This fic has a happy ending, in my opinion. :) This is almost exactly like the StanKyle version of Dante Never Warned You, though instead of ending hellishly, it ends heavenly-ly. I guess this almost reflects my opinion on how StanKyle and KennyKyle should differ. Hahaha.

Actually...now that I think about it, this is more of a slash at the beginning and INSANELY strong friendship at the end. But it's still slash the entire time. Ish. READ to find out.

And, of COURSE, review. But only if you want to...:D...:DD

Lots of time skips in this one. Good news: I specify them. Winters numbered as what age the boys are at the time. Please pay attention to the ages. Some of them skip a great number of years.

For Now, Forever
On a lifetime of selfless, unconditional love for the man who deserved it the least. Major fluffsquish. StanKyle

All that weekend you'd both been anticipating snow. It was cold outside, but the snow never fell, not until Sunday. You woke up at the crack of dawn and bounded out in your snow pants to meet him, and you'd both gone over to the nearby park and tossed yourselves into the new snow, making a mess.

Then he suggested you and he climb to the top of the 'big kid hill' and roll down it all morning, since the early morning was the only time that the 'big kids' weren't there to kick you off their land.

You bravely climbed ahead of him, daring to be impressive.

At the top, he grinned, gazing down the steep hill with an air of mischief. You knew you might get hurt and it'd be his fault, but as long as he knew that he was to blame, you were willing to do anything.

It felt like you were flying forever down the snowy hill, body tense and straight, arms pulled flush against your sides and eyes scrunched up in fear as you rolled and rolled and rolled, and in the distance you could hear seagulls by the lake and Kyle's wailing laughter. Snow hit your face and you felt numb, but his goofy smile met you when you finally stopped at the bottom, and it warmed you again.

You both stumbled to your feet, on awkward, short legs. You had an easier time because you were skinnier, but he refused the hand you offered him as he struggled to get up after you. He'd preferred to get up on his own, and you didn't know why.

Immediately he had suggested you roll again, and you didn't want to, but if he was going to, you would, too.

Again, you both flew down the hill, but on the way down, your arm rolled over a sharp rock and you were crying by the time you reached the bottom.

"Crying's no good," he said. "Come on, don't be sad."

You mumbled for your mother in distress as he patted the top of your blue-red-hatted head. He told you your mother was kinda far right now but he'd help you even better than she could if you told him how.

You sniffled and shrugged, telling him that your mother would've kissed where it hurts, so he planted his lips uselessly on the poufy sleeve of your jacket. You couldn't feel the kiss at all, but it suddenly didn't hurt as much.

He noticed you staring at him in wonder and he laughed, falling back to sit casually on the dirty, grassy mess that used to be fresh snow. He asked you if he did it wrong and you told him he did it a lot better than your mom did. He shrugged.

"Hey," he said later, as you were trekking around the hill to get to the path that would lead back to your homes. "I'm prolly magic, or something."

You asked what did he mean and he told you his lips were probably magic because he'd fixed you with them.

"Um, Kyle," you told him; "kisses are always sposta make you feel good."

"My mommy and dad do it together," he agreed, then tapped your shoulder with a secretive smile. "Have you kissed someone?"

You said you hadn't.

"Well, I think if we kiss at the same time, then it's like double good!" He declared, and you looked at him nervously.

"I dunno, Kyle," you said. "Mom said I'm not allowed to kiss anyone 'til I get married."

"Wanna get married?" He wondered. "If we hafta, we'll just get divorced after we kiss."

"Oh," you said. It made sense, now. "Okay."

"I'll be the dad," he told you. By now, you were stopped by the base of the tall hill, not having moved along for a while. "My mom's too fat; I don't wanna be her."

You frowned; "But...! I wanna be the dad..."

"Your dad's fatter than your mom," he reminded you.

You said that you guessed so and it would be okay for you to be the mom then.

He placed his hands firmly on your shoulders and stared into your eyes. You cocked your head and giggled because you didn't know what else to do.

"I love you, Sharon," he said, leaning in and clearly trying to figure out how this would work. You frowned and turned your head away.

"Kyle..."

"No! Call me Gerald!"

"Can't we just be Stan and Kyle?"

He stopped, hands still on your shoulders.

