towels to my eyes and forehead.     Stan grabbed my hand, "Only a few more months, Kyle. Then we'll be free from all of this."     "I know. I know..." I squeezed his hand, "I just hope they go by fast. We'll still stay close after graduation, right?"      Stan kissed my cheek, "I hope so."     There was a moment of silence between us before I was finally able to say something. It was still a struggle to speak, or at least come up with the words to even form a sentence.      "What are we, Stan?"     "Best friends." He replied.     "Who have sex?"      "I feel like that's normal. Doesn't have to be anything more than a pleasure thing." He shrugged.      All I could do was nod, even though I wished he would've said that we were at least talking or something. I don't fucking know. I didn't think best friends took care of each other with such tension.      But I'd rather be best friends who fuck sometimes than nothing at all. I'll focus on trying not to puke again for now.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

As the day went on, I started feeling better, barely making it through each hour. The day kept dragging on and on; it felt as if I'd never make it out of school. Stan kept checking on me throughout the day, but it made me feel worse.     It was a sweet sentiment, sure, but it hurt to know that the weekend was nothing but a hookup. I want to be loved by someone, and I can only assume those days are far from me. Maybe I should start searching elsewhere.      I'll do what everyone else does: talk to some random person for a few months, ghost them, and then move on to the next. Maybe I'll fuck a few random assholes who are desperate for it. Anything to feel like I'm not constantly getting SCREWED by the world.     I walked into AP Bio and sat down, pulling out my phone out of habit. Once again, Stan was blowing up my phone. I had been leaving him on delivered for a while, mainly because I was pissed off at him.      "kyle ur freaking me out, is everything ok???"     "I'm fine, dude. You're pissing me off."     "dude, how??? i'm like checking on u and shit bc i care, not bc i pity u"     "And I think it's sweet that you are... just forget it, I'm fine."     "but u arent and that bothers me. why wont u just tell me?"     "It's complicated and stupid, and I'm not ready to tell you anything. If you wanna know so bad, I doubt it would be hard to figure out. But you aren't going to hear shit from me."     "whatever. im sorry, kyle, but i cant rlly help u if idk whats going on"
      Read at 2:02pm.

"just tell me later at least?"

Read at 2:03pm. 
     If I say anything else, I'm going to start bawling my eyes out again. I want to tell him, at least, the shit about my parents, but it isn't a quick conversation I can have over text. I wish he understood a fraction of the shit I go through.      I sighed and put my phone away because I knew that any minute now, he'd be texting me once again. Dumb shit like that makes me think he is actually in love with me, and he doesn't realize it yet. But I know better.     The only reason I'm even mad at him to begin with is because he isn't listening to me. After the whole situation in the bathroom, I told him to just leave me alone and that I needed time to myself. Obviously, that didn't happen.     One of these days, I'm going to have to record my mom or dad screaming in my face and send it to him, saying, "Here, does this explain why I'm so pissed off all the time?! Why I can barely get through the day without begging for your cart?!"      I'm miserable and suicidal like any other teen, but sometimes I feel like I'm going to slip through the cracks and actually do something drastic. Maybe I should tell him about this...     "Kyle? KYLE!" The teacher called out.     I almost jumped, "Yeah?"     "Have you been paying attention at all?" They asked.     I blink a few times, "Um, yeah." I lie.     "Okay then," They cross their arms, "Tell me what type of bond is formed when atoms share electrons?" They asked.     Dude, even if I WAS paying attention, that's the easiest fucking question. The American education system truly is failing because how is that considered difficult? Jesus Christ.      "Covalent bonds," I answer.     They rolled their eyes and continued with whatever lesson we were doing. Not that it mattered, biology was the easiest class for me, and I'm only taking AP for the dumbass college credit. If I even go to college, I'm still clueless.     I don't think I really care anymore about what I go into, though, as long as it gets me a job that can pay bills and support me financially. God, I sound like an old piece of shit. Ugh.      It was finally the last period of the day, and I was ready to just talk to Stan about things, explain what's been going on, and apologize for being a bit of a dick. I don't want him to think I'm never going to move on from being upset.      But, of course, my small moment of peace and clarity was ruined by a tap on the shoulder. I probably looked like an alarmed cat with how hard I had jumped from being startled. I hate sudden sensations.      I turned around and saw Cartman's fatass face in front of me. I groaned, turning around and trying to walk faster. He somehow kept up with me.     "KYLE STOP FUCKING RUNNING OFF, YOU PUSSY!" He yelled.     I stopped and turned my head, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!" I yelled right back.     "Dude, chill. I just need to confirm something..."      My eye twitched as I sighed, "What?"     "So... I heard something about you and Stan— y'know, through the grapevine," Cartman said, putting his unmoisturized hand on my shoulder.      Panic rose through me because I could only assume he told anyone and everyone about what happened. I don't know how he would've found out, considering only Stan and I's parents knew...unless they told Liane.     And Liane told Cartman.      ...I think I'm going to kill someone today. I don't know who it'll be, but everyone around me should be taking five steps back right now. I have so much unbridled rage resting inside of me, and I need a good excuse to let it all out.     "Did you two—" Cartman began to laugh, "—sleep together?! Like, did he suck your dick or what, Kyle?!"      God, I hate his stupid fucking laugh.      I sighed, "Why do you care?! It's none of your business!"      "DUDE! If we knew you guys were faggots we would've started ripping on you two for it sooner! I mean, I told Wendy, and she is SO PISSED at you." He continued to laugh that stupid fucking laugh... that cackle filled with so much hatred and evil.     My entire body felt hot like I was just set on fire, "WHO ELSE DID YOU TELL, CARTMAN?!" I screamed.     "I told anyone I could, dude! This is fucking hysterical!"      "IT'S NOT FUCKING FUNNY!"      Unfortunately, me being pissed off only made him laugh more. I don't care what he thinks, but I don't need my sex life spread around by a fat, unloveable piece of shit narcissist.      "Kyle...it might be the funniest thing ever. You and Stan? Fagging it up in his uncle's cabin? Get this shit on SNL!" He put his arm around me as if this was supposed to be hilarious to me as well.      I took a deep breath and removed his arm from my shoulder. I got a good look at his disgusting face before punching him right in the nose. I've hit him plenty of times before, but I really wish I could've killed him.      "OW, DUDE! WHAT THE FUCK?!" Cartman yelled out, holding his busted-up nose with his hands.     "DID I TELL EVERYONE WHEN YOU CONFESSED TO TAKING SOME GUY'S DICK UP THE ASS?! NO! I DID NOT." I grabbed him by the shirt collar and kept hitting his chunky fucking face to the point where we were both doused in his blood.      By the time we actually started fighting, there was no one in the hallway and no one to stop me from kicking his shit in. But at some point, I just...ran out of energy. He didn't even fight back.      I let go of him and walked into the nearest bathroom, washing the blood from my hands. I looked in the mirror and felt nothing but shame. I've always hated Cartman, but... that wasn't something I should've done.      I'm not going to apologize because he doesn't deserve to be treated as a victim, but I can't help but feel bad. I should've walked away. I should've ignored him.      Am I already falling through the cracks? Have I already doomed myself?      I pulled out my phone and went to text Stan.      "I'm not coming to study hall. I just beat the shit out of Cartman. Can you come to my house tonight?"      "dude what the hell is going on with u? and wont ur mom be pissed off that im there?"     "Yeah, that's what I want to talk about. And yes, she would, which is why you have to sneak in through my window. I know you know how to get in that way."     "...ok..."     "I'll see you later, Stan. I love you."     "ur so gay shut up lolll"     I sighed and put my phone back into my pocket, sitting on the nasty bathroom floor and letting all of my tears run out of my eyes. I don't care anymore.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I don't know how long I've been lying in bed, but it might as well have been an eternity. I felt glued to the mattress, not even picking up my phone to disassociate on TikTok. Not even three months into the first semester of school, I already wish I were dead.      "I'll be manic in like a week; it's almost over..." I kept telling myself, even though I knew it might be months before I felt any sense of euphoria.     My parents refused to talk to me, which was odd because I was only ever used to them brushing off every fight we had and acting like things were normal. It made things a million times worse because now I KNEW that they'd never love me as their gay son.     At least Randy is too high to notice what Stan does with his life and only acts angry for a couple of minutes. And Sharon cares like a normal mom would, but it's not like she's around. She lives in Denver now.      She was always like a second mom to me, but now I'm wondering if she's the only mother figure I have left. I should call her. Would she even answer? Does she even know what happened? What does she think...?     I picked up my phone for the first time in hours, scrolling through hundreds of notifications. I don't ever get texts unless it's from Stan. But, of course, as soon as I force myself to get offline, everyone needs me.      Messages:      Marjorine: did u really fight Eric?! he was so mad... but I'm here for u, Kyle! I promise. ♡ 😇😘
     Kennnnyyyyyyyy: is everything ok? you've seemed off for, like, a week or so now. and my mom just got off the phone with yours, and it was so gross. your mom doesn't even act like she loves you. I'm sorry. I love you, dude. I'm here.

cartman,: go fuck urself u stupid fucking faggot jfc idk y ive hung out w u this whole time

