"I'm sorry, Kenny."

Kenny didn't even open his eyes. He was sitting against his bedroom wall, back pushed against the cracking, peeling paintwork, the dusty blue t-shirt Kyle had hurled at him clutched in his hands. He felt like he should be playing some depressing tapes, like he should have taped a towel over his gaping, sunny window. He didn't have the effort to be that cliché though. All he wanted to do was sit there, sit there and cry and hug his t-shirt and just stop. Stop feeling, stop breathing, stop existing.

"I am sorry Kenny."

Kenny opened his eyes, and Wendy knelt in front of him, wafting her aura of prima violets, fabric softener, money and diplomas towards him. Kenny sighed.

"Stan told you? He sent you, huh?"

She bit her lip, but didn't deny it. "He's worried about you. Kyle is too."

"It'd be nice if they could come see me themselves."

"Stan's a little busy."

"With what?"

"With Kyle." Kenny flinched at her frankness.

"And what's Kyle busy with?"

"Kyle's busy… He's busy being, I dunno, concerned? Confused? He's busy being with Stan."

"Why won't he talk to me?"

"I don't think he knows quite what to say." Wendy's chest heaved with a stifled sigh. "Maybe it's for the best, you know? Maybe having a break from him will lessen it? Maybe it'll help?"

"Did it ever help you?"

Wendy pursed her lips, shifting her position. She was cramping and uncomfortable, crouching on the floor, but she was too polite to ask Kenny to move. She just gritted her teeth through the discomfort, focusing on the conversation.

"No, but then we're not really in the same boat, are we?"

Kenny laughed dryly, the hollow sound echoing through his chest. "How come?"

Her lip quirked up into a wry smile. "Stan never gave me any space."

"What, and you wish he had?"

"I… I'd never wish that, you know I wouldn't. But I do think it might have made it easier, you know, not being subjected to him, not having to face that thing I want but can't have. Not having to see him so happy, so happy not with me."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because I loved him too much."

Kenny pressed his head back against his wall, clutching the blue t-shirt against his chest, holding tightly on to the one piece of Kyle he'd managed to attain, on to the one part of Kyle he had. "Why do you do all this shit for him? Running around after me? Giving me all those warnings?"

"Because I still love him."

"It's been years. How has it not destroyed you?"

"Perhaps I leant to accept the difference between loving someone, and being in love with someone. I'll always love Stan, you know, always. I'm just… I'm just not in love with him anymore. Being in love with someone who's in a happy, perfect relationship it, well, yeah, it sucks. But you just got to let it go. If you don't, you're just being selfish. Selfish to yourself, selfish to Stan, especially selfish to Kyle."

"I get my heart broken and you call me selfish?"

"Just think of the position you put Kyle in. You must see it."

"I did what needed to be done. I wasn't going to go down a martyr. At least… At least this way I know."

"I guess." She paused "I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted."

"I know. Me too."

For a while she just stared, stared at the crack in Kenny's wall, looking through the plaster, trying to see something that wasn't there.

"It'll be alright, you know."

Kenny quirked his head up to look at her. "How can you say that?"

"Because it'll be alright. Yeah, it hurts, yeah, you're heartbroken. But you're eighteen. You'll grow up, you'll meet someone else, you'll be happy. It'll all be alright. Just let it go, move on. You'll be okay."

Kenny just snorted disbelievingly, turning his head away from her, clutching Kyle's t-shirt so close to his chest he could feel his fingers pressing on his sternum through the tangle of fabric. He just wanted to be alone, alone with the t-shirt, alone so he could hug it, bury his face in it, alone so he could pretend Kyle was in it, was physically there, was wearing it.

xxx

xxx

xxx

Kyle sat facing Stan, his head cupped in Stan's hands, Stan's lips pressed against his forehead.

Kyle's eyes were shut, his hands gripping round Stan's ribs, their legs intertwined in some complex, locked way. Stan continued to pepper kisses across Kyle's face, Kyle continued to grip his ribs, the pink shoelace tied round his wrist twitched against his tendons as he tensed his fingers, holding Stan as hard as he could, terrified. Terrified if he didn't hold on, hold on to him as tight as possible, Stan might not still be there when he opened his eyes.

They didn't talk. They hadn't talked in a while. Well, a day, maybe two, but it felt like years, decades, millennia. They weren't used to not talking. They just didn't know what to say. What to say about Kenny, about what had happened, about what to do. They just didn't know what to do.

They'd really scared themselves this time.