"...I guess so...but who's the mom?"

You told him you'd be the mom as long as you got to be called Stan. He seemed to agree, and he squeezed your shoulders and leaned in, but you turned your head again.

"Wait," you stopped him. "We're not married yet, 'member?"

He sighed loudly and dropped down so he was on all fours, and he looked up at you, rising to his knees and clasping his hands together as if praying.

"Will you be my awfully wedded wife?"

You smiled. "Yup."

"Okay, good!" He stood up and glared at you somewhat, annoyed. You shrugged, asking if this meant you were married. He said it did, so you allowed him to grab your shoulders.

"Like this," he said, puckering his lips out. You imitated him, but your noses crashed into each other. He grunted and tried again, puckering his lips out as far as he could, but your noses still stopped you.

"Why isn't it working?" He said.

You told him maybe you needed to tilt your chins up and your heads back so that your noses would stay out of the way. He considered it.

"Okay, I think that's right." He leaned back in and your lips touched briefly. The nerves in your lips were more sensitive than you thought, and you didn't know if it was necessarily a good feeling, so you jerked your head down in surprise and accidentally knocked your forehead against his.

"Ow! That was dumb, Stan!!" He let go of you and turned, walking again.

You sighed and licked your lips, following after and asking him if he needed you to kiss it better.

"No, thanks!" He yelled, not turning back. You only frowned, brushed snow off your snow pants, and trudged along by yourself until you were home. The bruise on your arm had begun to hurt again.

winter 8...for now, forever striking your sadness from snowmen

All that afternoon, you'd been losing hope. The prettiest girl in the class and the love of your life had dumped you, and you knew this had to be the end of the world.

You could distinctly hear the chattering gossip about the cruel heartbreak. They didn't even have the decency to shut up about it when you were around, and that made you detest everyone even more.

It was when you were in your room cutting the fingers off of some black gloves that you planned to wear that Kyle came in and asked what you thought you were doing.

You explained your situation in a few dramatic words. He was sad for you, but unimpressed by the way you were handling things. This was a slight inspiration for you not to become a "Goth," but it wasn't enough to stop you from doing it.

"Dude, you're overreacting," was his quick diagnosis, and you had no appreciation for his way of 'handling things,' either. Too harsh.

You told him that he couldn't possibly understand what you were going through. He only shrugged and frowned.

"What's all over your face?" He wondered. "Wipe that crap off, dude, and let's go outside. There's a better way to deal with this, you know."

You felt obligated to believe him. After all, there was a chance that his method would end in you getting hurt, but as long as he knew he was to blame, you were willing to do anything.

He'd waited downstairs as you washed the poorly applied black makeup from your face and pulled on your jacket.

"Why doesn't she love me?" You asked as he led you down the sidewalk, walking just slightly ahead of you.

"Who knows, dude. I'm not a girl; I have no idea why they do stuff."

You nodded and were silent until you reached the park. He immediately bent down and scraped at the snow with a gloved hand, peering up at you when you didn't join him.

"Well, c'mon."

You frowned and asked why. He told you that you and he were building a snowman, and you once again felt obligated to believe there was a reason.

"She's the prettiest girl I know," you said as you and he patted together balls of snow to serve as the bases for the different parts of the snowman. "She's probably the prettiest girl in the world, dude, and she dumped me."

"Mm-hm," he'd said, biting his lip in concentration as he started to roll the one that would eventually serve as the base.

"I dunno what I'm gonna do, man. I don't think I'll ever get over this."

"You will," he told you simply.

You worked in silence after that, and eventually the base and the torso of your snowman were complete. He paused and grinned.

"Feel any better?"

"No," you said. He shrugged and got a head portion going, and you helped him hoist it up onto the body.

"Feel better now?"

You shook your head 'no,' and he sighed.

"Well, then how about this?" He took his purple lunchbox up from next to his backpack and stuck it on the snowman's head, deeming it 'Wendy.'

You told him it looked nothing like her and he looked at you.

"It's the best I can do."

You said you understood, but you didn't get how this was supposed to help. Then he grinned.

"Let's smash her to pieces!"

So you thought about it and said it did seem like a fun idea. He let you have the first go.