Staannnn ♡♡: kyle im coming over at like 10, ok? dont do anything stupid. 
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     I put my phone back down, turned over to the other side of my bed, and stared out the window. It was around nine forty-five, and I wanted nothing more than to sob in someone's arms. Unfortunately, I was about to get really faggy with Stan.     But I guess nothing can be gayer than when I had my dick in his ass. Maybe if I demean myself the way everyone else is, I'll somehow feel better. I picked my phone back up and started shuffling through Mitski's discography.     I closed my eyes for a second before I heard a knocking at my window, which made me jump out of bed like a maniac. There Stan was, pressing his cheek against the glass. I smiled, opening the window and helping him inside.     "You said you'd be here at ten..." I said, holding onto his hand even after he was inside.     Stan shrugged, "I said, 'like, ten,' and I was getting bored waiting for ten to roll around, so... I just came over." He smiled.     I wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. I was never a hugger or a physical contact person. But I needed to be touched and held and loved by someone.      He wrapped his arms around me as well, his hands resting right by my waist. I breathed in his cologne like it was fresh air and held onto his Korn shirt as if I were being pried off of him.      "What's happening, Kyle?" Stan asked.     "My parents don't love me anymore, and I have no one who understands me," I admitted, tears slowly running down my cheeks.      "Don't be ridiculous, dude..."     I looked up at him, "They won't even talk to me! Kenny said his mom called mine, and all she did was talk shit about me!" I cried.     "...Oh." He sighed.     I wiped away some of my tears, "Can you just pretend you love me like you loved Wendy? I need something, Stan. I just...I— I don't even care what you do. If you beat the shit out of me right now and said that I looked pretty after, I think I would even be okay with that—"      "DUDE! I'm not gonna hurt you!" He blurted out, cutting me off, "I'm not a total piece of shit!"     "...Could you pretend to be?" I practically beg.     Stan looked at me with the utmost concern...ever, "Why...? Why do you want that?"      "Because if it's coming from someone I trust and love the most, then it'll feel right."      "Are you insane?!" He looked almost terrified.      I shrugged, holding my head in my hands and sobbing softly. Stan grabbed my hands and pulled them away from my face before pressing his forehead against mine. I felt his breath on my face, his long eyelashes brushing against mine.      "Stan...?"     He placed his hands on my cheeks and smiled, "I don't know how you get your skin to be so soft."     "...I just do skincare and stuff..." I told him, sniffing from the tears still streaming down my face.      "What do you do?" Stan asks.     "I mean, I wash my face, and then I use toner..." I say, "And then I use a few serums to help specific issues with my skin and stuff, then I moisturize, and then I put on sunscreen if it's morning. At night, I don't, 'cause, duh..." I explain.     And then, I noticed that I'd stopped crying entirely. I mean, my face was still puffy and gross, and I was still stuffy... but I was no longer crying. He distracted me within five seconds...      "Stan...?"     "I didn't know if that would work...but I'm really glad it did. I hate seeing you upset, dude. I really hate it." He laughed a little, pulling his face away from mine; his hands didn't move, though.     "You gonna let go of my face?" I wondered.     Stan caressed one of my cheeks with his thumb, "I dunno...your skin is really soft..." He smirked, "And your lips."     I rolled my eyes, "And you say you aren't gay..."     "I'M NOT!!!" He yelled.     "Shut up!!!" I whisper-yelled in return.     "Sorry."     I sigh with a smile, leaning into his touch. Despite his hands being dry and calloused, it was still the only touch I'd ever embrace. I loved his rough skin, sharp features, and the way he looked like a scruffy kind of guy.      "I wish you weren't so hot, dude..." I muttered.     He must've heard because I noticed his cheeks flushing just a bit, "Shut up."     "Make me, dickhead!" I laughed.     Stan pushed me against the bed and kissed my lips more intensely than I anticipated. I didn't mind it, though; the rougher, the better.      "What, are you gonna fuck me this time?" I asked.     He pulled away from me and smirked, "Only if you want me to."      "...Would you hurt me just once if you did?"      Stan leaned over and bit down on my neck gently before sucking on it and leaving a large hickey. I gave him a look, and I hoped he'd realize that I did, in fact, want more. I wanted more than to be bitten. I wanted to be eaten alive (in a sexy way).      He ripped off my shirt and continued to mark me as if he were a vampire, desperate for a taste of blood. I rested my hand on his hair, stroking it gently as he marked down my chest.      "You're such a good listener... I don't even have to scold you." I laughed.     "You underestimate how much of a slut I am, dude." He laughed along with me.      Stan tears off the rest of my clothes and continues to mark me up; I can tell he's a bit nervous to do anything too drastic. I don't mind it, though. I needed a minute to get hard anyway.      He stares at it for a moment and then looks up at me as if he's asking for permission. It's adorable; I can't help but giggle like a fucking schoolgirl.      "Take your time, Stan."      "Can you hold my head again?" He asks ever so politely.      I place my hand on the back of his head again as he places his lips on my tip, slowly going down the base. My breath hitches as I guide him for a minute. Then, suddenly, he grabs my arm and moves it away.      "Okay, okay, I got it now..." Stan assures me.     "Whatever you say, asshole," I smirk.     He goes back down and starts sucking my shit like he's getting paid to do it. It made me think that this was NOT his first time, but I wasn't going to question it too much... I felt good, I felt happy, and that's all I really cared about.      "Stan... you seem to be a natural at this..." I suggest; trying to piss him off just a bit.     Stan sits up, removing his mouth from my dick, "Shut up! I'm not gay!"     "Says the one sucking my dick." I tease.     He rolls his eyes, "Would you rather me not?!"     "I'm not a desperate slut, unlike you..." I laugh.     "Kyle..."     "What? Am I pissing you off?" I ask.     His brows furrow, "How bad do you want me to hit you?"     "Just enough to leave a mark. C'mon..." I lean over and kiss him gently, "You won't..."     Stan grabs my wrists and holds them behind my head, "You are such an asshole!"      I wrap my legs around him, "You're giving me exactly what I want, and you don't even realize it~" I sing.     He wraps his hands around my neck but doesn't apply any pressure, "Is this what you want, you whore?!"      "You know what I want."     Stan's face gets a little red as he takes off his pants, "Fuck off."     "You're so gay~" I sing once again.     He wraps his hands around my throat with a decent amount of pressure before inserting himself and thrusting like a pissed-off person does. Rough, unapologetic, and just what I wanted from all of this.      I held my hand over my mouth, just in case I managed to make some noise. Stan isn't supposed to be here, and I'm not supposed to be gay. So, I'm breaking two rules, and I'd like to keep this secret from my parents.      Stan grabbed my wrist and moved my hand from my mouth, which un-muffled all of the moans and whimpers that did escape my mouth.      "S-stan—! My- parents are still- here—" I exclaim.     He removes his hands from my neck before taking a fistful of my hair and tugging roughly. Naturally, this caused me to yelp like a motherfucker. I was going to KILL HIM after this. But, at the same time...the whole notion was kind of hot.      A little bit later, we had both finished and collapsed on the bed, melting into each other. A sloppy makeout session followed after we were done, tired, and still "not gay," according to Stan. What a delusional idiot.      "How bad does my neck look?" I asked.     "Pretty bad, dude. Good thing you know how to do that concealer shit." He laughed.     I rolled my eyes, kissing him once more, "You wanna skip school tomorrow?"      "Yes, obviously," Stan smirked.     "Good." I grabbed his hand and held it gently, closing my eyes.     "Night, Kyle..."      I smile, "Goodnight, Stanley..."     "Shut the fuck up." He hit me playfully.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Instead of waking up to the sound of an alarm, like I typically do, the first thing I heard this morning was my mom screaming about something—normal behavior for her, but usually not at six in the morning. Ike must've pissed her off.      But then, I was quickly reminded that Stan came over last night... and that he was still in my bed. A rush of panic surged through my veins as I quickly covered his entire body with my large comforter. Good timing, too, because my mom burst in moments after.     She slammed the door open, and it cracked against the wall so hard I could swear that it punctured the wall. It didn't, thankfully, because she would have found a way to blame that on me.      "KYLE! Take your brother to school; I'm going out for the day to run some errands. And besides, he's been nothing but a pain in the behind this morning!" Mom demanded.      I nodded, "Okay."     She slammed the door shut and stormed downstairs before proceeding to slam the front door, too. I groaned and pulled the blankets off of Stan, who had woken up due to the screaming, I presume.      I sat up and smiled before smiling down at Stan, who was cuddled up in my lap like a kitten. He acted all tough around everyone else, but he's been a big baby for as long as I can remember.      "Good morning," I whisper, running my fingers through his hair.      Stan groaned, "moorninnngg..."      "Go back to sleep, dude. I meant it when I said I wasn't going to school today. I just have to drop Ike off really quick, okay? Don't take up the whole mattress." I told him.     He sat up just a bit and kissed my cheek, "Okay... be quick."     "I'll try," I laughed before getting out of bed.      I put on whatever clothes I could find that was closest to me, which happened to be a Cigarettes After Sex tee and some tattered shorts that were probably Stan's. I didn't bother fixing my hair or anything since I'd be going back to sleep in a little bit.     Ike had already grabbed my keys and started my car, which I kind of appreciated. However, as soon as I got into the driver's seat, he just... stared at me. I stared back. This lasted for a solid minute or two.     "What, dude?!"      He blinked a few times, "...Your neck..."      I went to say something in return but was unfortunately gagged by a thirteen-year-old. I completely fucking forgot— and why didn't Stan say anything?! Oh my god. Jesus Christ. Someone better KILL ME on the way to this damn school.      "Ignore it." I tried to say with a monotonous tone and straight face, but everything was hot, and I wanted to die, so...clearly, I did not succeed.      After dropping Ike off at school and coming back to the house, I was finally back in my bedroom and met with Stan sprawled out like a starfish against my bed. He either did this on purpose or has absolutely no control over how ridiculously he sleeps.      I groaned, pushing him to one side of the bed, and climbed in, which led to him laughing like the asshole he was.      "I knew it! You're such a dick!" I laughed with him, slapping his face.     "EVERY DAY, I WAKE UP, AND I HOPE YOU'RE DEAD!" Stan yelled, quoting that random Adam Driver line.      I keep laughing, pulling his body into mine and feeling more joy than I have in a long time. Stan has a way of doing that to me, and I wonder if he has this level of charm around everyone. I hope not.     "Go to bed, you idiot!" I scold him.     "YOUR MOM WOKE ME UP, AND I CAN'T FALL BACK ASLEEP!!!"      I place my hand over his mouth and shush him, which makes him lick my hand, and I (obviously) pull away. Because that's fucking disgusting, ugh. Knowing someone this long also means having them know everything that makes you either pissed off or grossed out.      "DUDE!" I opened my bedside drawer and searched for some hand sanitizer.     "Oh, so it's gross when I lick your hand but not when my tongue is in your mouth?! On your dick?!" Stan questions.     Rolling my eyes, I hit him again, "Yes."     "How does that make any sense?!"      I shrug, "It just does! Shut up and sleep!"      Stan sighs with a smile, resting his head on my collarbone and closing his eyes. I kiss his forehead, as it's the closest I'll get to treating him like my boyfriend.     Fuck, this "I'm your best friend, and we aren't gay, but also, I do fuck you and kiss you like we're lovers" thing is NOT for the weak.      It was around ten-thirty when I woke up again, this time on my own part. Stan was still sleeping, and he probably would for the rest of the day if I didn't wake him up right now. I swear, he falls asleep and stays there like a mummified corpse.      I shook him as aggressively as I could because anything less would keep him asleep. The only reason why I think my mom's yelling was able to wake him up is that he was already sort of awake... because I have tried screaming in the ear before.     "Stttttannnnleeeyyyy..." I snickered.     He opened one of his eyes and hit me in the mouth, "I will kill you." Stan warned.      I kissed his lips, "C'mon, I don't want to spend the whole day in bed if you're here."      We got up and headed downstairs, eating some pop tarts for breakfast because neither of us felt like actually making anything to eat. Fuck that.      "I wish there was shit around here to do..." Stan said between bites of his cinnamon pop tart.      I sigh in agreement, "Yeah, I can't wait to get out of here when I graduate. Or at least move somewhere there's...stuff." I exclaim.     We sort of sit in silence for a moment before we both look at each other with the same idea since it's the only thing that people can do to have some sort of fun around here.      "Walmart." We suggest to each other, saying it at the same time.     Life in the Midwest for bored teens involves either hanging out in a random field and starting a bonfire or going to Walmart and doing nothing but walking around the store and acting like idiots.      Could we go to the mall? Sure, but it's not like it has anything worth looking at. Just shit that hasn't been updated in the thirty years it's been there, and maybe two places to get food from in the food court.      I go into the bathroom and grab some cream that reduces redness and apply it to my neck, then prime it and cover the SHIT out of it with as much concealer as possible. I walk back out and show it to Stan.     "Is it good?" I ask.     "Yeah, you can barely tell it was ever there. Ish." He replies.     "ISH??? What do you mean, 'ish'??"      Stan laughs, "I was kidding, dude! Chill, just get in the damn car."     I groan, punching his shoulder before heading out and driving off to the nearest Walmart.     We made it to Walmart and headed inside. I grabbed a cart and bumped into Stan with it, which caused him to fall over in front of twenty people, at least. I couldn't stop laughing, but he didn't...quite appreciate the public humiliation.      "I'M SORRY! I didn't think you'd fall— oh my fucking god—" At this point, I was struggling to catch my breath.      "Dude, they probably think we're fucking STUPIDDDD now!!" He whined.      "We kind of are, babe."      Stan's brow arches, "Babe?"     "I-" I avert my gaze to the ground, "Sorry."     Okay, so now I really AM going to kill myself because of this whole situationship-but it isn't at the same time-but it is because we are FUCKING-however he swears we aren't gay-and now I'm accidentally calling him pet names-BULLSHIT is... just, crazy.      I want to ask the scary question that would probably not only ruin...whatever is going on between us right now but also our friendship: what are we? I have no idea, but like... I need a title, at least.     And not "best friends, duh!" Because that isn't cutting it anymore if you are consistently talking to me like we are both MUTUALLY in love with each other. Best friends do not fuck like this. I need some sort of stability.     Was it ever this complicated between him and Wendy? Or is it only when it's me? Am I the outlier? Is this my fault? There are a lot of scary questions I need to ask. But they're SCARY, so I probably won't.      Because I am a huge fucking pussy. I am going to CRASH OUT.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I was sitting in the middle of first period, zoning out and not really paying attention to anything around me.     I didn't need to put much effort into this class's work, so I frequently ventured inside my head for the forty-five minutes I spent in there.       Most of the time, I have so much going on that I forget the stuff I need to remember... but suddenly, I had a moment of idiotic realization. I knew it was a Friday, but the actual date wasn't coming to me for whatever reason.     "Stan, what day is it?" I asked.     "It's October third, why?"      Dude. How the FUCK did I forget that homecoming was tonight? Not that I care about the actual dance, I care about getting absolutely wasted afterward at Clyde's. He has a party after hoco every year, and it's kind of like a mental reset for me.      Stan never went to school events, and he sure as hell didn't go to any of those parties anymore. Usually, this pisses me off because I love spending time with him more than anything, but this year I don't think I'm upset.     Not that I don't want to spend time with him, but I want to be able to drink until I can barely walk and maybe make out with someone new. Something about acting like an alcoholic sorority girl makes me feel alive.      I remember one year we did spin the bottle at one of these parties since it was all guys that time, and...eighty percent of them were straight, so it was, like, funny to them. I think I need that again.      "Kyle, are you going to hoco tonight?" Marjorine asked, "Kenny hasn't seen my dress yet, and I need you to confirm if it's good or not..." She explained.     "Yeah, I am, but I'll probably leave early." I shrugged.     "I don't blame you." She pulled up a picture of the dress on her phone and showed it to me, "Isn't it great?"     It was a tight-fitting, maroon dress with a fully open back and embroidered roses. Marj is typically more modest, even if she has a total man-whore for a boyfriend, but this year must be the year she stops giving a fuck.     "Damn. I wish I looked that hot." I laughed, "He's gonna jizz his pants, dude."      "I hope so!" She giggles, "I finally moved out of my parent's house, so I'm going all out." Marjorine told me.     I smiled, happy for her, but I was so... so jealous. Lucky asshole, why the fuck does my birthday have to be in May?! But then again, Marj's birthday is...quite literally 9/11, so I can't complain too much.     After a long seven hours of bullshit, I was finally home and ready to one, take a fatass nap, and two, get my ass ready to fuck shit up tonight. I set out the only formal wear (a dark green tux that I should probably retire at this point) to wear at the dance.     Along with that, I pack a small bag with more comfortable clothes (Stan's 'I ♡ MILFS' hoodie and some shorts), as well as some Tegridy weed and whatever alcohol I could fit in there without getting caught or looking like a suspicious freak.     But before I could doze off, I was being FaceTimed by Stan, which was weird for him since he rarely ever called, well, anyone. I didn't care that much, though, because if he's calling me, it's most likely important.     "Heeeyyyy, bitch." I answered, smiling wider than I wish I could control.     "Hey, dude, I just wanted to ask you something really quick..." He said, sounding more serious than I anticipated.     I arch my brow, "Is everything okay?"      "Yeah, I'm fine, I just..." He sighed, "You aren't planning to do anything too crazy tonight, are you?" Stan asked.      "...I kind of was. Well— define crazy. What exactly do you mean?"      He scratched the back of his head, "Like fucking other people or making out with... with Clyde like you did last year."      "Why do you care?"     Stan wouldn't look at me through the phone, and his eyes darted around like crazy. It was weird. It wasn't like him.     "I just do...I don't know. I mean, we do that stuff, and it's normal, but when it's with other people..." His words drift off into nothingness.      I smirk, "Are you jealous?" I question.     Stan's cheeks flush, "NO! I just— man, fuck off. Whatever. Do what you want." He groaned before hanging up.     I put my phone down before holding my pillow up to my face and screaming into it. A very happy, gay-ass scream.     If he's jealous of me potentially sleeping with or even being slightly sexual with other people, then he has to want me to some extent.     Was I planning on being a whore tonight? Yeah. Will I go through with it tonight? No. If he cares enough to call me about that, then I should respect his wishes. I will still be getting slammed, though.      I can't control drunk me, that he has a mind of his own, and part of me wishes I could remember all the times I definitely did some crazy shit while drunk.      It was six pm, and I was searching a crowded, underfunded venue for someone I knew. The one thing I REALLY hate about homecoming is just how crowded it is because everyone and their mom show up.      However, I spotted Craig awkwardly standing in the corner with Tweek, and they were both just staring at everyone with their unreadable eyes. Once I reached them, they both seemed to relax a little bit.      "Hey, dude— hnnnggg...I can't wait until it's socially acceptable to leave this dump, I'm already OVERSTIMULATED AS SHIT!!!" Tweek complained, holding Craig's hand so tightly that it was turning a bit red.     "It'll be okay, Tweek, it'll pass quicker once the rest of the guys show up." Craig reassured him, "So, Kyle, what's happening with you and Stan?" He asked.     I sigh, "I have no fucking clue, dude. I mean, we've had sex multiple times, and he is always pulling me aside for a motherfucking kiss. But he swears we 'aren't gay.'" I explain to them.      Tweek and Craig give each other this look: a mix of concern and...pity? I couldn't really tell, but whatever it meant, it wasn't good whatsoever.      "What?"      "This is your first gay...relationship...sort of, right?" Craig asks.      I nod.     "Oh, dude, it's gonna fuck you up." He says in his typical monotone voice.     I stare at them because I am more than just confused right now. But they know more about this stuff than anyone because they were the first (normal) gay couple that South Park had to offer.      Tweek explains further, "Dude— gay situationships are...like, nnnnghh, the most painful and soul-crushing experiences. Like, ever—"     "How?!"      "Kyle, it's because it- has- nnnghh...you know! More issues cause, societyyy... and- and Stan is especially bad because he doesn't realize he's gay!" Tweek says.     I groan, "You guys are such assholes, I can't wait to drink it all away. I mean, I've gotten warnings from, like, twenty people now. I don't care; he's so fucking hot and...also the only person who understands me." I reply.     "Yep, that's the worst part," Craig added.     I roll my eyes and walk away from them, going to grab something to eat quickly before running into Kenny and Marjorine. I sighed, more out of relief than anything. Being around them wasn't draining, and they warned me about shit in a less scary way.     "Oh, hey, Kyle!" Marjorine beamed, her arms wrapped around Kenny.      "Hey. You look so good tonight." I smile, "Both of you do. I mean, fuck."     Kenny laughs, "It's hard being this sexy. Is Stan here, or did he refuse to come... again?" He asked.      I groan once more, "He isn't here, unfortunately. If he were, he'd probably be all over me like a chihuahua humping someone's leg."      "Aww..." Marjorine frowns, "Well, at least tonight you can get away with drunk texting him."      "Dude, you know damn well I can't control myself when I'm drunk. I'll probably be texting him regardless of if I want to or not. I always try not to, but sometimes it's inevitable." I admit.     She shrugs, "Maybe you guys will finally just get together!"     "I wish, but he's crazy in denial, and I'm not ready to be screamed at by my mom again for fucking him," I grumbled.      "Dude, you fucked him?" Kenny asked.     I nod, tired of talking about Stan at this point.      "...So— who's on top? Because... you two are both..."      "I AM!!! HE'S A PILLOW PRINCESS UNLESS I PISS HIM OFF ENOUGH TO DO SOMETHING!!!" I scream a lot louder than I wanted to.     And it felt a lot quieter than It did before. I stormed out of the venue and took out my cart from the front pocket of my tux, hitting blinkers over and over until I felt like nothing mattered anymore.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