Kyle was still wearing Stan's letterman. The extra fabric bunched round Kyle's narrow shoulders, the puffiness of the sleeves, it made him look a lot smaller then he was. It reminded Stan of all those times Kyle had worn his dad's jacket when they were kids, when they were eight, a long time ago, a decade ago. It reminded him of all those times they'd played junior detective or consultants or whatever. Even then, even when he was drowning in heavy brown tweed, it was obvious Kyle had been born to wear suits.

"I'm sorry."

"I know sweetheart. Me too, yeah?"

"I'm just really sorry. I should have trusted you."

"Just don't ever… Don't ever… Just don't ever, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"You're my whole wide world, you know that, right?"

Kyle laughed dryly. "There's an awful lot of things you haven't seen yet Stan. An awful lot of people you haven't met too."

Stan just smiled. Stiff, unpractised, like he'd not smiled in weeks. But honest, honest and warm. "You'll always be my world, Kyle Broflovski. I wouldn't exist without you."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"You wanna play cat's cradle?"

Stan just snorted, pulling Kyle flush against him, burying his face against his neck.

xxx

xxx

xxx

Wendy was standing there, all prima violets, soft sweaters and modest skirts. Dark tights hugged her legs, smart shoes were strapped to her feet. She was looking at him with a look of pure revulsion.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Cartman."

Cartman just cleared his throat, clutching at the hem of his nice, new sweater.

"Wendy, I don't think you understand-"

"I understand just fine Cartman. I just don't care. Leave me the fuck alone."

Cartman took a step towards her, and she immediately jumped back from him. "Listen, Wendy, I-"

"Seriously Eric, don't you ever come near me again."

"We've got a business assignment to do for Friday."

Wendy made a frustrated squeak, and gave him the finger. Then she was gone. All prima violets, soft sweaters and modest skirts. All gone.

xxx

xxx

xxx

It was the late one Friday when Kyle texted him. A short, impersonal text. Stan had been accepted into Boston. Stan had confirmed with Boston. There was going to be a party this weekend to celebrate. Kenny could come.

If he wanted too.

Kenny put his phone back down on his threadbare blanket, picked the t-shirt back up, brought his knees up to his chest, and he began to cry harder then he'd ever cried in his life.

Because it just wasn't fair.

Because it really, really wasn't fucking fair.

Because Stan was right.

Because this really was game over.

Then his phone bleeped again. Kenny blinked through his tears, reaching down, clicking open the message. It was Kyle again. This message was longer, more winded, more Kyle-esque. Kyle was asking Kenny if he could bring Stan's t-shirt back. Only it was one of his favourites, and Stan was wondering where it'd gone.

Kenny froze, tears still marring his eyes. Slowly he untangled the knot that was the dusty blue t-shirt, laying it across his legs, looking at it properly for the first time. Only now did it dawn on him that Kyle never really wore blue, that he'd never seen Kyle wear this t-shirt, that it was a vintage Denver Bronco's shirt. That it was a size to big for Kyle. That this actually wasn't Kyle's t-shirt.

That his one little bit of Kyle actually belonged to Stan.

Snorting, Kenny tilted his head back, cracking it against his headboard.

A/N – I got back from dinner sooner then I'd planned, so hey, two in one day. And it's over. It's all over. Twelve days or so, nearly 30000 words, and poor Kenny who never had a chance. But it's over.

I think I quite like this quick short update way of writing, but it's a tad draining. I think imma gonna have a little rest, file some things in my mind, write a few irritating, necessary Uni essays, probably blurt out a few oneshots. Once I find a new plot, I'll try taking on another multichapter.

I'm deffo going to oneshot that Denver car christening though. Stay tuned for that. Might even grow a story from that, have a few ideas about it bouncing round already. Who knows? Well, that's the joy in life. Stay tuned to find out more!

Thank you everyone who rode this out until the end. It was a heck of a fortnight, I'll give it that. Thank you thank you thank you too all of you who reviewed, even more thank you's, infinite thank you's to those of you who reviewed right the way through, who really gave me the rocket launch to finish this thing. Bro-fist, my darlings, spun sugar bright pink bro-fist.

Whelp (oh yes) that's that. So long, fare well, alp-I'm not even going to try spell that word, adieu. Until next time, sparkle safe.

Love.

(And Savannah, if you ever have any dreams about stuff happening in England or other exteame weather stuff, you'd better tell us about it sharpish so we can prepare. You can be our new early warning system! =P I hope the cathartic floofything provided by this ending was okay, sorry it's not more angstish. I am just awful and ending things angstish)