South Park © Matt & Trey.
Lyrics © Sufjan Stevens.

I've been into writing sad stuff lately. This is pretty melodramatic, to be honest. It's all in Stan's POV.

This song is really nice, by the way. Go give it a listen.

EDIT: squeezed four chapters all into one chapter!

1.

I can't explain the state that I'm in
The state of my heart, he was my best friend
Into the car, from the back seat
Oh admiration in falling asleep
All of my powers, day after day
I can tell you, we swaggered and swayed

It was dark outside. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve but tears kept coming so I just gave up and let them fall. I ran as fast as I could once I reached the end of our driveway, trying not to think about what I had just been told. I tried only to concentrate on my feet hitting the ground. I slipped a few times on the icy patches of the road, but I didn't stop. It was cold and I could see my breath, feel my heart palpitating, my nose running, but I still didn't stop. I couldn't. It was as if by stopping, the memory would just keep replaying – it would pervade continuously.

Dead, dead, dead.

Fucking dead.

I arrived at Cartman's house puffy-eyed and out of breath.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" he asked once he opened the door.

Kenny was sitting on the sofa with a game control in his hands. His hood was down and his hair was messier than a fucking shag carpet. "Stan?" he paused the game, glancing over at me.

And just like that I broke the news.

Cartman laughed loudly, "What the fuck are you talking about? Don't kid around. He wouldn't kill himself."

I didn't think he would either. I don't think anyone did, but he proved us all wrong.

"Does it look like I'm fucking joking?" I said in a choked whisper, before raising my voice, "He's fucking dead!"

Kenny looked melancholic and seeing his fucking face pissed me off. Cartman just looked like he was in disbelief.

"Fucking say something, you assholes!" I screamed at them, "He was your friend, too!"

"Hm," Cartman grunted, flopping on the sofa next to Kenny.

"Is that it?" I asked quietly. "Is that really all you have to say?"

That was it.

Neither of them made another sound.

"I'm going to kill myself."

Strange, isn't it? He is dead, and that is the only warning I got. A fucking text message. He didn't come over to see me one last time, he didn't call to hear my voice, he didn't talk to anyone and now here I am trying to figure out what the hell happened. It was all spelled perfectly, with proper grammar. He didn't sound frantic. The message wasn't rushed or desperate… So when did it all go so wrong? When did everything change? When did he change? And why the fuck didn't I notice?

The worst part is that I didn't read the text as soon as I received it. It was Friday night and I was writing an essay for English class that was due Monday. I saw Kyle's name pop up on my phone, but I ignored it. I just tossed my phone onto my bed and kept typing. I didn't think what he had to say would have been so important. I assumed he just wanted to talk about homework or something, maybe even rub it in my face that he was already long finished his essay.

I've never been so fucking wrong in my life.

I've never been so disappointed or disgusted in myself.

I was still working on my essay when my mom called me downstairs hours later. She was holding the phone to her chest and looking like she was trying hard to force back tears. My dad was standing beside her, with a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"Stanley," she whispered weakly, "We have some bad news."

I frowned, half expecting her to tell me that Grandpa died. But no…

"What is it?" I asked, getting scared.

Mom cleared her throat. "It was Sheila on the phone, honey… Kyle just killed himself."

And I swear, when I heard that I felt like I died, too. Maybe part of me did. Kyle had always been the largest part of my life. Kyle – my super best friend. Kyle, who liked laughing and smiling. Kyle, who enjoyed math and studying for exams. Kyle, who had a temper as wild and fiery as his hair. Kyle, who would no longer be the largest part of my life.

It felt like a black hole had opened at my feet and it was threatening to swallow me whole.

"No, he didn't," I said in a frighteningly calm voice, shaking my head. "He didn't…"

"Honey," my mom tried to reason with me.

"Stop lying!" I yelled, though I knew they weren't. This isn't the sort of thing people lie about, especially not your parents.

"Son, I wish we were –" my dad began.

"STOP IT! STOP!" I shrieked at them, squeezing my eyes shut and covering my ears.

They approached me, trying to comfort me but I pushed them away and collapsed onto the floor a sobbing mess. I don't think I had ever cried so hard in my life.

My father just carried me up to my room, like I was a fucking baby having a temper tantrum. It wasn't until I was lying in my bed that I remembered seeing his name pop up on my phone. I frantically opened it –

"I'm going to kill myself."

There is no way I could ever describe what I felt, or how much seeing those five words hurt. They broke the thin wall in my head that was keeping me sane even after I heard the worst news of my life. I just continued to scream my misery out.