About an hour and a half into hoco, and most of it spent just standing around and talking about how shitty everything was, the guys and I decided to head over to Clyde's. I mean, might as well make the most of the night instead of spending it in some re-decorated warehouse.     Upon arriving at his house, I immediately took off the uncomfortable tux and changed into the clothes I brought. I also laid out the bottles that were stuffed in my bag. However, my supply was outnumbered by Clyde's stash.     "Dude, your parents really don't give a single fuck about you," Craig said as bluntly as ever.     Clyde rolled his eyes, "Be grateful they don't! Otherwise, you'd be getting wasted off of fucking Pink Whitney!"      "She's gotten me through a lot, Clyde," I tell him.     He pours a couple of shots of fireball and downs them within seconds, a clear sign he wants everyone to shut up and get fucked. It's common knowledge that we don't do anything until all of us are wasted. Why? I have no idea.      And after we've all had a few drinks, Tweek went into Clyde's kitchen, made some coffee, and mixed it with Bailey's, and whatever he had in this little ziplock bag he pulled out of his pocket. I gave Craig a concerned look; all he did was smirk in response.      "Just drink it." Tweek smiled, his eye twitching slightly, per usual.      We all hesitantly took a sip and then drank the rest after realizing nothing tasted different, and, well, who gives a fuck what happens?      "...What did you put in it, though?" Marjorine asked, innocently sipping from the cup.     Tweek set down his mug, "Meth!"     "WHAT?!" She screamed.      I blinked a couple of times, now realizing why Craig had given me that look earlier. Unfortunately for me, I'm addicted to caffeine and genuinely love the taste of coffee...and I had already finished the drink.      "Didn't you snort a line of perc off of—" Tolkien mentions before she hits him.     "That's different!!!" Marj whined.     Kenny smirks, "Meth is great. Have you guys watched Breaking Bad? Fire. Heroin? Also, fire." He continued drinking the meth-infused coffee.      "Dude, how bad does it affect you?!" I ask, "I get a million bad ideas while drunk, but high on fucking METH?! I can't predict nor prepare for that!"      He just laughed like the dumb motherfucker that he was.      "Dude."     "You'll find out tomorrow when you text and call either your exes or...Stannn..." He snickered.     Oh. My. Fucking. God.     Some amount of time passed, and I have no idea how long it was because I was tweaking like a MOTHERFUCKER. But I felt great; everything was wonderful, and I couldn't have decided better than to come here.      "KENNY— pour the bottle in my fucking mouth! Whole thing!!!" I begged, shoving a bottle of Malibu into his arms.      I then got on my knees and opened my mouth, probably looking like I was about to suck his dick, which I would've absolutely done at the moment. He proceeded to pour the bottle into my mouth, and only half of it made it down my throat.     "Kyle, since when have you had a tattoo on your leg?" Tolkien asked.     "Ohhh...that thing? Stan did it one night when he was high. I hate snakes, but he loves them. So he did one wrappin' round my legs...it took forever, but we had weed and Jameson, so who cares?" I explained.     Speaking of weed, I grabbed Kenny's cart out of his pant pocket and hit a blinker. I then tried to stand up and damn near killed myself due to losing all sense of balance.      "Stan does tattoos?" Marjorine asked as well.     I nodded, "Yessss... isn't he so hot?? I'm gonna get a tramp stamp of his name. He's literally my fucking husbanddd..." I announced to everyone.      She giggled a bit, "Do you want some water, baby?"      "FUCK NO! I need my man..." I declared, pulling my phone out and calling him.     He answered almost immediately, which made my heart way happier than I already was. Except this time, it was not drug-induced. Just love.      "There's my pretty babyyy...hi, Stan!  I wasssjust talkin' about you, baby boy... you-you know you're so hot, right? You- you're literally my husband, right, baby?"      Stan laughed, "Dude, what the fuck are you on right now?"      "Oh, my gawdddd..." I groaned, "You're so annoying, but I love you soooooo muchhh... you're my favorite. I was just tellin' the guys that I...I want...a- um... a tramp stamp of your nameeee! You'll do that, right?" I wondered.      "No. Maybe you should drink some water?" He suggested.      I hung up, "What a bitch."     Kenny wrapped his arm around me, "Yeah, suggesting you drink water... asshole. Let's get some José Cuervo, huh?"      "YESSSSS!!!" I was basically hanging off of him as we walked into the kitchen.      He poured some shots for us, and I downed them like I was dehydrated. I probably was, but it doesn't matter. I've been so, so, so fucking miserable for the past...lifetime, and tonight was exactly what I needed.      "Aw, damn, Kyle. There's no more, but I think there's a water bottle full of it in the fridge..." Kenny said.     "Hand it over, hoe!" I demand.      He takes a water bottle out of the fridge and gives it to me, and only after chugging the entire thing do I realize what he's doing. Kenny is giving me straight water and telling me that it's tequila.     I throw the empty water bottle at him, "I WAS HAVING A GOOD TIME, AND YOU RUINED IT!" I yelled.     "Dude, there's a point where you have to stop. I mean, you're drunk as shit, high on meth AND Delta 8, and god knows what else you've had tonight..." He scolds, which is unusual for him, so maybe it is kind of serious...     Out of nowhere, I started to cry, "I've felt like shit for so long, and I just want to drink for a good reason!" I sobbed.     Kenny pulled me into a hug, "Kyle, do you know who you sound like right now?" He asked me.     I shrugged. But then, I realized exactly what he meant when he said that. I pulled away from Ken and stared at him with wide eyes.      "...I sound like Stan when he... was—"     "—When he was at the most extreme low of his addiction. Get yourself another bottle of water and go upstairs. Drink the whole bottle, go to the bathroom and piss or puke or...whatever, and GO. TO. BED." He instructed.     I nodded, taking another plastic water bottle out of the fridge and drinking it as I slowly trudged up the stairs. I did trip a couple of times, but I was grateful that Kenny cared enough to tell me that I was going too far.      Usually, I was the one acting like an older brother to everyone, but he was always the one exerting that behavior onto me when I got into shit. If I didn't have him as a friend, I'd definitely be into serious trouble for...a lot of shit.      That's probably why he and Marjorine are so good for each other. He can keep her from doing stupid shit due to being gullible, and she gets him to fucking relax once and a while. Ken is a chill guy, but he does worry.     I finally made it to the guest room in Clyde's house, which conveniently had a bathroom attached to it. I took care of everything I needed to in there before crashing onto the bed.      I took a final swig of the water bottle and then took out my phone, deciding to text Stan before I went to bed. I felt like I needed to explain things because I was acting like a fucking lunatic while I was on the phone with him. Even drunk me knew that.      "Stan, I m reall y sorruy anout tonight I just got a little careidawway and als o TweAK gave u s meth"     "hey, its fine, i wasn't bothered at all. also wtf."     "I don't knowww he made thedse cocfee things adn put it tin there!!!@!"     "lord, well ill give sympathy to ur head in the morning. its gonna be one hell of a hangover."     "UGgghh don't remindme okkayyy??? SIgh o klove you lots and lots bahby"     "u still hanging onto that bit?"     "It isn't a bit, youer ktierally a baby ok. ay. I love you a lot. Sy it back"     "lmao love u too. get some sleep, fucker"     "Goodnught, Stan"     "night, kyle"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Monday rolled around much quicker than anyone wanted it to, especially considering everyone and their mom spent the weekend hungover and miserable. I have had migraines as soon as I woke up since Saturday, and I prayed that the one I was dealing with currently would be the last.     However, I made it halfway through the school day without throwing up or killing myself, so I guess that's worth something. Stan and I didn't talk about the horrific texts I sent him, as well as the call that I made (which I don't remember at all.)     I decided that if Stan didn't want to bother with having a conversation about it, then it couldn't have been that bad. Plus, I had other things to worry about, like not falling asleep in AP Lang.     "Alright, guys, since we've been going non-fiction and its elements since the beginning of the year, I want you guys to partner up and create a presentation about a non-fiction author and dive into their writing style, composition, rhetoric, etc. We'll present on Friday." The teacher explained.     I looked around at the classroom of ten kids and realized I didn't want to partner with anyone. Like, I don't talk to ANY of these guys. Someone fucking save me. I wouldn't say I like group projects.      Then suddenly, Wendy got up and sat beside me, "I'd rather partner with you than anyone else in here, and I'm sure you agree." She smiled.     "Yeah, at least I know you'll do your part of the work." I return the smile, but on the inside, I'm freaking out.      Does she not know what's happened between Stan and I? Thank god she doesn't, but still. I thought it was weird to talk to your best friend's exes, just in general, but apparently not if she's coming up to me first.     Maybe she wants to get back at Stan or something by dating me?      Ugh, don't be so conceded... I thought to myself, taking out the shitty school Chromebook and opening Powerpoint. I picked one of the more sophisticated themes because I do care if the slides look pretty.     "So, what author do you want to do, Kyle?" Wendy asks.     I shrug, "I don't know, preferably someone with, like, that one popular book that just so happens to be non-fiction." I suggest.     We both sit in silence for a minute or two, thinking about what books we could do. I originally thought about doing Jeanette Walls because of that one memoir she wrote, but she also has, like, five other non-fiction books we'd have to analyze.      Wendy perks her head up, "What about Jeanette McCurdy? She only has one book, so it would be super easy to do!" She proposed.     "Dude, that book FUCKED me up. I can't get over all the stuff that she went through..." I said.     "I know! I cried over it, if I'm being honest. I mean, I grew up on ICarly, but I literally can't look at it the same." She admitted.     For the rest of class, we made a lot of progress analyzing the structure and shit of "I'm Glad My Mom Died"; it was a lot easier to work through it because it's such a good book. Plus, Wendy is probably the most responsible and hardworking person I know.     Second place goes to Kenny. He just isn't responsible. Hardworking? Insanely. Dude has three jobs, is in only AP/honor classes, plays lacrosse, and is in band AND orchestra. Insane.     The bell rang to dismiss us almost as quickly as it had to start class, and as I was finishing putting my stuff in my backpack, I noticed Wendy waiting for me by the door of the classroom. Surprising, but I wasn't mad about it.     We walked out into the hallway and went to go to our next class. Wendy is in almost all of the classes I'm in, same periods and everything. She usually is, considering we both take higher-level courses.     "Did you study for the test?" I asked.     "No, I was too hungover. The girls and I partied on Friday and Saturday cause' it was Bebe's birthday." She replied, "Did you?"     I laugh, "Fuck no. I'm praying that I magically remember all the material and at least pass with a C+."      Wendy nods, "Same."     "...So, why are you suddenly, like, talking to me like this? I don't have a problem with it, I just... I dunno." I avert my gaze as I ask her.     She shrugs, "I'm still trying to get over him, Kyle. I don't want to hate Stan. I don't."     "What do you mean?"      Wendy groans, "I don't know... I mean, you aren't seeing anyone, right?"      Oh god, who's gonna tell her I'm FUCKING her ex-boyfriend... of seven years. I could tell my face was getting red, not because I was flattered, but because all I could think about was how we'd both sucked the same dick.      "Um..."     "...What's wrong, Kyle?" She wonders.     I scratch my neck, "I think you should talk to Marjorine about this first. It'll make more sense when she tells you..."      I'll let her be the bearer of bad news because I don't have the heart to tell Wendy that as soon as she and Stan broke up, I was up his ass. Literally. It was the first time, but I hadn't planned it to be the last.      "Oh, uh, okay..." She mumbled as we walked into the classroom.     Upon entering the classroom, I noticed that there was no setup for a test. However, instead of putting me at ease, I only felt more anxious. Once everyone had sat down in their respective seats, the teacher prepared to make an announcement.     "So, fortunately for you guys, I completely forgot that we were testing today, so you have another day to study. It'll be tomorrow. This is a free period to get some stuff done, preferably studying, but I can't stop you from doing other work. Or no work at all. It's your choice, not mine." They said before sitting back down at their desk.      I sighed in relief, as did the rest of the class.     Wendy tapped my shoulder from behind me, "Hey, do you want to study at my house tonight?"      She was still trying, which felt a little desperate, but I don't want to be rude, so...     "Sure, I'll probably get more done with you around. I'm a terrible procrastinator." I forced a smile.     However, as I thought about it more, if shit doesn't ever work out with Stan...I have a plan B. I mean, Wendy is a sweet girl, and she's drop-dead gorgeous. I wouldn't hate to date her, but my eyes have been on Stan forever.     Around four o'clock, I got a snap from Wendy asking if now was a good time to come over. I'd honestly forgotten I had her added, but I guess it was somewhat convenient.     "Heeyyyy, can you come over now, or are you not free right now? It's okay if not!!! 😊"     "Oh, yeah, I'm good. I'll be at your house in ten minutes, okay?"     "Yeah, that's fine! See you. 💜"     I sighed as I grabbed the textbook for the class and my laptop, heading downstairs and outside to my car. I then remembered that my location was on for Life360 (that the guys and I had for shits and giggles), so I knew I'd have to explain myself before going to Wendy's house.
pussy destroyers 😼
     kyaahlll: Before any of you guys ask why I'm at Wendy's house, we have a dumbass project to work on, plus a test to study for. I don't know, she asked me, and I was scared to say no.      caseoh 2.0: bruhhhhhhh no way ur fukcing that bitch LMAo      kyaahlll: I AM NOT FUCKING HER!!! I would never do that, oh my god.     stanley: bro     kenkenken: Stab stop actin like Kyle aint fucking u lil bro 💀💀     *stan     stanley: kys      kyaahlll: Stan, I promise I'd never do that. I'm seriously studying. If she tries anything, I'll leave, I swear.      stanley: u promise     caseoh 2.0: GUYS GET A ROOM. FAGS. FAGS. FAGS 🤢     kyaahlll: Yes, I promise. I'll come over to yours afterward if you want.     kenkenken: R yall dating or whar     *whar     *eaht     *what     stanley: ye     caseoh 2.0: currently pukeing      kyaahlll: *Puking — anyway, I'll see you then, Stan. :)     I turned my phone on Do Not Disturb and headed off to Wendy's, my anxiety spiking as I got closer and closer to her house. The only reason I knew where it was is because I drove Stan there a million times after he got a DUI and his license taken away for a few weeks...     I made it to her house and walked up to the door, knocking on it promptly. I was met by her terrifying dad staring me up and down as if I were her new boyfriend coming over to meet her parents.      "Um, I'm here to study with Wendy."      "Sure, bud..." He scowled.     I sighed, "No, I literally aammmm!!!" I said in a stereotypical "gay accent."      Her dad blinked a few times before just letting me in. I walked upstairs and blindly searched for her room, somehow picking the right door on the first guess. I was met by Wendy at her desk with her notes from that class.     "Hey, Kyle!" She greeted me warmly.     "Hey," I say back, sitting down on the vanity chair.     We did end up studying and working on our Lang project for a few hours before deciding that a break was in order. We both agreed that non-verbal phone time was necessary to proceed.     However, it was very much verbal, as we complained about all of our classes as if we weren't the top two students in the class of 2025. Even if we were smart, we could still complain...     "Ugh, I'm so glad you understand how I feel. I love my girls, but they just don't get some of this stuff." Wendy stated.     "Yeah, same here." I nod along, "I mean, I have Kenny, but he finds the good in everything. I'm kinda jealous."      "Well, considering how he grew up, it makes sense why he's like that. Also, I can only assume that dating Marjie causes you to become eternally happy." She giggled.     At this point, we were sitting next to each other on her mattress, only inches apart. Part of me was scared she was going to try and attempt...I don't even know. I shouldn't be thinking like that, though.      Suddenly, Wendy looks over at me and gazes into my eyes. Oh god. Oh my god— what the fuck is she thinking right now? What is happening?! She leaned in and placed her head on my shoulder.     I don't say anything because I am, once again, scared of her wrath. The two of us are quiet for a moment, as it's a bit too awkward to say anything right now. At least, that's how I felt.      "You're a really nice guy, Kyle..." Wendy says before leaning in to KISS me.     I move my head back, pushing her back gently. As I internalize the saddened look on her face, the pressure gets to me, and I feel all sense of control over myself deteriorate.      I yell, "AAAHHH!!! I'MSOSORRYI'MFUCKINGSTAN— I mean, like- he just—" I was cut off by the most painful bitch slap I've received in my lifetime.     "You WHAT?!" She screamed, "WHEN, KYLE?!"     "..."     Wendy grabbed me by my shirt collar, "When. Did. You. Fuck him?"     "...Like, right after you two broke up—" And in the blink of an eye, I was being thrown onto the floor.     She was in tears, "SERIOUSLY?! Is that why you were talking to Bebe, why you were asking me about him?! Were you just waiting for me to leave so you could have him to yourself?!" She questioned.     I didn't respond because any answer was the wrong one, and I was one reply away from getting my shit kicked in. I don't think I'd ever been more terrified in my entire life. She was as scary as my fucking mom.     "...You're too smart for your own good. You know damn well that defending your case makes it worse. Well, GO FUCK YOURSELF." Wendy kicked me SO HARD in the dick that I yelped in pain.      "At least you can't fuck him tonight. Get out of my goddamn house. RIGHT. NOW." She demanded.     It took me a couple of minutes to do, but I eventually got up and walked back out to my car, getting in and groaning in pain. I think I sat in her driveway for ten minutes before having the strength to drive back home without wanting to die.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The past couple of days have been nothing short of awkward and tense, especially considering that I never told Stan about Wendy and I's... debacle. He thinks the glares from her are meant for him, but I know they're messages toward me.     However, today would hopefully be the last time I would deal with the bullshit, considering that today we present our AP Lang projects. But who fucking knows if I'll ever hear the end of it.     The only thing I didn't expect from this is the lack of silent judgment. Girls tell everyone everything, but none of Wendy's friends have given me the same treatment. But then again, Bebe knew I wanted to be with Stan from the start.      She and I hooked up at some party, and I wish I could remember the details, but I only fuck to fuck when I'm completely wasted. All I know is that she was surprised I was even attracted to women.      "Dude, is she pacing back and forth in the hallway just to stare at us?" Stan asked, leaning against the lockers.      "I think so; I'm trying to ignore it," I replied, sighing.      He rolls his eyes, "We've been broken up for a month. I assumed she'd be talking to someone by now."      I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to bang my head against the wall. Why do I have to be so UNfiltered?! Why can I never shut up about shit?! I swear, it's going to be the death of me one day.      "What?"     "So..." I avert my gaze, "I kind of, um, so— when I was at Wendy's place...she, um, tried to, like, get all romantical and shit, and I...I panicked and maybe told her that we were, um, fucking...and that I was not interested in her...!" I explained, wanting to die inside more than ever.     Stan's eyes widened a little bit, but not in a worried sense, "Oh."     "You're not mad that I told her?" I asked, confused.      "I'm surprised she didn't already know. You posted a lot of shit on your story on homecoming..." He began laughing.     I blinked a few times, "What...WHAT THE FUCK DID I POST?!"      I quickly opened Snap, searched through my memories, and was met by four stories from that night. I was worried it was going to be more, considering the way Stan worded it. I hope I didn't post any stupid shit on Instagram, too...     The first story was a blurry mirror selfie with the caption, "Slowly understanding the reason why trashy people get tattoos of their partner's name..."      The second was a picture of Stan and me from a few days before hoco: it was of us in my bed shirtless and lying on top of each other with the caption, "PLEASE COME OVER I MISS U UU U U U @sttaannnmarsh43"     "Oh my fucking...jesus christ," I muttered, "They should've taken my phone," I said before looking at the third.     "Absolutely," Stan says in agreement.     The third one was a VIDEO of Marjorine and me singing along to Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan, as good as two drunk people could sing it. So, pretty horrifically.      And the fourth and final story was a screenshot of Red Wine Supernova playing from my phone, captioned with Stan's username. Tagged. What the fuck.      I looked over at Stan and fell into him, resting my head on his shoulder and groaning. He patted my back gently as I kept groaning from the pure second-hand embarrassment I got from myself.      "So no, I'm not mad. I would've only been mad if you did anything with her." He reiterated.     "...Dude, I would never do something like that. Plus, how could I give you up?" I smirk.     He laughs awkwardly, "Dude..."     "I'll see you later, Stan," I say as I walk off to class, unfathomably late. But I didn't care too much...     Upon walking into class, I made up a bullshit excuse as to why I wasn't there for the first half of class. But most teachers just don't give a shit anymore. Better to show up late than not at all, right?      As I was catching myself up with the work I had missed, Bebe and Heidi crept up next to me and... kind of sat there and waited for me to physically notice them. As if seeing them (and not necessarily acknowledging them) from my peripherals wasn't enough.     "What?" I questioned, finally looking up.     "Hey, Kyle! We just wanted to talk to you..." Bebe snickered.     "Okay."      She sits down at the empty desk next to me, scoots in close, and whispers, "Are you two really fucking?"      I sigh and nod, "Why do you two care?! Aren't you Wendy's friends?!"     Heidi giggles, "Yes, but those two weren't made to last, and you, of all people, know that! The amount of times they've broken up and gotten back together is insane." She said.     "And Bebe, weren't you the one to warn me about how Stan is a 'male manipulator,' as you put it?" I arched my brow, extremely confused by this confrontation.      The girls exchanged looks before smiling at each other, "Yes, but...he's talking about you to the guys like he's never talked about Wendy. Clyde told me, and I was like, 'No way!!!'" Bebe explained.     "And, being the master matchmakers we are... and also wanting Wendy to move on, we are going to help you out!" Heidi wrapped her arms around me with glee.     "I don't get it still. Especially considering you two have both... been with me in bed." I mutter, my face beginning to get hot.      Bebe rolls her eyes, "Dude, I have a boyfriend! But Heidi...can be your plan B or something, I don't know. Anyway, do you want Stan to be your MAN or not?!" She asked.      I sigh as I hold my head in my hands, "I think I need all the help I can get..." I admitted to them.     They both smile eagerly as they start whispering to each other, presumably about all the shit they're about to make me do. I would typically worry about this, but I'm way too desperate to say no to anything right now.     And besides, who knows how to get a guy to like you better than the two girls who have dated the WORST guys? I still can't get over how Heidi dated Cartman... and how Bebe even likes Clyde. Sure, he's hot, but he's annoying as fuck.     "Oh my god, isn't Stan's birthday next Sunday?" Bebe asked, beaming with excitement.     I open my phone calendar, "Oh, I guess it is. I still need to get him a present..." I remembered.     Heidi gasps, "You've gotta get him a romantic gift! Like, take him out to dinner and stuff, too!" She suggested.     "...Where, and what? He's so hard to buy for. So picky and so indecisive all at the same time." I complained.      She shrugged, "It doesn't matter where you take him to eat, but you should, like, make him something rather than buy it all! It's more personal and something he's guaranteed to keep." Heidi told.     I thought for a moment, "I have a bunch of pictures of us...I could do a scrapbook with lyrics from one of his favorite songs."     "A love song!" Bebe said.     "Yeah!" I smiled, "Anything else?"     Heidi took out a sticky note and started bending and folding it, eventually making a paper ring. She handed it to me.     "What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked.     "Listen to the song 'Paper Rings' by Taylor Swift. Please, I know men hate her....but just do it. I'll make another one for you so you can give the one you're holding to Stan." Heidi declared.     I pulled out my phone and started listening to it, "This isn't a bad song at all; it's cute."     "Right?!" Bebe giggled.     "Thanks, you guys, I'll start working on it tonight, I guess. You really think he'll like it...?"      They nod in unison, "How could he not?" Heidi smiled.      Once the day was over and I had arrived home, I searched around my house for anything that could be used as a scrapbooking... book. I came across a brown notebook for sketching and artsy stuff that was practically untouched.     One thing about me is that I am absolutely an impulse buyer. I am a Temu warrior, but I blame Kenny's cheap-ass for that addiction. I bought one of those TikTok Shop mini-colored printers and used it once before forgetting about it.      However, today, it would come in handy for printing out pictures for this book. I must've printed out a million pictures because there were just so many that I wanted to use.      Ones from when we were kids, stupid selfies from parties that happened years ago, and the ones of us that are just cute. Like the one I drunk posted on homecoming. I wrote out a caption for each of the pictures I placed in the book, along with some doodles and the lyrics to The Perfect Drug by Nine Inch Nails.     For the last page, I put in a picture of us from when we were in fourth grade. It was a picture from when the two of us went into a photo booth at an amusement park and goofed off while it took photos of us.     In the picture, we were making these silly faces, acting like the jackasses we still are today. I captioned it with "Irreplaceable." And that's it. I flipped over the last page and wrote a long couple of paragraphs wishing him a happy birthday.
"Dear Stan,