It was like brilliant fire; that moment. In the chaos of flying snow you couldn't see a thing, but you felt white-hot and numb, like you could take on the world, or like the sun could explode and you'd just surf away on the fires with nothing but your bitter smile and the inability to stop moving; stop smashing; stop screaming and crushing the snowy face of the girl that had done the same thing to your heart. He was there the entire time as you let go of that feeling; he was the universe and you were the exploding stars. That moment needed no conclusion. It just skipped along from its middle to the next.

Panting and sweating, you both looked down at the remains of the snowman and the purple lunchbox partially buried beneath the mucked snow, and you smiled.

"Better now??" He asked.

Blood was pumping noisily in your brain; your ears were ringing and his voice seemed so distant, but still, you had a feeling that Kyle was closer to you at that moment than Wendy had ever been.

You collapsed back in the snow and grinned at the sky in exhaustion, knowing that the white of the snow and clouds and the blue of the sky and the green of the cheeky, smiling eyes looking down at you were so much clearer colours to live by than just black.

"Yeah, dude. Thanks."

winter 14...for now, forever lost in your chocolate heat

Ever since dinner and an afternoon of playing field hockey in your lawn with Kenny and the boy who'd moved to South Park two years ago and had since become a close friend, you and Kyle were sitting on the loveseat in your family room, while you drank hot cocoa with little marshmallows and he watched reruns of a cartoon more recent than the now-unpopular T&P.

He made comments here-and-there about something ridiculous in the show, eyes sparkling in hilarity as he laughed at the stupidity of American cartoons. You hummed and nodded in agreement, sometimes adding in a 'yeah' so that he knew you were engaged, even though you weren't.

You were more interested in the warmth that had begun in your leg when his thigh pressed against yours. He didn't seem to notice, but when you shifted your leg he noticed that and didn't pull his away.

You sighed softly, disinterested in the cartoon. The sky was black, and light snow was falling outside. You clutched your mug between your hands and gazed down at the floating marshmallows, the rim of the cup against your lips.

You tapped your foot, thigh still against his. You cleared your throat and he grunted. You cleared your throat again. There was something you wanted to say. You knew you might get hurt and it'd be his fault, but as long as he knew that he was to blame, you were willing to do anything.

"Hey, Kyle?" You lowered the mug from your lips, still staring down at the marshmallows.

"Hm?"

"Have you, um. ...Have you ever fallen in love with your best friend?"

He looked at you. He said nothing, however; he only stood up and grabbed his coat and scarf before he walked out without saying a word, silently closing the front door of your house behind him.

You were still staring down at the marshmallows, thinking that they might be your new best friends from now on. Your leg didn't feel so warm anymore.

winter 17...for now, forever speaking to your fireplace

The afternoon sky was gray, but the weather was pretty that Friday. You made a grunting noise to alert those around you, then lightly punted your soccer ball into the air. From the other side of the grassy, muddy, snowy field, Kenny waved his arm to signal that he had it, and you watched as he expertly stopped the descending ball with his chest and then started to juggle it with the sides of his feet. You smiled and waited for him to punt it back to you.

When he did, you didn't stop it, but instead knocked it back in his direction with your head.

"Nice one," he said, catching the ball and swinging it to rest under his arm when he jogged up to you. He wiped sweat from his forehead and shot you his winning smile. "Wanna head back now?"

You nodded. He made a fond noise in his throat and leaned down give you a quick kiss, which you returned. You and he linked hands as you walked down the path from the field to enter the neighborhood.

As you and he walked down the snowy sidewalk, he chatted blithely about your plans for the weekend. You smiled and nodded as he spoke, though you were a bit distracted by the head of auburn hair walking around the corner, accompanied by a blonde.

Kenny didn't notice them at all, but you couldn't look away. When Kyle and Bebe walked past you and accidentally bumped your arm, the girl mumbled a quick apology, but Kyle only frowned gently, not looking at you and clutching her hand tighter as they walked past.

"Stan? Stan, you listening?" Your boyfriend wondered.

You frowned and blinked, making a confused noise. You then apologized and promised to listen better.

"Oh, was that Kyle? Remember when you guys used to be like best friends?" He asked you with a small, nostalgic smile. You looked at the ground as you walked and only squeezed his hand gently.