What would have happened if I had just picked up my god damn phone when he needed me? I would have run to his house as fast as I could. Maybe I would have gotten there in time. Maybe I would've been able to stop him.

But no.

I didn't pick up the fucking phone.

The burial followed.

Kenny took his hood off for the ceremony and dressed in black with a tie. People still aren't used to seeing this much of him.

We were all dressed in black as they lowered the casket at the end of the service. They did it so fucking slowly. I think I could've held in the tears if they sped the whole thing up a bit, but it felt like it took hours. It was like they wanted to make sure that everyone realized Kyle was gone and Kyle wasn't coming back.

I'm no good with funerals. I always end up smiling while trying too hard not to cry so I stood there biting my lip for as long as I could. Kenny put an arm on my back, that stupid asshole. He's always too busy worrying about other people, never taking a minute to take care of himself. He was probably hurting, too.

When it was over, we all placed three shovelfuls of dirt into the grave. I felt sick the entire time.

Kenny and Cartman walked me home after the burial. I could barely stand up straight. I cried the entire way and neither of them said anything as they dragged me along.

The following week, the principal announced the "sudden passing" of Kyle through the intercom and the school all shared a moment of silence for him. To be honest, it wasn't all that silent. There was crying. A lot of confusion. A lot of questions.

"Did he kill himself?"

"How did he do it?"

"Why did he do it?"

Cartman grew quieter with each passing day, as if he didn't know what to say without "the dumb Jew" there to argue with him. He even punched a kid in the face for asking what happened to Kyle.

Kenny just looked contemplative as he comforted everyone but himself. Clyde looked upset, like he wished he could say sorry for teasing Kyle in the past. Craig, too, looked like he wished he could apologize. The girls all looked numb, like they couldn't believe what was happening. They've always been fond of Kyle, especially Bebe.

I think losing him affected us all in different ways. It taught us all something.

Don't take your friends for granted.

Don't mindlessly hurt people, because everyone is busy dealing with some sort of pain, they don't need things to be made worse.

Everyone is capable of making the same decision Kyle did. I think all the people who ever teased Kyle will think differently next time they're going to tease someone because guilt can be enough to ruin a person.

Fuck them.

Fuck them all.

I hope they rot.

I hope I rot, too.

2.

Deep in the tower, the prairies below
I can tell you, the telling gets old
Terrible sting and terrible storm
I can tell you the day we were born
My friend is gone, he ran away
I can tell you, I love him each day

A few weeks after it happened, I went to the Broflovski residence.

I hugged Sheila and Gerald and went to speak with Ike upstairs. I had questions and I knew that Ike would be more open than Kyle's parents would be. I still think they are in denial of his suicide. I don't think they want to believe that he was that unhappy. I guess it is understandable. I don't want to believe he was that unhappy either. I especially don't want to face the fact that I didn't even realize it. What kind of best friend did that make me? A real shitty one, that's what kind.

"He walked past my door and smiled. Not one of those reserved smiles he usually wears, but a real smile, you know? The kind where his eyes crinkled," Ike said, sounding somewhat distant. "I thought it was a little strange, but I didn't think anything of it at first. Then I realized he hadn't returned to his room in a while."

By the time Ike went to check on him, Kyle was hanging from the ceiling in the bathroom they shared. The door wasn't even locked. Ike said he felt like, deep down, Kyle may have wanted someone to find him, to help him, to prove that they cared or give him a reason to stay, but no one came. No one found him in time.

"It looked like, for the first time in a long time, he was at peace."

I thought that was the saddest thing of all. "Oh," I croaked.

"I think he just finished tying the noose when he texted you," Ike whispered.

I couldn't even reply to that.

"Kyle wrote something before he left his room," he continued.

"What did he write?" I asked numbly.

"You should read it," he said, ignoring my question.

"Did you?"

He nodded.

I felt myself frown. The possibility of knowing what Kyle was thinking about before he died was frightening.

"It's in his desk, a red notebook. Take it with you and burn it when you are finished reading it."

"Why?" I had asked.

"These are Kyle's private thoughts. They're his dying thoughts. I know he wouldn't want everyone reading them. He wouldn't want mom and dad thinking it was their fault. He wouldn't want his friends and peers blaming themselves either. He wouldn't want everyone to ask themselves what if. He wouldn't want to be called weak, or a quitter."

"Why me then?" I asked. "Why are you allowing me to see it?"

"You'll understand once you read it."

I gave a lazy nod. "Take care, Ike."

"You too, Stan."