Happy birthday! You're finally an adult, which is so weird because it feels like just yesterday we were dumbass kids getting into the weirdest sorts of trouble. I can't begin to describe the amount of shit you've gotten me through, and I'm eternally grateful for everything you've done and still do for me.
  I truly love you more than anything on this earth. If I can't spend the rest of my life by your side, I don't want to live it anymore. You know better than anyone how much I've struggled to just...live. I hope you know you are the biggest reason why I refuse to do anything drastic.
  We've been with each other through everything. You are my everything. I love you. I love you so much. Will you promise to stay by my side?

Life's a bitch, and you keep living despite that, but we are so close to getting out of here.

Once again, happy birthday. You're the reason why I could never take my life for granted.

Love, Kyle."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was eleven fifty-nine on October eighteenth, and I had finally finished typing up my birthday message for Stan. I never stayed up this late for someone's fucking birthday, but it mattered to me. I want him to know how important he is to me.     As soon as midnight hit, I pressed send, smiling like a maniac at my brightly lit phone screen.      "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STAN!!! You are, and always will be, my absolute most favorite person in the entire world. The amount of my love for you is, well, completely insurmountable and unfathomably infinite. There aren't enough words to describe how much I care about you. I don't ever want to lose what we have together, and I hope you feel the same way. I wish you an amazing birthday and a happy first day as an adult, lol."     Seen at 12:01.
     "stop what im gnna bawl my eyes out u freak 😭 go to bed omgggggggg."
      "NO! You're everything. I have a really special gift for you, too. Can I come over later today?"     "shut up omfg. and dont tell me that bc now im fucking curious. also im at my moms so absolutely u can come over - she cant ever shut up abt u"      "Curiosity killed the cat... and yay! I love your mom. Your dad, on the other hand, is..."     "yeah, i know. anyway, go to sleep bc ik it killed u to stay up this late. gn bro"      "Okay... goodnight, Stan. :)"     Hours later, around ten in the morning (since I know Stan doesn't even wake up until noon), I got up and started to get ready to head over to Sharon's house. She still lives in Stan's childhood home, which was nice because Randy lived in the middle of fucking nowhere.     For once, I actually put some effort into my appearance for Stan. Most of the time, I would just show up to his place looking like a slob, but I wanted to be somewhat presentable for both him and his mom.     Per Bebe's advice, I took an "everything shower" that morning, which consisted of washing my hair and exfoliating the fuck out of myself. However, there were also "after-shower activities" that went along with the everything shower.     I always used oils and leave-in conditioner for my hair since it was so curly, so I did that before using some clay face mask shit that Bebe gave me. I looked at myself in the steamy, fogged-up mirror and felt like such a girl. However, girls are always fucking stunning, so I guess this shit is necessary.      Once fifteen minutes had passed, I washed the mask off and did my typical skincare routine. Then, I put lotion anywhere and everywhere that I could, lavender scented, of course.      I walked into my bedroom and sifted through my entire closet and dresser drawers, trying to find a decent combination of clothes to wear. It was already eleven-thirty, so I had time to spare, but not much.     Finally, I picked out a grey pair of cargo pants and a burgundy long-sleeved shirt, one that showed off my stomach a bit if I lifted my arms off. However, that was kind of why I picked it out...     Then, I put on my black Dr. Martens and some jewelry: a few layered necklaces, some rings, and a shitty bracelet Stan made me when we were kids. I also put on some earrings, as well as my septum. I usually never wore them because of work and my mom.      However, I need to be hot. I'm hotter with my piercings. And tattoos... I think I'm going to ask Stan to do an assortment of flowers on my hip. Why? He's good at drawing them...and he said that he found hip tattoos hot.      I grabbed my car keys and Stan's gift, then headed outside. I then remembered I could walk to Sharon's house in about five minutes. I just shoved the keys in my pocket, heading over to her house on foot.     Upon arriving at Sharon's house, almost immediately after knocking on the door, I was met by her smiling face. She hugged me tightly before I could even get a word in. I returned the hug, feeling extreme comfort in her embrace.     "Kyle! It's been so long since I've seen you last. Wow, you're so tall... much more than Stan, too. He must hate that." She laughs, "Well, come on inside!"     I smile, "Yeah... it's nice to be here." I say before walking inside.     Stan is there on the couch, sitting on his phone, before looking up and giving me those fucking eyes and that fucking smile. Thank FUCKING god I don't look a mess today.      "Happy birtthhdaaayyyyy~" I began to sing.     His smile immediately retorted, "Don't you dare!"     "...to youuuuuu~" I continued.     "Fuck off, dude." However, Stan couldn't hold back his laughter forever.     I sat next to him on the couch, "But seriously, happy birthday. I take it you couldn't care less?"     "Nope. Per usual."     I hand him the scrapbook, along with the matching paper rings Heidi made for me, "I know it's been killing you, so here's your gift, Stan. It's...kind of foggy, but I think you'll like it..." I explained.      Stan grinned as he put one of the rings on his RING FINGER and proceeded to look through the scrapbook. I was screaming inside because I was so worried that he'd hate it and want me to die or something. My thoughts sounded like Tweek's... well, outside thoughts.      "Dude, I love that song... oh my god, where the hell did you get this picture?!" He asked me, laughing.     "I went through your camera roll..." I admit.     "Dickhole." The picture was one of him during his emo phase.     After a few minutes, he finally reached the end of the book and read my little note to him. Stan doesn't cry, nor does he show much emotion in general, but his eyes are legitimately tearing up. Seeing that made me want to cry.      "Oh, dude..." Stan sniffed, "Kyle— you're a piece of shit...making me emotional like a damn girl..." He hit me lightly, turning his head away from me.     "Aw, I'm sorry, dude. I just thought it was—"     "No— it's perfect. I love it." He smiled, wrapping his arm around my back.     I sigh of relief, glad that he likes it. Stan places the book down on the couch to hold his head in his hands, which leads to Sharon picking it up and looking through it as well. Usually, this would panic me, but she isn't my mom, so I don't care.      She was now crying, too, but it was mom-crying. Stan was... just, I have no idea.      "Stan, are you okay?"     He nodded, "There are just a lot of unknown feelings happening right now, and my body is crying for me."      I snickered a bit, "That doesn't make any sense, but I believe you. Wanna head upstairs?" I ask.     He nods once again, and we head upstairs and into his room.     I plop myself onto his bed and hold my arms open for spooning, "Come here, Stan."     Stan gets into bed and presses his back against my chest, "You smell good..."     "Thanks?"      "Shut up. I'm feeling a lot right now." He huffs.     "You wanna talk about it?"      Stan shrugs, "I guess I can, but I don't know if it'll make any sense."     I grab his hand gently, rubbing circles on his palm with my thumb. I don't say anything; I just wait for him to tell me anything. Nothing. Everything. Whatever might be of this kind right now, I'm willing to listen.      "I...I just feel like the only place I'm happy, or even comfortable at, is the place next to you. When we don't have class together, I feel so bored. It's like I miss you, even though we see and talk to each other all the time." Stan explains.     He continues after a short pause between us, "Like when we Facetime, I never want to hang up. And when we hang out at my place, I just wish you could stay forever. Then, when we kiss or...have sex or whatever, I...I just feel like I need you to be able to breathe."     I hold his hand a bit tighter, kissing the back of his neck, "I get it. I feel the same if I'm being honest."     Stan sighs, "But we're just friends, right? And friends, even best friends, don't really act like this...or feel this way." He points out.     "I know that. Stan, we act like partners." I state bluntly.     "...I know."     "What are we?" I ask, as bluntly as I did before.     Stan turned around, and we were now face-to-face. His beautiful, icy-blue eyes look into my hazel ones, long, black eyelashes brushing against his cheeks when he blinked. I just wanted to kiss him more, which made this all the more confusing.     "What...what do you want us to be?" He asks in return.     "What do you want us to be?" I ask in return for his asking in return. I hope there aren't any more questions after this.      He wraps his arms around me gently, "If both of us want this to continue, then we should just shut up and accept the fact that we're... boyfriends..."     Hearing those words coming out of my mouth was like getting hit by a freight train...and not feeling an ounce of the pain. I jumped up in glee, my eyes watering a bit.     "Are you fucking serious?!"     "Yes, dude! I mean, I— if we try this and it doesn't work, then we'll still be best friends." He admits, bringing up a good point.     I climb on top of Stan and kiss him roughly, passionately, and with all the love in the world. I've been waiting and pining; I need this to last forever.      He returns the energy of the kiss, holding onto my hips and melting into me. For the first time, this meant something. It wasn't casual, it wasn't a trap in the friendzone...it was real.      "I love you, too, Kyle. I love you, too..." Stan smiled, exclaiming in that soft, sultry voice of his I adore.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It had been (almost) two weeks of Stan and. being officially together, but it didn't feel much different than how we acted around each other before. I mean, aside from more public displays of affection. But that slight change literally changed my life.     I've never felt happier. I want to spin around my room in a ballgown and listen to Taylor Swift like a little girl; Marjorine says I should do it, but I think that's too gay, even for me. I can't get into pop the way she does.      But, on top of all the happiness, joy, and pure euphoria I've felt recently, Halloween is coming up, and we're throwing a party. Obviously, except this time, I was able to convince Stan to tag along instead of staying home.      I understand why he doesn't come to these things, but I get bored when he isn't around. But he assured me he would be perfectly comfortable around all of the people drinking. However, that meant we had to come up with a costume.     Because it's fucking Halloween. Non-costume parties on Halloween are instantly boring and fucking stupid.      But neither of us had a creative bone in our body, so I was told to go to Marj for some ideas, as she and Kenny already knew what they were doing. It's insane, but I can only assume they'll be the best-dressed out of everyone.      I caught up to where Marjorine was walking in the hallway, "Hey."     "Hey, Kyle!" She smiled, "What's up?"     "Well, so, obviously, people are going to be dressing up for the party on Saturday, but Stan and I are fucking clueless. Help. Please." I begged.      She giggled, "Aw, of course, I'll help you!!! Let me think for a minute..."      We awkwardly stood in the hallway for a few seconds. I wanted to die.      "You could be the guys from Brokeback Mountain—" She suggested.     "NO!!!" I yelled, pushing her gently.     Marjorine hit me back, "Sooooorrrrry! Well, you guys could also do Prince Gumball and Marshall Lee! Y'know, from Adventure Time!"      "I guess so. I mean, I like that show, but Stan doesn't watch anything but random shit on YouTube like an IPad kid. So, it'll have to work... thanks, Marj." I sigh.     "Yep!" She smiled before walking off.      Using my mom's Amazon Prime account (why would I pay for one when I can use hers...but on my card?), I searched for the cheapest shit I could buy that would work for Stan and me. If it comes tomorrow morning, then we'd have enough time to get everything situated.     All I needed was a crown for myself and a red and black plaid flannel for Stan because he swore that he didn't already have one in his closet. But I can guarantee that he has one somewhere in there. I mean, everyone does. Right?     Nonetheless, I ordered the shit and tried to think of what else I could wear to make it look like I didn't pull this off last minute.      Okay, I have those pink cargos I could wear. Those will work, right? I also have a pair of pink sweats, but that's lazy and stupid... I have to be a bit more presentable than that. And then I can wear...shit, I don't have any matching shirts!
     What about, uh, shoes? I have my shitty white Converse...that can work. FUCK I NEED A FUCKING SHIRT!!! 
