A.N./ I have my hopes up for this one. I'm starting with a clean slate, beginning with this little gem. This would by absolutely NOTHING without Former, who helped with every detail of the plot, every single time I sat for hours and stared at the screen. This is our story.

…Thank you for everything. (:

My name is Kenny McCormick, and I have fucked up beyond repair. Two months ago, I realized I was in love with a guy who had always been there for me, a friend I had grown up with, someone who never let me down no matter what shit I put him through. Someone who was also happily in love with someone else. … And someone who, through it all, I ended up killing.

Kyle Broflovski.

And so, here I was. Sitting in a blinding, dreary hospital waiting room filled to the brim with depression. Throughout all the times I've ended up in here, this definitely wins the prize for the worst hospital experience of my life. And I wasn't even here for my own issues. I was in such a state of shock that I couldn't wrap my mind around the events that had recently happened. Stan was even more so, lying on the cold linoleum, his body shaking. Ever since the accident, he hasn't spoken, looked, or even acknowledged my existence. I can't blame him, though. I could hardly stand myself.

I'm pretty sure some explaining is necessary in this situation. Yeah, Kyle's death is entirely my fault, but not at all in the way you're assuming. I didn't physically hurt the guy, Hell, I wasn't even there when he died. Yet, the guilt and the agony would be just as extreme if I actually had put a knife to his throat.

I'm assuming I should start from the beginning, when I began to get deeper and deeper in shit, so I'll at least be able to back up my side of this situation. Which was two months ago. November. The month I fell in love with him.

It began on a Friday night. And Friday nights were what I lived for. The Cure was right, because I am in love with Fridays.

The three of us were over at Stan's place, reuniting for our weekly video game session. I was sprawled across the floor, Xbox controller gripped tightly in my sweaty palms. Scattered around me were about five cans of Monster energy drinks, which I had relentlessly downed from the six-pack in Stan's pantry. My veins were buzzing. It was times like this where I could relate to Tweek's twitching and spasms, because caffeine gets you wired.

Behind me were Stan and Kyle, lounging against each other on the couch. Kyle would occasionally let out a giggle, followed by a playful chuckle from Stan. They weren't especially involved in the game, so I was usually playing on my own.

Did I mention they were dating?

Well, yeah, they'd been together for a week or so now, and had been pretty open about it to me. I was completely fine with them being gay and all (I was gay myself), but they had been overdoing the lovey-doveyness lately. It seemed like they had invited me over to watch their little love fest.

Or it might have been the jealously talking. Not that I was jealous or anything, I mean, they were my friends. It's not like I was constantly resisting the urge to pounce on them. …I wasn't.

Right now I was plowing through Street Fighter on arcade mode, though Blanka was kicking my ass at the moment. Street Fighter was one of the few games that could really piss me off. Everything about it aggravated me, yet it was also one of the few games that could suck me in. Once you got all the button-combos down, you were the boss.

"Stan, not…" Kyle whispered, with a harsh tone. They had been conversing behind me for a while, but the ambience blasting from Street Fighter pretty much drowned them out. I was in my own little world.

I tilted my head to the left, catching a glimpse of bare flesh through my peripheral vision. I jerked my head fully behind me, to a shirtless Kyle on the lap of a very clearly aroused Stan. Shirtless Kyle. Oh, my god. Times like this made me certain of my sexual orientation. I was gay, gay, gay, gay, gay, GAY.

"K-Kenny?" he whimpered, noticing the fact that I was practically drooling over him. He inched closer against Stan, who put his hands around Kyle's waist.

"Oh, oh. …What?" I blurted, playing dumb. My face was red. Shit.

"You okay?"

"Totally. Sorry, I spaced out. I do that. A lot. You know, it's late. The Monster's wearing off," I rambled, nervous as Hell. I shook my head and shut myself up, turning to a screen that read "GAME OVER" in flashing letters. I groaned.

"Fuck!" I hurled the controller at the floor.

"Dude, Kenny. Careful please," Stan warned, protective about his precious Xbox. I would be too, though the only video game system I had ever owned was a PSP, and God knows where that was.

…Literally.

"Sorry, man. I was so close to beating arcade mode," I sighed, picking up the controller and making sure it hadn't been actually damaged. And, just my luck, it wasn't. There would've been Hell to pay.

"It's fine. Watch it, though," he warned again, his tone lighter.

I nodded, no longer in the mood to restart arcade mode from the beginning. I'd have to beat Ryu again, and I don't think I could take listening to a series of "hadouken"s right now.

I yawned, arching my back like a cat. The caffeine was gradually fading. I could feel it.

"Uhm," I began, turning around again. Kyle and Stan had locked lips, intertwined with each other. Kyle jumped, pulling away from Stan and looking at me. "Mind if I spend the night?"

"Oh," replied Stan, glancing at the digital clock on the cablebox which read 2:16AM. "No problem. Mind if you take the guest room?"

Stan had a guest room? Since when?

"Yeah, I can deal."

"Alright, it's this way," he began, leaning towards Kyle's ear. "Be right back, hon."

Stan got off of the couch, stretching his arms as he led me upstairs. I stood up, my vision getting dizzy and sparkly. Blood sugar. I shook my head frantically, following behind him.

He strolled further down the hall, approaching a door near the end of it. I'd crashed at Stan's place for years now and he'd never mentioned this so-called guest room. I guess he just wanted to be alone with Kyle tonight. God, why did I even come? They clearly don't want me here.

"Here you go," he announced, pushing open the door to the room and flicking the light switch. It was simple, but a helluva lot better than the room I slept in back home. It smelled new, too. Like new paint. I adored the smell of paint, most likely because I spent a great deal of my childhood getting high off of it. Good times.

"Oh. Thanks, man," I smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"No problem. If you need anything, I'll be downstairs with Kyle," he replied, smirking at the last sentence. No shit. He'd be more than downstairs with Kyle.

"Oookay," I exhaled heavily, flopping on top of the bed. He closed the door lightly, and I heard his footsteps down the hall. Down the stairs. And into the living room below me.

And Kyle's anxious squeals.

"Have fun," I mumbled, which was muffled into the bed sheets. It was gonna be a long night.