I left his room and wandered into Kyle's. It felt empty, uncomfortably so. I hated seeing Kyle reduced to nothing except the things he used to own. The room was tidy, as if he cleaned it before killing himself. I could almost imagine him making sure everything was in order before leaving it. Everything was in its place and the bed was made. I felt myself frown as I stood in the doorway. That place held a lot of memories – good and bad, but mostly good. It was where me and Kyle had countless of sleepovers as kids, still awkwardly sharing his bed as we got older. It was where I watched Kyle smoke many cigarettes and it was where I would frantically help him try to air out the window when we heard Sheila stomping up the stairs. It was where me and Kyle had laughed so hard we cried, and cried so hard we laughed. It was where we played video games, and swapped secrets… However, I have a feeling that he had many more secrets than he ever cared to share.

I know I can't just blame his death on people like Craig and Clyde… It would be easy to do that, but they probably had nothing to do with his decision at all. They were just little shits. Kyle wouldn't have let himself be influenced by those idiots.

Kyle did what Kyle wanted to do.

I took steps inside and opened the drawer to his desk with shaky hands, digging out the red notebook.

I hid it in my jacket and wordlessly slipped out of the house. When I returned home, I locked myself in my room and began to read it. I felt like I was invading his privacy by looking at his thoughts, but then again, he wasn't around to tell me to stop.

To whoever is first to find this damn notebook -

You may or may not know my name. Chances are, you will, but just in case you don't I'll say it: my name is Kyle Broflovski and I hate myself.

What a riot. Here I am, I'm just another fifteen year old whining to a piece of paper about all my bottled up self-hatred.

This won't be anything special - simply the inner ramblings of yet another suicidal teenager. You can stop reading right now and I wouldn't hold it against you. This is going to get pretty gay, no pun intended.

Stan came over after school a few days ago. Stan is my best friend... or, as he would call it, we are "super best friends". Or should I now say that we were? I will go ahead and assume that people don't keep friends in the afterlife.

Per usual, Stan needed help with the math homework. I never minded tutoring him, but I would always feel so pathetic. I was always just waiting for Stan to catch me staring at him with the kind of adoration he couldn't return. I really love him. Not friend-love, but love-love. I'm in love with him. Sometimes I wonder why. He's a lot of things. I guess it's difficult to describe someone you know so that someone else will know them as well. Maybe it can't be done.

Sometimes I think I should tell him, but I can never bring myself to do it. I'll plan it out in my head, but when Stan asks me what's on my mind, I end up shrugging it off. Then again, maybe he'll be the one to find this letter.

(If so, Stan, don't dwell on this. I know what you're like when it comes to dealing with sad things. I know you'll be one of the people asking yourself "what if". Don't. You would not have been able to convince me of otherwise. You wouldn't have been able to change my mind.)

I have realized that you can't mute your emotions. But I think it would be a lot easier if you could. Sometimes dealing with your stupid feelings is difficult and time consuming. At times when things should feel important and matter, nothing does.

Stan and Wendy broke up again, but they'll get back together in a few days. That's how it always goes with them.

Stan always comes to me when Wendy ends things with him. He used to always get drunk and kiss me even though I told him not to. It's not that I didn't want to kiss him, I did... I do, I just hate that it had to happen like that. I never wanted to be his distraction. I wanted to be his sober, conscious choice.

Stan is quite the guy when it comes to heartbreak. I've witnessed some fairly alarming emotional breakdowns over the years, including a phase where he started hanging around the goth kids and writing dark poetry. I hope he doesn't take my absence too hard. I don't want him doing anything stupid. I want him to be happy, even if it's with Wendy and not me.

At least he stopped drinking. He promised me he wouldn't. I hope he'll always keep his promise to stay sober. It got bad when he was young and we stopped talking for a while. I was stupid back then. I didn't want to be around him for being negative. I guess I wouldn't blame him if I opened up about all this shit and he did the same to me.

A while ago, I asked Kenny what dying felt like. He said it was painful, but afterward it was peaceful. I thought that was a pretty strange way to describe hell. So maybe the peace makes up for the pain. I thought that sounded all right. He told me more about hell, and I've deduced that it doesn't sound that bad. He told me about heaven, too, but he said they're pretty selective so I'm preparing for pits of fire.

I don't feel anything lately, though I'm not completely sure why. I guess sometimes there aren't definitive reasons for why people are sad or numb or whatever. I guess I'll just blame it on the science of it all.