      Suddenly, I felt someone touching my shoulder. Not tapping or brushing against, but holding onto. I whipped my head around and ended up glaring at...Stan. Oh, right, we have this class together. Has the day really gone by this fast?      "Oh. Hey." I smiled, getting up from my seat and hugging him gently.      "Dude, if looks could kill, I would be convulsing by now." Stan laughed.      I rolled my eyes, "Look at you, using big boy words. Shut up and help me out here— I don't know what shirt I should wear tomorrow. I need something white but not like, 'random t-shirt in my drawer' white shirt. It has to match the vibe." I explain.      "...The vibe of what? You only sent pictures of the dude I am."       I groaned, "THIS GUY!!!" I shoved my phone in his face, which had a picture of Prince Gumball pulled up on it.      "Ohhh... so you're the really gay one. Have you bought the stuff yet? If not, I can just look up something and add it to your cart. I have an idea. A good one." Before I could even respond, Stan had taken my phone out of my hands.      After a few minutes, he handed it back to me with a devious smirk plastered on his face. I looked down and saw that he had already bought the crown, flannel...and a fucking corset. I looked back up at Stan with the same glare as earlier.      "...I am going to kill you. NOW THAT'S THE ONLY CHOICE I HAVE!!! YOU DID THIS ON PURPOSE!" I yelled, "Are you out of your damn mind?!"       He shrugged, "Perchance..."      "YOU CAN'T JUST SAY PERCHANCE!!!"      "Well, I think you'll look really good... like hot and sexy kind." Stan laughed, grabbing my hands and holding them gently from across the table.      Banging my head against the table, I gave up. I mean, how could I scold him any longer?       It was Sharon's weekend with Stan once again, and since it was Friday, he figured that the two of us could stay over there for the night. I would never say no to that, even if we weren't dating.      After school was over, he and I decided to play Mortal Kombat because we were bored, and I figured I could cater to his PlayStation liking. I'm still not over the fact he hates Xbox... I don't think I ever will get over it.      "Dude, why do you always pick D'Vorah? She's so gross..." Stan asks.      "That's the best part. I mean, Mortal Kombat is already fucking disgusting, playing as this bug lady who rips caterpillars out of her ribcage makes it ten times better." I explained.      However, my explanation was met by a concerned look on Stan's face, "You're a freak."       "Says the one who made me buy a corset to wear... what's next?" I laugh.      His cheeks flush, "Fuck off."      I smirk.      "...I love you."       "I love you too, Stan." I lean over and kiss his cheek.      He turned the game system off and led me upstairs and into his room, and as soon as the door shut, he was showering me with kisses anywhere he could place them. Usually, I was the one acting like this, but I fully welcome Stan being more affectionate than I.      I pushed him onto the bed before sitting down on the mattress, "You're bold. More than usual. I like it, though..."      Stan sat up and wrapped his arms around me, "I guess so... it just feels more natural to love you. I don't feel like I have any control over myself. I just want you."      "Shut up... you never talk like that."      "That doesn't mean I can't."      I looked over at him and sighed, placing my hand against his cheek and leaning in to kiss his lips. Chapped, but still the only lips I want to kiss for the rest of time.      "Why did we wait so long to do this? Like...date each other?" He asks.     "Because we wouldn't be able to love each other this much as partners if we never loved each other as best friends," I say.      Stan smirks, "And how did I not see how gay you were earlier? Jesus, Kyle."      I punch his shoulder, "You ruined it."      "I've ruined a lot of things, but you've always stayed."      I shrug, "You're my best friend."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was just an hour before the party was planned to start, and I had just grabbed the packages from my house and brought them over to Sharon's place so Stan and I could get ready: My crown, that fucking corset, and Stan's flannel.     "Okay, I need you to do your emo makeup shit for this," I told Stan as I took the items out of their boxes.     He smirked, "I thought you didn't like when I did my 'emo makeup shit.'"      I rolled my eyes, "I don't hate it, but I like seeing your eyes when they aren't covered in black shit. But, just this once... I won't say anything about it."      "Sick. I guess I'll get on that, then." Stan got up from his bed and kissed my cheek before going to the bathroom to do his makeup.     I felt my face get hot but ignored it so I could focus on getting my ass ready to head over to Tolkien's place. I've never known Stan to be an affectionate person, so maybe that's why I elicit a bigger reaction when he actually... acts like my boyfriend.      I put on my pink cargo pants and the silky white corset; looking at myself in the mirror, I felt like... a slut, honestly. The bottom half of my torso was on display for everyone to see, and I hadn't planned on wearing a jacket or anything.      But I could dote on that and feel insecure about my stomach later. I mean, I wasn't overweight in the slightest, and I've been considered "concerningly thin" at times. Do I ever stop hating the way I look, though? Of course not.     Taking a deep breath, I move on from my shitty internal monologue and search through Stan's jewelry to see if I can borrow anything for tonight. I found a gold chain necklace and some rings that I put on. And finally, I put the stupid crown on my head.     Stan comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later and just... stares at me. For a while. To the point where I'm wondering if I look stupid or not. It takes a lot to get me to care about what I'm wearing when it's just him and me.      "Um..." I look away before looking back at him, still confused.     He blinks a few times, "I...um— holy shit. I need to pick your outfits more often." He said that before getting dressed in his black jeans, black undershirt, and flannel.      Now my face was boiling and presumably redder than that of the flannel: I quickly grabbed Stan's keys and headed downstairs, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, a million thoughts racing through my head. He is too goddamn fine.      We arrived at Tolkien's huge ass mansion, walked in, and immediately were greeted by a plethora of Halloween decorations. Except these were very... beige mom core. Fancy but missing the color. Oh well.     Since I was closer to Tolkien than Stan was and had been around this maze of the home enough times to know the layout, I was able to guide the both of us to his basement, where the party was taking place.      Walking hand-in-hand down the stairs, we quickly realized we were relatively late. Stan gave zero shits, but I have chronic anxiety and guilt about everything, so the Jewish mother in me wanted to apologize profusely and offer to make some baked goods or something.      "There they are!" Marjorine beamed.     She was dressed in a light blue, sparkly mini skirt and matching diamond-shaped top, as well as some white GoGo boots. A red lipstick kiss mark was placed on her cheek as well, which had me realizing she was dressed as Sabrina Carpenter.     ...Which only meant that Kenny was supposed to be Sabrina's boyfriend, the ugly British actor guy. At least Kenny was sexy, though, even if he was dressed like a fuckass Victorian boy...stunning image of the actor.     "Heeeyyyy," I smiled, "You look gorgeous, Marj."      Marj twirled her hair around her finger, "Awww... thank you, Kyle. You look great, too!"      Stan released his hand from mine to hold onto my waist, pulling me in closer to his side. It was kind of funny. Endearing, but hilarious because he is a few inches shorter than me.      "What are you guys supposed to be??" Clyde raised his brow, hydraulic flask filled with (presumably) straight liquor.     I wondered why he even had that to begin with before seeing that he was WALTER fucking WHITE. My jaw dropped before Stan and I erupted with laughter, now seeing Tolkien dressed as Jesse Pinkman. If this were a contest, they would have definitely won.      And finally, Tweek and Craig. They were both wearing very...old man outfits. Sweaters with vests, khaki pants... I was confused. It was only until Stan pointed at them obnoxiously and screamed what they were.     "FROG AND TOAD!!!" He exclaimed with glee.      "What?"     "They're books about these gay fucking frogs, and they're awesome." Stan was literally glowing with childhood nostalgia.     I rolled my eyes playfully at him before heading over to the bartop and pouring myself a drink...plus a few shots. I was here to get fucked up. I mean, c'mon, it was Halloween. If someone doesn't get hospitalized at the end of it all, then you didn't do it right.      "So, are you guys, like...actually, officially gay?" Craig asked, a it surprised.      "I've always been queer, Craig. You know this." I said, then took a shot of Everclear.      He paused for a moment, "Yeah, but... Stan is so..."     "Babe, Stan was just clos-closeted!!! If you think back and...hhnngg... try to remember, I can recall him being a real fa—" Tweek spoke before being cut off.      "...It's complicated." Stan laughed, reaching for my hand as I sat down next to him.     While the two of us were late, it wasn't late enough to where we walked in on everyone wasted and fucking delirious. I was grateful for this because I didn't want to be the one responsible for a bunch of drunk people.      And I wanted some saved for me, too...      Once everyone was tipsy enough, music had been turned on, and it was starting to feel more like a real Halloween party rather than a regular hangout. Club music was as loud as it would go, drinks being poured every other minute, and everyone acting a fool.      "WANNA SEE ME DO THREE LINES OF PERC THIS TIMEEEE?!" Marjorine yelled, baggie in her hands and Kenny's ass out for all to see.      "DO IT, BITCH!!!" Clyde yelled right back... before IMMEDIATELY getting punched by a pantless Kenny.     He had knocked Clyde onto the ground, "Don't call my girlfriend a fucking bitch!!!" Ken scolded, but before Clyde could even defend himself, he was getting his shit rocked.      "C'MON CLYDE!!!" Tolkien cheered.     Clyde was a bit too far gone to fight back and was just taking all of what Kenny was giving him. Dude looked bad, and only God knew how bad that hangover would be in the morning on top of all of these wounds.      After a few minutes of fighting, Ken got up and walked back over to Marj, suddenly pulling her close and making out with her. Everyone ignored them and got back to drinking, terribly singing along to Kesha lyrics, posting nonsense on their story, or doing it all at once.      It was me. I was doing all of the things. Four more shots, a blinker and a half, and...     "THERE'S A PLACE DOWNTOWWNNN...where the freaks all come around and... hhhgghhh I forget the wordssss— STAN COME HERE TAKe A PICTURE!!!" I demanded.      He laughed, taking my phone from me and taking a selfie of us, "How's that, baby?"      "Yes, it's so great... you're so hot, omigosh..." I giggled, leaning against his shoulder.      Stan kissed my cheek a couple of times, "Thank you, Kyle..."     "Mhmmm...I'm gonna—" I hiccuped, "—do another shot real quick." I announce, stumbling over to the countertop.     Completely unaware of my surroundings and stupid enough to grab room-temperature Patrón, I poured myself— NOT A SHOT— but 1/2 of a red solo cup of tequila and chugged it. Big fucking mistake.     Immediately I was aware that I fucked up. I mean, even a completely trashed piece of shit should know not to take a shot of something ROOM TEMP, but especially not, like, three shots worth of it!     I put my hand over my mouth and shuffled to that bathroom, trying to be nonchalant and as NOT obvious as possible. However, I fear that even I knew deep down that it's always going to be blatantly clear when a drunk person needs to puke.      Locking the bathroom door behind me, I lifted the toilet seat and puked up probably everything I had drank in the past hour. It was so great, especially considering my wonderful, horrific case of emetophobia.      Once I had gotten it all out of my system, I began bawling my eyes out. The sensation of needing to throw up was enough to cause me to have a breakdown, but this was the icing on top of the cake. I felt better now, but at what cost?      I stood up and searched through the cabinets, finding some mouthwash and swashing with it to get the taste of regurgitated Pink Whitney out of my mouth. I sniffed, wiping the tears from my cheeks and eyes, trying to breathe and chill. out.      After a few minutes of sitting on the porcelain tile, I heard a gentle knock at the door. I took one last deep breath before getting up and cracking it open, being met with Stan's smiling face. I gave a weak smile back before letting him in.     "Everything okay?" He asked, grabbing my shaking hands and holding them gently.      I shook my head, "No," which led him to pull me into a hug. His warm embrace sent shivers down my spine. I held him close for a while, standing there and basking in the smell of his musky, bergamot cologne.     "I overdid it. I always do." I admitted, laughing pitifully at myself.     "Maybe a little bit. You were just trying to have fun." Stan replied, placing his rough hand on my cheek.     I avert my gaze, "Do you just want to leave? This— I—" I sigh, "Not only am I embarrassing myself, but I'm probably triggering you and I just...feel like shit."     Stan nodded, waiting for me to continue talking about how I felt. I bit the inside of my cheek, Fuck, just ask for my hand in fucking marriage if you're gonna be this sexy. I thought to myself.      "And... I just feel really fucking insecure right now because of this stupid shirt. I feel ridiculous and... I don't know, slutty? In a bad way." I explained.     "...You look sexy as shit, if I'm being honest, Kyle. I was just a little starstruck earlier, I guess... Sorry if it came off wrong. You look...you look so good." He smiled that goddamned smile. I was going to melt.     I looked over his shoulder to check if the door was still locked, which it was. I smirked and brushed some loose hair behind his ear. Stan looked up at me with an arched brow.     "Can you prove it to me?"      His cheeks immediately flushed, showing off a deep, rosy pink. I walked back a few steps until I was leaning against the sink, hoisting myself up and sitting upon the marble.      "If you want to be more bold, why don't you go the full mile, hm?" I snickered.     Stan chuckled awkwardly, "Fine then, asshole." He said before placing his hands on my cheeks and pulling me close for a rough, sloppy kiss.      I returned the same amount of energy as he did, my hands traveling quickly under his shirt and feeling around as if it were the first time. The muffled music from outside the bathroom wishes it could cloud my disgusting thoughts.     "You can do better than that, Stan..." I uttered, pulling my hands away from his beautifully toned torso.     He rolled his eyes, "Patience is a virtue, is it not?" Stan asked.     "Not here, it isn't, get your fucking dick out," I demanded, getting down from the sink and grabbing his crotch.       Stan pulled his pants down enough to the point where his dick was, in fact, out and about. It wasn't erected yet, but it would be soon. I pulled up his shirt a bit and placed a multitude of kisses around his waist and thighs, going lower with each one.     And, of course, that was enough for him to get hard. What a slut. I snickered, teasing his tip with my tongue. I may have thrown up a lot of the drinks I had, but the alcohol was still flowing enough to make it worth Stan's time.     "You're just gonna take me teasing you? Pathetic. C'mon..." I remarked.     Stan took a deep breath, presumably trying to find the courage to make a real move. Suddenly, Stan had grabbed the back of my head and forced my mouth down on him. And soon enough, he was... basically using my mouth as a fleshlight.      I held onto his thighs, letting him go for as long as he wanted to. I love being able to make him crumble, but it's nice to be in the backseat for once. After a few minutes, I pulled his hands out of my hair and stepped back to take a breather.     "Fuck..." I muttered, wiping saliva and precum from my lips, which had curved into a sly smile.     "Too much?" He asked.     "Not enough. But I bet you have other plans for me by now, huh?" I wondered.     Stan smirked, "Now it's your turn to get those pants off."     I stood up but was soon pinned against the wall and stripped of my cargos. Stan pulled me in for a kiss before putting his middle and ring finger up to my lips.     "Suck." He ordered, so I did.     After a few seconds, he pulled them out, and those same fingers were used to reach inside me. Stan's fingers weren't long and slim but thicker and more calloused. I moaned softly as he thrusted them in and out.      However, the few minutes I was being pleased, Craig had opened the door (that I SWORE was fucking locked) and...stood in the doorway for a long time, staring at us as we stared at him. This lasted a few minutes. What the fuck.     "He really is gay," Craig stated before walking out without feeling an ounce of shame or embarrassment.     