You did remember, though that had been three years ago. Since three winters ago, you and Kyle hadn't been very close; in fact, you'd grown very much apart and could be considered strangers. He always seemed to feel so uncomfortable around you.

You tried to help normalcy between you two by dating someone else instead. Kenny had been interested in you, so you and he became boyfriends even though you weren't in love with him. Still, you needed Kyle to understand that it wouldn't be necessary to feel weird around you.

If you dated Kenny, you knew you might get hurt and it'd be Kyle's fault, but as long as Kyle knew that he was to blame, you were willing to do anything.

But it hadn't worked.

"Well, you're mine now," Kenny told you happily. "Man, I can't wait to get home."

You managed a smile and hummed in agreement, still wondering why you and Kyle couldn't have stayed friends. He'd never even rejected you; he just stopped talking to you.

Or was that rejection?

Later that evening, in your empty house, you were staring at the crackling fireplace as your boyfriend carefully laid you down on the nearby couch. Your voice was hoarse as he pleased you to gasping his name, sorely tempted though you were to moan the name of a certain someone else.

winter 22...for now, forever snowing insanity upon you

Sorry, we're not able to come to the phone right now. If you'd like to leave a message for Stan -

Or Ravi!

...Or Ravi, please do so after the tone.

That was great, baby.

...Uh, is this still on?

Huh?

-beeeeeep-

It was a plain, sunny day when you returned to your small apartment from a university class and had a message on your answering machine.

You might have wondered if it could be a message for your boyfriend Ravi, who, being Indian, received calls from family quite often. However, a quick playback was enough to let you know the call had been for you.

You got into your car and made the few-hours' trip to South Park, wondering the entire time how this had happened. Wondering how Kyle had gotten himself into the hospital and then into the mental ward – wondering why Kyle was supposedly back in South Park, screaming in rage and declaring over and over that he would not talk to nor be in the presence of anyone but you.

Stanley Marsh, the best friend of Mr. Broflovski.

That was how the folks at the mental hospital had addressed you in their message as they pleaded you to come back and help him.

You had no idea why you were even bothering to go. You knew you weren't best friends – you had barely even talked to him for eight years at this point – but despite everything, he was the one you grew up with, and he still meant more to you than you'd admit.

He was the one who had your childhood memories, and there was no forgetting the one who had your childhood memories.

"Kyle?" You asked when you arrived and were identified as the person the personnel had called to see.

"Mlerhgh," he muttered sleepily. He sat up in the white, simple bed, and looked at you, recognition straining his features. He then smiled. "You've got a goatee..."

You asked what he wanted from you and he broke down into hysterical sobbing. He was absolutely inconsolable; you had no idea how to react. It was too bizarre.

Later, the nurse informed you that he was severely depressed and had attempted to kill himself, in some horrible and creative way that you didn't find necessary to commit to memory from fear that the memory would trigger your nausea. You asked what you could do, and she said that it would help if you managed to convince him not to struggle when he was given medicine.

You did so, but later asked a different nurse why he was really here in the mental ward – because depression was a physical condition, not a mental one. She reluctantly, and upon your threatening to stop assisting them, let you know that he'd developed onsets of several dangerous psychoses – conditions which were not so much permanent in Kyle as they were a temporary product of his apparent genius.

You thought this was funny, that his intelligence had made him psycho, and you were also glad that, since Kyle's intellect had more or less invented his psychosis on its own, that meant that a little therapy and counseling would be more than enough to rid him of the conditions.

It was also good for you to know that he would return to being his relative self after a while, because you wanted him to be able to recognize how much you'd been helping him in his off times. Because, by choosing to help him, you'd known you might get hurt and it'd be his fault, but as long as he'd know that he was to blame, you were willing to do anything.

You stayed loyally by his side that afternoon, and late into the evening. During the afternoon, you'd talked to your boyfriend on your phone while Kyle slept, and by eveningtime Kyle was awake.

"Stan," he said.

You looked at him and nodded.

"I – I missed you."

You nodded again and assured him that you'd missed him too.

"Stan...I love you!"

You tried to stop him here but he wouldn't do so. You stood up and he widened his eyes in desperation;

"Don't go! I'm telling you - !"