Mom and Dad keep talking about my future. They have it all planned out and they're more excited over it than I am. Everything has been decided for me. I'm fifteen for fuck's sake. I'm only in grade ten. Most other fifteen year olds don't even have any ideas about what they want to do when they're older. I wish my parents would let me decide this shit for myself but every time I try to bring it up they dismiss me. They say that they know what's best. They don't fucking know. The only one who knows what's best for me is me... Not that it matters now. I feel kind of bad that all their planning and all their excitement is going to be for nothing, but hey. I need to do what I need to do. After all, as I just said, I'm the only one who knows what's best for me.

I think Kenny knows what I'm going to do. I mean, he has to, especially after all the questions I've asked him over the past few months. He's never said anything about it, but I think he has an idea. He's never tried to change my mind, and for that, I'm grateful.

Ah, anyway.

I'm going to do it in a few minutes. I don't want to keep dragging this on.

It's not anyone's fault. I'm just tired. I guess that if anyone is at fault, it's me for never opening my mouth. Who the hell knows if afterlife will be better? Maybe it will be, maybe it won't be. I'm just tired of this place. I'm tired of South Park. I hate this fucking place. Rather than be miserable for another however-many years, I'll just skip to the inevitable now.

It's sort of funny. Kenny bought me this notebook after I told him I was feeling like shit. He said maybe filling out the pages would help me get rid of some of the negative emotions when I wasn't in the mood for talking. I hadn't been able to bring myself to touch it until now.

It would have been nice for things to have worked out the way Kenny suggested when he handed me this little book... but I guess I'll have to cut it short.

In a couple minutes, I'll go downstairs and kiss my parents goodnight, tell them I love them. My mom will get all emotional, because to be honest, I never really told them I loved them enough. I was never particularly affectionate. Well, one for the road, I suppose. I just want them to know that this isn't because of them. Sure, they made mistakes, but everyone does. They just do what they think is right and what they think is best. That's what I'm doing, too.

Well, after that, I'll walk back upstairs and I'll give Ike the best smile I can muster while simultaneously trying to telepathically communicate that I'm sorry for leaving him alone.

I'll also shoot Stan a text, because he deserves to know, in the least, that he was on my mind. Hopefully they'll all be able to understand that I've thought long and awfully hard about this and I now know that, for me, this is the right decision. I'm not trying to make their lives painful; I'm just trying to make mine painless.

I feel surprisingly relaxed; though I'm sure I'll start crying any minute.

This won't hurt much.

Goodbye, and thanks for reading and 'listening'.

By the time I finished reading, my eyes were wet.

Kyle loved me…

I didn't even know he was gay. I always just assumed he liked girls. Fuck. I never knew any of this stuff. I didn't know he was so fucking sad. I didn't know anything about him. Super best friends? My ass, we were…

The more I read, the more I saw and it made me hate myself.

It didn't get better. People say these things get better with time, but sometimes they don't. I began drinking again. I promised Kyle I would stop, but once he died it was all I could do to stay sane.

Kyle was there when I closed my eyes. I think, somehow, that it has always been that way. I used to shut my eyes and see Kyle, who was smiling and laughing, with a cigarette burning between his pointer and middle fingers. He started smoking when we were thirteen, an ugly habit I think he picked up from Kenny. I never asked why, but now I think I understand. People say smoking is like a slow suicide. Maybe that's what he was looking for until he could gather up the courage for a fast suicide.

Now when I close my eyes I see him dead. I see him hanging from the ceiling with his god damn cellphone sitting on the counter top.

Jesus Christ, why couldn't I have been a good friend and picked up the fucking phone?

3.

Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged
I can tell you I love him each day
Terrible sting, terrible storm
I can tell you...

Just last week, Kenny was sitting on my bed across from me. He wouldn't speak. He hardly spared me a glance. He just walked into my room and took a seat at the bottom of my bed. He looked like he had something to say. I already know what he wanted to say. He wanted to say, "Stan, Kyle would be disappointed."

And maybe he would have been. However, Kenny wouldn't say it out loud, so instead, I decided to be the first one to talk.

"He loved me," I said, pressing my lips against the bottle of Jameson.

Seconds later, "Yeah."

"I never knew…" I choked. "I feel like I should've."

"There's no reason you could have known a thing like that. He tried hard to keep it quiet."

"We were best friends," I said.

"Exactly... and he didn't ever want to ruin that."

"I thought I knew him… I thought I knew him better than anyone else. He was unhappy – so unhappy."

"He suppressed himself, Stan. You can't blame yourself. Sometimes these things just happen. It's sad, I know, but it is a part of life. Life is about lessons, and pain is a lesson."

"Don't talk about it like that!" I raised my voice, "You make his death sound trivial!"