Stan and I stared at each other, flustered, as we got ourselves situated and ready to get the fuck out of Tolkien's fuckass house. After getting ourselves clothes and cleaned up, we ran out of there as if the police had been called.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was the next morning, or noon, or some time of day when the sun was shining through the blinds and pissing me off. I groaned, pulling the covers over my head as I was finally being forced to face my hangover.     Stan was always the type to sleep in later than me, but he wasn't in bed next to me. I sighed, slowly getting up and grabbing the closest liquid I could find. I chugged a two-day-old, flat Dr Pepper that had been lying on Stan's bedside table. Was it fucking disgusting? Yes, but it helped me get out of bed.      I grabbed my bag from the corner of the room and took out some Tylenol, swallowing four before going downstairs. Maybe one day I'll learn to just...stop drinking like a fucking sailor.     Once I made my way down the stairs, I saw Stan sleeping...on the couch. It's odd because it's not like he had any reason to move there. Was I bothering him last night? Did I do something else wrong? Every possible outcome was rolling through my mind, and I felt like I was going to puke.      I sat down on the couch where Stan was still resting, my back pressed against his calves. I shook him gently, trying to wake him up and figure out why the hell he decided to sleep on the couch.      His eyes fluttered open, "Kyle...?"      "Why are you on the couch, dude?" I asked, my voice still groggy.      Stan sighed, "Because. Go drink some water." He replied dryly, turning his head away from mine.     I opened my mouth to say something but was quite frankly too shocked by his tonal shift, so I just shut up and did what he asked. I did need some water otherwise, I was going to be a hot mess.      Heading into the kitchen, I grabbed a cup from one of the cabinets and filled it with water, downing it within seconds. I stared blankly out the back door window, looking at the grey sky as the sun was now covered with even greyer clouds.      I couldn't stop thinking about what Stan could possibly be thinking about: I wish I just knew what was up so I could fix it, so I could never fuck up like this again. I barely remember last night, so I have no idea if I did something triggering or not.      That was most likely the case, but I didn't think he'd act that way... he would bring that up to me, right? Or did I do something worse? Did I act a fool and do stuff without his consent? I needed to know. I needed to.     I placed the cup I had used in the sink, went back into the living room, and stared at Stan. He looked up at me, annoyed and seemingly upset, but I wasn't going to act like a child and not communicate. He doesn't have a choice but to talk to me.     "What's wrong, Stan? If I did something that upset you, I need you to tell me so we can fix this. Please, just talk to me." I said as calmly as I could.      Stan sighed again, "We can talk upstairs."      I bit the inside of my cheek; it was taking every fiber in my body to not lose my shit. I can't get angry, but I am! I am because he doesn't need to catch a fucking attitude with me if I don't know what I did wrong!     The both of us headed back up to his room, tension rising like steaming hot bread. Or maybe a better comparison would be to rising lava because everything was on fire.      He closed the door behind us, "You wanna know why I'm upset?"      "Yes!"     "I was lying in bed last night, and I just couldn't sleep. And you know how when you can't sleep, your mind just starts thinking about shit? Well, I was thinking about a lot of shit that had happened that night!" Stan began to explain.     He continued, "And... Kyle, you drank so much. I don't care that you do, but you've told me that you do this almost every weekend. Is it a party every weekend, though? And how often are you just DOWNING EVERCLEAR in general?!" He asked, his voice beginning to raise in volume.     I blinked a few times, feeling my throat close up, "I... well— I mean, it's not always with the other guys! I- I drink like a normal amount. But why do you even care? Why the fuck are you mad at me for it?!"      "A normal amount for a seventeen-year-old?! Dude, you're a fucking alcoholic. And I'm mad cause all you do is bitch and complain and worry about me relapsing, and you're always on my ass... YET, you go out of your way to ALSO COMPLAIN that I don't come with you to these parties!" Stan pointed out.     I then felt tears forming in my eyes, which really made me want to die in that moment, "I'm fucking miserable, Stan!" was all that I could say in response.     "Then take your meds, go to therapy, TALK TO SOMEONE!!! You act like you even tell me all of what goes on! You don't." He told me.     Tears fell down my cheeks as I froze. I mean, he wasn't wrong. Most of what I told him is the stuff my mom said about our relationship...not everything that happens besides that.      "Kyle, don't." He scoffed, rolling his eyes.     I finally exploded, "DON'T WHAT, STAN?! FEEL MY FUCKING EMOTIONS INSTEAD OF BOTTLING THEM UP?! I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!!!" I screamed.     Stan sighed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that—"      "I'm sorry that I've been a fucking hypocrite, but god, I WANT NOTHING MORE THAN TO KILL MYSELF! Anytime anything good happens to me, it gets smashed apart into tiny fucking pieces. The DAY you and I got together, I came home to my mom saying that she wishes I would just DO SOMETHING GOOD FOR HER FOR ONCE."      "Stan, I know you have a shitty dad, but I don't have supportive parents. You at least have a mom to come home to, but I have BOTH of them on my ass, CONSTANTLY, about how I'm never going to be good enough. And I have to watch my brother get all the love and support in the world that I've not ONCE RECEIVED."      "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, I ended communism in Cuba, and they weren't proud in the SLIGHTEST. I... I don't know what else I can do that I'm worthy of love. Of something. You love me, but it doesn't replace what I've been begging my parents for... for years."      At this point, I was bawling my eyes out, ready to slit my wrists open like an emo asshole and jump off of a cliff. If I could feel something that took away the pain, I'd cherish it forever. And I think that's why it's so easy for me to drink like the world's ending.     Stan looked at me with his mouth agape and eyes concerned. I sat down on his mattress and forced myself to stop crying, a skill I taught myself to help get myself in less trouble.     "Kyle...I..."     "You don't have to say anything. I love you, Stan, but I've overstayed my visit, huh? I'm sorry I upset you, I'll leave you alone about...that stuff." I mumbled, grabbing my bag and leaving as quickly as I could.      Once I made it home and had a good thirty-minute sobbing session in my car, I was immediately bombarded with negative comments from my mom. Maybe I should start recording what she says so Stan gets it. At least Randy knows when to stop.      "Kyle, you look so sickly! You look like a stick figure; you need to eat!" She said in an almost disgusted tone.     "Okay, ma," I replied, heading straight to my room.     I climbed into bed and planted my face into a pillow, screaming as the cushion muffled the noise. I continued to do this until I quite simply ran out of energy and the vocal capacity to keep screeching.      The only way I could disassociate properly anymore was by scrolling mindlessly on TikTok, distracting myself from the real world with stupid fucking videos of other people's shitty lives. The first one that popped up on my for you page was, of course, a "relationship advice" video.     But suddenly, pausing me from my terrible coping skills, Wendy, of all people was calling me. I was reluctant to answer, but figured it was probably important. I mean, why else would she? Maybe just to curse me out. Oh well.      "Kyle, do you know what the fuck's up with Stan?!" She asked, more worried than pissed off.     "I mean, we fought like forty-some minutes ago. He was mad at me, and then I got pissed off and...I don't know. I apologized, but..." I sighed.      Wendy took a deep breath before speaking again, "Kyle, he's texting me like crazy. Voice notes, all of it. I...I think..." She trailed off.     "...What?"     "I know it's crazy, and it's even crazier that he could do it in forty minutes, but I think he relapsed because none of this feels right." She explained.      I hung up.     I pulled up the messages app.     "stan"     "stan oh my god oh my fucking god stop stop ost0o sotp -pelase stop ohn my god"     "STAN"     "please i Love oyu I promsie I'l l fix vetthng"     "*everything sirry im typijngnso fast"     "STAN ANSWER ME PLEAE OR SOMETHING OMG."     "STAN."     "pleas donr fucking do this p-lease oh my god please"     "i am bwgging you pleaes dont do this you don t want this oleade."     "STAN. STAN I"     "is it because of me?!@ i'll fix it i'll fix everythign i swear i swear to you"     "i love you pleae oh my gof"     I must've called and texted him a thousand times each.      None of which he answered, or even read.     This wasn't meant to be.      It's al my fault.     I'm the reason why.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I had woken up for about the fifth time tonight, checking my phone and realizing I only had a few hours before I had to get ready for school. It was around two in the morning, and the only thing that had helped me fall back asleep was crying over Stan. Pathetic.     But at this point, I gave up on going to sleep. I'd much rather stay up until my body's energy runs out naturally rather than forcing it to shut down. Obviously, that approach wasn't working, so, y'know. I climbed out of bed and grabbed my car keys; I needed something to take my mind off this.      I wasn't quite sure if our relationship was over or if I was losing my mind over nothing. It was a shameful habit of mine and never got any less draining or embarrassing, freaking out over the littlest things, a faulty bomb able to explode at any given moment.     As much as I wished it weren't true, I was turning into my mother. That thought alone was enough to have me crying in my car on the way to the twenty-four-hour convenience store down the road.      I walked in wearing one of Stan's hoodies and shorts that definitely needed to be washed. Did I care? No. I can't believe a fucking relationship that lasted two weeks had me feeling as worthless as I do, but here I am. Here I fucking am.     My feet seemed to walk around mindlessly with no command, the linoleum flooring reflecting my horrid appearance. I lifted my head slightly to avoid looking at myself, realizing I was in the hair-care aisle. I've never been an impulsive person...but...     My virgin hair was dying for a change. I grabbed a box of black hair dye and went to the front register to check out. I would've stolen a BuzzBall or something on the way out, but I think Stan and I's fight gave me enough reason to stay sober. Forever.      Am I really gonna do this...? I thought to myself...as I drove back home. So clearly, my subconscious had decided for me (yes, I was going to do this.) Change is good.      Once I snuck myself back into the house, I grabbed a bowl and something to mix the dye with before heading into the upstairs bathroom. I took out all of the things that came in the box and started reading the directions, doing as it said.     "Okay... color base in the..." I mumbled, pouring with one hand and the small instructions paper with the other, "And once that's mixed, you apply...got it."     I took the plastic straw I brought with me and mixed the color until it was, well, mixed. This stupid box didn't come with shit aside from the color, so I had no choice but to apply the color to my hair with my hands. I should've bought gloves, too, huh?     It was too late for that, though, because the way my hands looked after only a few patches of my hair being colored, they were going to be stained for a while. Since my hair is fairly long (fuck shrinkage, for real), it took a while to get everything covered with the dye.      I sat on my phone for the forty-five minutes it took to process the color, occasionally looking at myself in the bathroom mirror and feeling disgusted. I suppose I could shower while washing my hair out... right? Might as well.     Once my timer had gone off, I hopped in the shower and rinsed all of the loathsome feelings off of my body... as well as the black box dye that had been burning my scalp a little. Please, god, don't fuck this up. Please look somewhat decent.     I shampooed twice before putting my typical conditioner in: It took me a long time to love my curls, so I am NOT fucking them up now. After a couple of minutes, I washed the conditioner out and detangled it all.      When all of the in-shower steps were done, I stepped out and kind of...stared in the mirror. My (now) pitch-black curls were clinging to my wet body, reaching down to just a bit below my neck. I think I like this.     But, unfortunately, there was still more to do. Fuck, why did I choose to do this at... now damn near four in the morning?!      "Fuck this," I utter as I massage argan oil through my hair.     After putting the leave-in conditioner in and styling it with a curl cream, it was finally fucking time to dry it and see if this was worth it. I wasted another hour of my time thoroughly drying my hair with a fucking diffuser and praying that everything would be fine.     Once I was done, not only did my partially-stained arms (hands, really) hurt like a motherfucker, all of my 3b curls were dried and officially... black. The worst part was that I loved it; it made me want to wear my piercings for once and not give two shits about what my mom had to say about it.     So, that's what I did. I mean, it was already five in the morning, so I had every reason to go all out. Doing this was comparable to when the "ugly girl" in Disney Channel movies gets a makeover and magically becomes the hottest one at school.      It was around six-fifteen when I was finished putting all of my piercings in. Two lobes, a helix, an industrial (all on both sides), my septum, and snakebites. Cosplaying as a normal person was hard, but letting myself look the way I liked to felt like breathing fresh air.     I mean, that's not all that I did: I also went through my entire closet and dug out the clothes I hadn't worn in a while. I had picked out a blink-182 t-shirt on and some brown corduroy pants, layering it all with a matching flannel, a brown leather belt, and some necklaces and rings to finish it all off. Plus my Converse, obviously.     For the first time in a while, I felt at ease with the way I looked, which led me to actually wear my glasses for once. I had been wearing contacts since I was a kid, mostly because Cartman successfully bullied me into believing glasses weren't a good look on me.     I looked at my phone for the first time in three-ish hours, seeing a missed call from Stan and a plethora of texts. Huh, they must've come in while I was showering...      "kyle im sorry ik wendy told u i texted her n stuff. i promise it was nothing im not cheating on u i was just drunk and stupid and... idk. im sorry. r we good? is everything ok? pls tell me things r ok. ik u have a shitty home life and im sorry i pushed u to the edge i was just upset too. pls just tell me u arent still mad. i still love you."
     