You stepped back and tried to leave, but he stood impulsively from the bed, knocking over IVs and tables. You yelled at him to stop but he wouldn't; he pulled a drip from his arm and waved it at you wildly.

"Stan - ! Let's the both of us die right now – we can be together until the end of time!"

He approached you but you were fast enough to escape. He tripped over himself and fell, screaming angrily, to the floor.

Later, you asked the nurse about this. After you explained your history with him to her, she seemed to understand – her guess was that he regretted his treatment of you back when you were in high school together, and he'd imposed psychosis upon himself (which he acted out quite well) in order to justify rejecting you.

In other words, Kyle didn't want to have been wrong. He would rather there have been something wrong with him than for him to have been wrong about something.

The doctor informed you that you had done as much as you could and that you were free to go back to Denver. He decided that, for now, any more interaction with Kyle would be dangerous for the both of you.

You believed him, truly.

winter 27...for now, forever reading your nostalgia on christmas

One freezing evening, as you were walking from the city coffee shop, you spotted a familiar name in the window of the local bookstore.

The book brought an unusual smile to your face. You hadn't been smiling much recently, if only for reason of lacking free time to fit happiness into your schedule. Still, this was peculiar.

On the inside of the back cover, you read an interesting summary. It was so intriguing that you bought the book from the vendor and took it with you, sitting in your car and reading it for a while.

You realized that there were a lot of things you hadn't had time for, recently. Watching the news had been one of them, and you certainly never listened for news around the office.

It became apparent that there had been a good reason for why he never contacted you again after declaring his mad love for you in the mental ward. Mistakes had been made in regards to having made mistakes. Irony had settled in, as life always tended to make it.

He'd always known he didn't love you, and you knew he'd known. Still, it wouldn't stop you from loving him. Maybe, if you were lucky, he'd love you in the future.

He, who'd made a fortune on stock trading and multiple businesses after clearing up his false mental condition in the hospital and putting his genius to good work.

The man was now one of the most eligible young bachelors in the industry.

As you tossed the book into the passenger's seat to read later on and started your car, you couldn't help but smile, knowing you'd been his first kiss.

winter 29...for now, forever soaring doves in your television set

It was in a moment of boredom that you found yourself flipping idly through channels, and you stopped on an entertainment news program, wondering what the 'breaking news' could be.

Adela.

You sighed to yourself and wondered just how much money he had by now. He'd written a best-selling book on business and stock tactics, not to mention become a grand tycoon at the age of twenty-nine. The man truly was a genius.

As everyone expected, he was now getting married to a nice, intelligent, beautiful Jewish girl; Adela Jaffe. She was the heiress to some other large business. You had no clue what it was, exactly. You'd never been one for pop culture.

You watched as the excited reporters documented all the planning that seemed to surround the young Perfect Couple's wedding. He had become quite the public figure, and now everyone and their mothers were probably tuning in to see this.

You knew you probably would never know how much that wedding cost. For old times' sake, you wondered what Adela would say if you told her that you were Kyle's first wife and that she probably looks much prettier in that zillion-dollar wedding dress than you would.

You wondered if Kyle remembered all these strange details that you had, for some reason, committed to memory. You wondered what would happen if you came into the public and told them that you had been the first to love him and his first kiss and his first wife, and all that. You dreamed, with a humorous smile, about the shocked reactions, or perhaps the angry reactions, or the money that publicity would bring you when everyone flocked around to hear from Kyle Broflovski's very first and number one fan in the entire world.

And then you realized that nobody would believe you.

winter 30...for now, forever looking for your friendship

That year, after receiving a promotion to project manager at the design firm, you were really walking on air. Your previous partner (now your subordinate) Lily had been especially helpful on the particular day, and all plans were going as scheduled, and there was nothing in the world wrong.

Of course, as you walked down the city street, clutching a long, protected roll of design maps, you passed a newsstand which, as always, had His name plastered all over, for one reason or another.

It was normal.

Sitting down with a cup of herbal tea in hand, you let yourself relax and fall back into the comfortable couch of your modernly-furnished apartment. You clicked your remote and the television turned on. You watched football for a while before flipping to the entertainment news, wondering what your old best-friend had been up to today.