Sent at 3:57 AM.
     Read at 6:21 AM.     "We need to talk. 8th period; be there."     "oh. ok."     The immediate text back told me everything I needed to know: Stan was waiting for me to say something, anything. I don't want to break up, but I don't think I realized how neither of us were ready for this. Nothing was discussed, and nothing was organized at all.     We assumed everything would work because we knew each other so well, but that wasn't the case at all. Stan had just gotten out of a LONG, LONG-term relationship, and I hated myself. This isn't the end, just a moment to reflect.     Nothing could stop me from loving him and wanting to be with him, but I know that there are limits. I think I've reached mine far too soon, and it was all my fault. I was so focused on him that I lost myself. He just wanted someone who knew him.      And as much as it hurts to know that we need to stop this for a while before trying again, I know it's my only option. Fuck, this is awful. This. Is. Awful.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I walked into first period and sat down, trying to hide the anxiety I felt, knowing that Stan would be in there waiting for me to say something. It felt awful to ignore him just to tell him we needed a break. It also felt like shit watching him stare at me from his seat in the room.     Once I got everything situated at my desk, I quickly realized that everyone was staring at me: Cartman, Kenny, Marjorine, and obviously Stan. I looked away before looking back, arching my brow and...waiting.     "What happened, Kyle?" Marj asks.     "Impulsive thoughts... and some, um, other stuff." I sigh, ready to bawl my eyes out once again.     She looked at me, much more confused than I was looking at her, "What do you— oh...oh." Marj frowned, tilting her head ever so slightly towards Stan.      I take out my phone to text her everything and overall make it a lot less obvious to everyone else, especially Stan.     "We got into a fight, and it made me realize a lot of things we fucked up. I mean, we jumped into this relationship with no expectations. I'm telling him later that we need to take a break until we can both figure out our shit."     "really? I wouldn't have expected it. u were all over him before u were dating!"      "I know. But I was also manic and on the verge of suicide: Dating him felt like an escape from reality."      "I guess that makes sense. well, I'm here for u as always 😊"      "Thanks, Marj."     I smile, taking a deep breath. Today wasn't hopeless, and I wasn't going to ruin everything Stan and I had together. Just setting boundaries and figuring things out... this is good. This is okay.      He looks over at me and smiles. I roll my eyes playfully, almost as if to say, "I still love you, dork." I don't want to hate him or even stop talking to him; there just needs to be regulations. He'll understand that, right?      At the same time, though, I worry he'll freak out that I want a break because he's been through at least a million of those with Wendy. I guess I'll have to explain that this isn't a break from the friendship, just the lovey-dovey shit...      God, I need to make a list, or I'll forget what the fuck I need to say. Hold on... I take out a sticky note and a pen, writing down all of the things I need to go over with Stan. The amount of lists in my notes app, journals, and miscellaneous sticky notes I have is astonishing. 
"I'm not mad" bs (it's not bs, but I know what I mean)
BOUNDARIES — hey, like we need to be more relationship than friendship; let's set ground rules! 
↑ ex) communication when we bother upset each other. Immediate. Don't leave the other hanging
This isn't a permanent break, just until we both figure our individual issues out
↑ ex) me being sober // Stan NOT bottling up his feelings
We can still talk to each other, but no deep or romantical crap because otherwise, it isn't a break
     I shoved the sticky note into my pocket before beginning to do the work I was supposed to be doing fifteen minutes ago. But compared to the majority of the kids in this class, the teacher is fucking lucky I'm here and ONLY take fifteen minutes to start an assignment.     However, in the blink of an eye, it felt like the class was already over. Maybe it was the world's way of getting me to feel more and more anxious as eighth period came more and more quickly. Coincidences like this always feel unreal to me: How does a bad day always get worse, and how does the world spin faster when you're avoiding something?     Just as I predicted, the last period of the day came much more quickly than on a day when something important/exciting was happening after school. I waited at Stan and I's typical library table, looking around like an idiot every five seconds.     Five minutes after the tardy bell rang, he came in and sat down, eyes glued to the carpeted floor. I took a deep breath and held my hand out for him to hold; he didn't hesitate to grab it.      "I love you, you know that, right?"      Stan nodded.     "I'm not mad at you." I tell him, "I just know there needs to be some changes made."     "If you aren't mad, why did you do all of this?" He asked, referring to my hair and piercings, I assumed.      I sigh, "I'm mad at myself. That's why. But, anyway, for this to work, we need to make it seem like we're dating... not friends with benefits. You can hold my hand and kiss my cheek all you want, but aside from that, all we do is have sex on the weekends. It's... not..."      "...romantic at all, is it?" Stan finishes my sentence.     "Neither of us has dated men before. But that doesn't mean it needs to be different than dating a girl. I...I want you to hold my thigh when we're sitting together in your truck or on the couch; I want you to text me good morning and good night texts, I want to go to your family gatherings. I need you to want that stuff, too, even if it might be cringey or faggy. I want that." I explained.      Stan laughed softly, "Okay, I get that. I'm just, fuck, I mean, dude..." He stumbled over his words before actually getting them out, "I'm afraid to love you seriously. I can't lose any of this, or I won't have a reason to be alive. I'm so fucking serious, Kyle."      "Which brings up my next point: we need to communicate. Especially you, because you SUCK at telling me things when they need to be told. That's the whole reason why we fought in the first place!" I said, holding onto him a bit tighter now.      "Right..."      I rub his hand with my thumb, "I'm not going to yell at you for being honest with me. I'm also going to be honest with you: We need to take a break, and no, it isn't permanent. But you need to PROMISE me you'll work on yourself, okay? Just for a week, please? If not for you, for me?" I practically beg, wanting to sob in his arms.      I can tell he tensed up as soon as I said the word break, which I anticipated. I got out of my seat and hugged him, hands wrapped gently around his waist. Stan leaned into my body as he took a deep breath, nodding.     "Thank you... I still want to talk to you throughout this... but nothing insane or crazy romantic. Is that good? Are we going to be okay?"      "Yeah. Fuck, that was terrifying."      I laugh, "A little, huh? Maybe it'll be less terrifying if I help you with that fucking English work you told Kenny about." I smirked.     "Shit, that would be great...thank you, Kyle. I love you." His face flushed.     "I love you, too. Thank you for trusting and listening to me."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Despite telling myself that I would refuse to cry anymore over this situation between Stan and I, I had woken up to my alarm after crying most of the night. Instead of crying over the fact that we had genuinely fought for the first time, I was crying because of the pure guilt over telling him we needed a break.      It's actually insane that I've cried this fucking much (more than any other time in my ENTIRE life) over a man. Is this what Wendy dealt with for seven years? I took out my phone, put the front flash on, and sent her the horrific mess I made of myself.      She replied with, "I fear everyone warned you about this."      I think I deserve that much. I groaned, rolling over and screaming into the hideous Fuggler Cartman had gotten me for my birthday because "it looked as ugly" as I do. However, it's been the only somewhat decent gift that he's ever gotten me, so I don't have much room to complain.      Part of me wanted to stay home for the day, but the other part of me knew that my mom would tear me a new one if I did. So, begrudgingly, I climbed out of bed and went to put some actual clothes on.      Upon arriving at school, Kenny must've noticed me from a distance, scaring the shit out of me as he grabbed my backpack from behind. I whipped my head around before calming down, seeing his goofy grin putting me at ease. There are a bunch of freaks at this damn school; it could've easily been some freshman.     "You good?" He asks.     "Now that I know you did that, yeah..." I sigh.     His smirk only grows as he leans against me, which is a common occurrence I don't think I'll ever get used to. But Kenny is considerably shorter than the rest of us, so I guess he has to find some way to get back at us.      "Your eyes are all black and shit." He notices.     I groan, "It's... it's mascara, dude. I'm just... I thought I could just get everything out by getting the break I wanted and...and being drastic, but I'm still miserable." I admit, "Are we just meant to be friends...Stan and I?"     "Nah. I've seen the way he looks at you. Even when we were kids, his eyes always drifted toward you. Not in the normal way, either." Kenny tells me, "I think you just have too much bullshit bottled up and no one to talk to about it."      "It's hard to put it into words. And when I finally do, you guys rip on me for 'giving speeches.'" I avert my gaze to the floor.     He shrugs, "Yeah, speeches should be written down."     That statement makes me shoot a confused look, staring straight into Ken's icy blue eyes. Then I look away again because his eyes are hard to look at... It's like they stare deeper than just into your soul.     Then I realized what he meant.
Nov. 5th, 2024

I was never the type to write in diaries or journals, so this is taking place in the notebook I use to write down math notes. Maybe I should look around the house for a spare notebook to write this bullshit in. That is, if I even continue to do these entries. 
 
I'm having a really hard time. Like, if I had to describe my mental state with an analogy, it would be this: Imagine making a smoothie with a blender, except all of the ingredients are inedible items, and when you put them in the blender, it all spins around and then it explodes. Glass? Everywhere. Smoothie? Non-existent.
 
So, yeah, everything is fucking horrible. I love Stan more than anything, but I don't feel like myself. Everything is changing so quickly, and time is going by too fast, and I. AM. OVER. IT!!! Let me have my boyfriend and my happiness at the same time, PLEASE. 
 
- Kyle (am I supposed to sign my name?)

Nov. 6th, 2024

I guess I am continuing the saga of writing down my feelings. I didn't really write much last time, but that's because I was doing it on a whim. Blame Kenny, the rat bastard. I think I'd like to be independent for once... I say as I cry over a BOY. He isn't even a MAN; he's a stupid little BOY. BOY BOY BOY BOY BOY BOY BOY BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
This is an official crash out. I am over it it AAAAAAAAAAAA. But I love him so so so much he's so pretty. I sound like a fucking AAAAAAAAAA. GOD, I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF I AM, I AM I AM I AM I AM I AM I AM. Okay, time to be serious. I feel like I'm worthless 98% of the time. No one wants me the fuck around because I'm the only radicalized person in this town. APPARENTLY.
 
The only other person who is is Wendy, and she wants me dead. I don't know who my friends are anymore. Kenny is nice and offers support, but he's so far up Marjorine's ass it KILLS me. I love them both but, c'mon. Stan is only awkward now because of our break, and I'm not close enough with anyone else to TALK ABOUT THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssss!!!!!!!
 
Maybe I should rekindle things with Tolkien, but I think the rich kid energy is really getting to him. I can't be around him when it seems as if the money affects everything he says. There's always something. And I know I'm way better off than most kids around here, but I understand that. I DON'T LIVE IN A FUCKING MANSION EITHER!!! Ugh. 
 
I hope things get better.
 
- Kyle

Nov. 7th, 2024

I hate
Thursdays. I also hate the fact that it's getting closer and closer to Sunday, which is when Stan and I decided to talk about things. To try again. LORD, give me strength. I just want to make it out okay. I want to be in love and love him forever and be happy. I just need a good thing to happen to me without a domino effect happening, causing EVERYTHING ELSE to collapse around me.
 
Did that even make sense? I don't know. I don't care because this is a fucking notebook piece of paper, and IT'S JUST FOR me. God, I hope after this week, I never journal my feelings ever again. This is awful. I feel faggier than ever... but I guess it's helping me feel lighter in a sense. 
 
Once I scribble out on a notebook page, rip it up, and throw it away, I'm able to take a deep breath. What I really need is a paper shredder; that would solve a lot of my problems. I could just write down heinous, awful things and then watch it be destroyed. It sounds fun.
 
Now I know what I can ask for Christmas. This entry is the only semi-positive one thus far, I think. 
 
- Kyle

Nov. 8th, 2024

AAA, it's Friday, which means one more day left (ignoring today) of the break. I'm excited to have my boyfriend back but I'm also scared... because 
 
what if he 
 
doesn't want me anymore. I doubt it because Kenny sends me screenshots of his and Stan's messages. He "misses me." He "wants me to hold him." I AM SICK. One of the messages was literally a paragraph and a half about how he "hates this awkward stage" and doesn't want to see me hurt like this." 
 
Don't play with me right now. I'm so sick. I need him. Oh my god?! Stop. This is horrific. I'm so over it I just need to apologize and like... run and jump into his arms. That would never work, though, because I'm too fucking tall. I can't believe I'm acting as if he's dead; we've been talking to each other, it's just not the same as it was.
 
I hate not telling him that I love him more than anything in this entire world. I hate not holding hands in eighth period and just staring at his stupidly gorgeous smile. I hate not rushing over to his house and cuddling in bed. I HATE THISSSSSS!!!! Never have I been so in love before, I'm fucking disgusted with myself.
 
This is HELL.
 
- Kyle

Nov 9th, 2024

I NEED THIS DAY TO BE OVER. I need his lips on my lips, and I need to kiss his face and smell his fucking cologne FROM his neck. This journal also needs to be incinerated after this because I need to make sure no one ever ever ever ever sees this. EVER. Instead of a burn book, it's a crash-out book. If I thought I was out of character before, these entries prove it.
 
That's all I have to say...
 
- Kyle
     I threw the notebook aside, watching it fall onto the carpeted floor in my room. Writing one entry in the middle of class was a mistake, but keeping it going for this long was... a continuation of that mistake.     However, I think it helped me get through this week. I didn't describe the bullshit that went down in major detail, but it was about my feelings in general. I think most people would call me a pussy or something for saying that.     But then again, maybe no one can name an emotionally regulated man because no men talk about or write down their feelings. And maybe people see women as "too sensitive," or whatever, because they actually talk about things!      What about gender non-conforming people? I guess we'll never know. I should just go to bed. Fuck this.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I woke up Sunday morning with an immense pit in my stomach, feeling like I could puke. The only reason this feeling was so prevalent was because Stan and I had to be serious with ourselves and "talk." The idea of having important, necessary conversations always bothers me, mostly because the majority of them end in more chaos than before.     But then again, we've both been pining for each other the entire week, and it's safe to assume that things will be resolved between us. Or at least that's what I've been telling myself so I don't freak out and spontaneously combust.      I hurriedly climbed out of bed, searching through my closet like a madman to find something presentable to wear. Why did I care so much? I wish I knew the answer to that question. I threw on black jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a button-up shirt (left unbuttoned.)      Stan did mention to tell me at least five separate times, though, that he loved when I wore my piercings and glasses for once... so I spent at least ten minutes trying to match the ones I had to my outfit. Was it too much effort? Absolutely.     Nonetheless, I needed to head over to his fucking dad's house now since it's forty-five minutes away from the rest of town. I'm not wasting my time here any longer than I have to.     When I arrived at Randy's farm, the pit in my stomach only seemed to grow ten times in size, and I was extremely close to actually puking this time. Stepping out of my car and being greeted by the strong scent of weed didn't help much, either.     I walked up to the front door, hesitating before bringing myself to knock. Unfortunately, it was opened by the stoner himself, only wearing a Tegridy Farms shirt and boxers. How classy.     "Oh, Jesus..." Randy groaned, opening the door fully to let me in.     I rolled my eyes, heading inside and up to Stan's room. The rest of the house smelled worse than the outside of it, which was only a little bit surprising. I wouldn't assume that Randy even attempts to clean, let alone smoke outside.     I knocked on Stan's door. My palms were sweaty, my knees weak, arms heavy... I'm grateful that there wasn't any vomit on my sweater. Or mom's spaghetti; it was the one meal she didn't make that well.      He opened the door, and I instinctively pulled him into a big hug, holding him as if he were being pulled from my grasp. To my surprise, he returned my embrace, his head buried in my chest. I placed a hand on the back of it, running my fingers through his hair softly.     We stood there for five minutes, at least, holding each other and whispering, "I love you"s into each other's ears. I kissed the top of his head, all anxiety slowly easing away as I held him in my arms. This alone had me truly believing what I'd been telling myself all week: Everything will be okay.     Finally, we let go of each other, which only made me want to embrace him once again and have it last forever. But unfortunately, I'm here for a reason other than to hold him. We sat down on his bed, hands interlocking immediately after.     "Stan... I'm sorry for being so... persistent, crazy, and unpredictable in ways that affected our relationship. I've hated myself for too long, and being around you is the only thing that's ever made me happy," I sighed, "I thought just jumping into this romance with you would fix everything I was dealing with, and obviously it didn't. Nor did you deserve that pressure." I explained.      I continued, "I can't lose you. I've loved you too long to let some fight break us apart. We've both been ridiculous, and I think...to resolve all of this, we just need to talk to each other. Go over what we want out of this relationship before making the same mistakes all over again."      Stan nodded, "Yeah, it's...definitely been rough. Life, that is. You worry me because I've already done all the stupid shit you're doing now, and I just...it's hard to watch, man. It's hard to stay sober when your boyfriend is slamming down shots like they're water."      I grimaced, thinking back to the horrific Halloween party. I don't remember all that much, but I can remember acting like a complete fool. I don't know how I thought it was okay to bring Stan along and still act that way.     "I know, I...I'm not drinking anymore. Not like that, at least. I'm sorry. But you do understand what I'm saying, right?" I ask, "We need to treat this differently than our friendship, y'know?"      "I wasn't finished," He said, "I'm sorry for not... saying something while everything was going down at Tolkien's place. I'm sorry for getting mad at you over being upset...but I also need you to talk to me. If you want me to understand and sympathize, you need to talk to me about shit, dude." Stan expressed more seriously than I've ever seen him before.     I nod, squeezing his hand tightly, "Okay. I'm sorry for...screaming at you like my mother would. I forgive you for everything, though."     "I forgive you, too. I...I love you, Kyle." He smiled, which caused me to cave.     I was bawling my eyes out for no good reason, throwing myself onto him and crying into his shirt. Stan wrapped his arms around me once again, rubbing my back softly. God, I hate this. Not the comfort, just having to need it.     This lasted for a few minutes before I calmed down, sitting up and wiping the tears from my cheeks. Stan laughed a little bit, and I could only assume it was because I looked ridiculous. My eyes were probably puffy and red now...      "I love you too, Stan... Sorry, I—" I took a deep breath, "Your smile. I missed it. And I've just...been a mess all week, so..." I attempted to explain.      He leaned over and kissed my forehead, "Don't worry about it, okay?"     I smiled, my cheeks burning with a dusty pink blush.     After we had settled everything, Stan and I held each other under the covers, not one part of our body untouched. Occasional kisses and giggles were exchanged, a comforting warmth heating our bodies from within.     I never expected to be cuddling with my childhood best friend like this, but I can't say that I'm mad about the circumstances. I don't even think my nine-year-old self would be too mad about this.      We've always loved each other. Maybe not always in a romantic sense, but I can't remember a single time in my life when I stopped caring about Stan more than anything else. Sure, he's upset me more than a few times...     But I don't know if there's anything that could separate us.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Hi to everyone reading this; it's Rome. For the past month (ish) of writing this fic, it has been an absolute struggle to even want to continue it. I've fought myself each and every time I've pulled up AO3 to write/post chapters. And while I have been especially busy recently, my motivation to continue this fic has run dry.      I was hyperfixated on South Park for a while, but it kind of dissipated halfway into writing this fic. I truly am so grateful for those who have enjoyed what I've written so far, but I am also sorry that I'm abandoning it.      Usually, I'd just delete this and move on with my life as I have in the past for fics I had grown apart from, but I think I'm okay with keeping this one up. Plus, I'm less embarrassed by my writing skills in this one than others I've completely wiped off of AO3.      Anyway, thank you to those who have supported this fic, but the conclusion is...unknown. And that's okay. Don't hesitate to finish it for me or something, lol.      Have a wonderfully happy new year,     Rome/chronicallyAcoward ♡