You still felt obligated to know, even though hundreds of thousands of other people would know, as well.

What intrigued you was that he had made a public announcement.

He was looking for his 'long-lost best friend.'

He wanted any and all information on Stanley Marsh.

You had to wonder what he thought he was doing. It was obviously something done merely for publicity. To earn the love of more teenage girls who'd buy his products and spread his name around with the cause of finding his best friend. The longer you went unfound, the more money he would undoubtedly make.

Because if he truly had wanted to see you, you know he would have just hired a private detective and found you that more efficient way.

The first thing you'd done after that had been to go to the city hall and legally change your name. You, who'd known him the longest, had a feeling that he didn't want you to be found anytime soon (if at all,) and you'd still do anything for him.

winter 31...for now, forever losing your identity to love

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was. You couldn't help being at least a little surprised when, on your way to grab your morning coffee from the corner coffee shop and go to work, you heard on the streets that you had supposedly been found.

When you reached work, you saw that your subordinates were chattering much about you.

"Alex," Lily said to you. "I guess you were right; it was just some coincidence. They found him - You're not that Stan Marsh, after all."

"I would know," you pointed out with a smile, and she smiled back.

You were interested to see what had happened, and could barely focus on your current project all day. When you got home, you barely kicked off your shoes before dropping yourself to the couch and turning on the entertainment news.

Sure enough.

"So, how does it feel to finally see your first best friend after all these years?"

The TV Stan Marsh that Kyle's publicists had likely hired after being certain you yourself had no intention of stepping forward as Stan Marsh... he was taller and far more physically attractive than you. He was ridiculously beautiful, just like Kyle's publicists and makeup artists had made Kyle out to be.

"Oh, I can't tell you how excited I am to finally see Kyle again. He and I always shared something so special, you know?"

Kyle, on screen, nodded enthusiastically as TV Stan continued;

"And he was always there for me when we were growing up, and I was always there for him – there's just no beating that sort of bond. Not even time can break up a friendship like this."

TV Stan patted Kyle's shoulder, and Kyle gave the camera a glimpse of his bright, straight, white-toothed, lovely smile.

"It's true," Kyle said to the reporter, grabbing TV Stan in a one-armed hug while Adela smiled at them from Kyle's other side. "Not even Time itself can break a bond as deep as mine and Stan's!"

You laughed.

You turned off the television.

And then you wept.

winter 47...for now, forever loving your family almost as much

It had been a relief to your parents when you'd told them, however many years ago, that you had fallen in love with a girl and were going to marry her – that something had happened which had turned you off from guys altogether. Something had shaken up your reason for having turned gay in the first place.

Now, as you sat in the kitchen of your suburban home and sipped coffee quietly with new project plans in hand, you wondered only exactly how noisy your daughter and her friends would be when they came home any minute.

"Oh my god, you know what – I totally know what you mean!"

Three girls' high-pitched, screechy laughter rang out from the foyer and you took a particularly large sip of your coffee.

"Sara?" You called. "You're home?"

She called back that she was.

"Lock the door, sweetie," you said, and you heard her annoyed huff as she stomped over to the door, locked it, and then led her two friends up the stairs to the black hole she called a room.

You smiled to yourself and sipped your coffee again. Teenagers.

An hour later, one of her friends' squealing woke you up from your nap on the couch, and you frowned, sitting up to see that Sara and her two friends were sitting on the adjacent couch, admiring a teen magazine.

"Oh man, he is so hot," Sara's blonde friend said.

"His eyes are beautiful," Sara agreed. She looked at you, her dad, and showed you a picture. "Isn't he the most perfect son-in-law you could dream of?"

"Who is it?" You asked.

Sara's brunette friend gasped. "Oh my gosh, Mr. Marshall, everyone knows who that is! It's Kyle Broflovski's supermodel SON! Noah's sooo gorgeous!"

To be honest, you hadn't been keeping up with Kyle's life.

But they were right – he was a beautiful boy, if not a bit...arrogant-looking. You smiled in your mind. He probably had every right to be arrogant, just like Kyle.

"...Dad? Are you okay?"

You realized that your eyes were watering. You laughed to yourself and shook your head, standing up and leaving the family room without a word.

All these years and you were just starting to feel okay. Just starting. The thought of your wife, Lily, and your beautiful daughter, Sara, and how much they loved you, was enough to help you get over that crucial part of your childhood.

...Almost. Because even if you weren't sexually attracted to Kyle Broflovski, you still felt the same as you always had; that you were responsible for and would work toward his happiness before working toward your own, and it killed you to know he wasn't remotely worthy of your love anymore. He'd stopped being worthy years ago.

winter 58...for now, forever meeting your best stranger

It was Lily, your avid reader of a wife, who had been the first to know about the book signing.

"We have to go," she told you. "I know you think you're too old for this, honey, but I think everyone should meet a celebrity once in their life. He's coming to the bookstore over in Phoenix this weekend, we need to go."

You only nodded, not daring to tell her that you'd already met this celebrity plenty of times in your early life. Nobody would believe you, anyway.

Your daughter had been excited; Noah Broflovski would be at the book-signing, too.

You felt a certain anticipation, getting out of your nice car at the bookstore parking lot that cool afternoon. Every noise seemed more than usual, and, for a brief moment, you imagined you could hear the seagulls from Stark's Pond again, and the screaming laughter of the boy you loved as you rolled together down the snowy hill.

You hoped the man you were going to see wouldn't laugh whatever laugh he had now. You didn't think you could bear hearing such solid evidence of the loss of that boy you used to know.

The booksigning line was absurdly long. You stood there for what had to be at least two or three hours to get your copy of his autobiography signed.

You wondered to yourself if your own life, having been dedicated to his happiness, would make just an interesting a tale as the very load of bullshit you were flipping through as you waited to have it signed by the master himself.

"Oh, Mister Broflovski – I'm such a huge fan of yours!" Your wife gushed once you reached the table. He lifted an eyebrow at her and smiled dryly, thanking her in a short, practiced sentence.

When you set your own copy of his autobiography down for him to sign, he looked up at you, looked down at the book, and looked up at you again.

"Do I know you?" He wondered.

You tilted your head a bit, smiling. "I'm not sure," was your honest reply.

He frowned. "I get this feeling like I should know who you are..."

You frowned back, but only briefly.

"I just have one of those faces, I guess."

"Yeah," He nodded, convinced. "Must be." He looked down; "So who should I make this out to...?"

You opened your mouth but paused.

You knew you would get hurt if you told the truth. It would obviously be his fault – but even if he knew that he was to blame, you knew he wouldn't admit it and nobody would believe you anyway. Here was the man who you were willing to do anything for, finally giving you the opportunity to do or say anything back to him, after all the years of neglect.

But you still didn't want to break his happiness. You still were willing to lie to yourself and to the world, if only for the chance to keep him happy.

He looked at you impatiently, tapping the marker on the desk. "Sir? Who do I sign to?"

You looked straight into those beautiful green eyes.

"Alex Marshall."

He signed it quickly and then snapped the book shut, handing it to you as his attention was quickly directed to the person waiting in line behind you.

That was the last time you ever saw him.

winter 84...for now, forever loving him until the day you die

You know he has hurt you plenty and it has all been his fault. But even though he never ended up knowing he was to blame for all the pain you've endured over the past 70-some-odd number of years, and even though he still doesn't love you and you know he never will, you are still willing to do anything for him, even in the last moments of your life – and so you have.

You're one to judge the value of a man's life on how much he has done for those whom he loves. You love your family; you've done so much for them; as much as you've ever felt obligated to do for them.

But you also know, smiling carefully under the warm, blurry sunlight and the mild blue and white shadows of the clouds overhead, that you have done far more than merely what you felt like doing for Kyle Broflovski.

You've done everything in the universe for him, and you would do it all over again if you could.

You've lived a selfless, virtuous life. The memories are more than you could ever have hoped for. The seagulls caw outside your window, the snow drifts down, and you can still imagine those two little boys in the park, somewhere out there, some days trying to kiss, some days rolling down hills, some days building a purple-capped snowman that they'll later smash to pieces.

The realities may only be there for now, but the memories will be there forever – and as you lie in the sun and comfort of your own bed, you smile, shut your weary eyes for the very last time, and know that you have no regrets to speak of.

-end-

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