"It was a choice he made, Stan."

"SHUT UP!" I tossed the alcohol bottle across the room. It didn't even shatter, it just fell onto the carpet and its remaining contents spilled. "Fucking hell," I growled.

Kenny just gave me a sympathetic look.

I inhaled. "I miss him."

"I know you do," Kenny said. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"It hurts," I said, clutching my chest. "Why does it hurt this much?"

"Because you lost something you love."

"Love?"

Kenny nodded, moving closer to me. "You were always questioning your relationship with Wendy, always breaking up and getting back together. You could never make up your mind."

"Yeah…" I whispered.

"That was why – You and Kyle… You were in love."

We were in love?

I threw my head backwards, hitting it against the bed's headboard and laughing pathetically. "Too bad I couldn't have figured it out earlier… Too bad he died fucking miserable. He was sad enough as it is without everyone making it worse – his parents ragging on him, his friends ragging on him, kids being assholes, and I was ignorant the entire time. I mean... I doubt I could have done a damn thing to help him, but maybe he would have felt less alone."

I wonder... when did it stop being all about Wendy?

"He is better now."

"How the fuck do you know, Kenny?" I slurred angrily. "You can't just spout shit like that!"

"I've seen him, Stan."

I felt my eyebrows draw together.

Kenny looked right into my eyes, and it felt like he was looking right into my fucking core. It was uncomfortable, and I had to turn away. It's hard to look at Kenny sometimes, especially when he gets into these weird moods where he's like some fucking God.

Kenny reads people the way Kyle read books.

It was my turn to learn about heaven and hell, so as Kenny spoke, I listened and tried hard not to interrupt.

I scoffed when he fell silent. "Kyle… he mentioned some of that in a note he left behind... I didn't really get what he meant. I thought you were just telling him more stupid stories."

"Not this time, Stan."

"I guess that makes dying not so bad?" I asked quietly after he was finished telling me about what happens when he dies. I felt envious of Kenny's curse. He always called it a curse. Honestly, now I think it's more of a gift.

"I can tell you how to make the pain stop," Kenny whispered softly. "I can tell you how you'll be able to see him again, too."

"Please…" I mumbled.

"It will be difficult."

"Tell me."

Kenny smiled, yet somehow still looked incredibly sad. "Go to the roof of the highest building in South Park and jump."

"Jump?" I asked.

"Just jump," he said. "By doing that, you will be able to see him again, but please think about it first. Think about everything you are sacrificing, and realize how much you will be hurting the people you leave behind."

And I did. I thought long and hard about everything I would be giving up, but somehow the possibility of seeing Kyle again made everything here seem so unimportant. I'd miss my family and I'd miss my friends, but… as selfish as it sounds, Kyle is more important.

He's the person I want to be with. I wish I had figured it out sooner. It is sad that I only began to realize it after he left. I guess people really do take things for granted. It's like the old saying goes… You don't know what you have until it's gone.

I guess when it comes to love stuff, you have to be a little selfish.

I knew that if I didn't do it, it would constantly be on my mind. I wouldn't be able to handle that.

Yesterday night, I made my decision.

"Kenny, I don't think I can live without him," I said, and he simply nodded. He knew what that meant.

"Does it hurt?" I asked weakly.

"It's just like taking a nap to get rid of a migraine. The pain is there, but then it's gone."

I closed my eyes and forced a smile. "Will you do it with me?"

"Sure, Stan," he said, taking my hand in his.

We climbed the tallest building in South Park, my heart violently palpitating as we reached the top. With each step we took closer to the edge, my heart slammed harder against my chest.

"Are you sure?" Kenny asked.

I glanced over at him. He looked like he was fucking glowing. "I'm sure, Kenny."

"Are you scared?" he grinned.

"I'm scared," I admit, staring over the edge. I took a moment to appreciate the colors of the town. The ugly structures looked uncharacteristically vivid from where I was standing. I felt like a fucking god, too.

"Don't be."

"Are you?"

"No," he chuckled, "I've experienced death too many times to be scared of it." He gripped my hand tighter. "Let's try to die with smiles, huh?"

"Yeah."

And we jumped, still hand-in-hand, becoming nothing but stains on the asphalt. However, unlike me, Kenny would soon return to earth. He would once again comfort the living.

I had watched as the townscape vanished and the sidewalk rapidly grew closer. We fell so fast, I felt the air escape my lungs and I think I was dead before I even hit the pavement.

4.

Oh how I meant to tease him
Oh how I meant no harm
Touching his back with my hand I kiss him

That brings us to now.

We are standing at the gates of hell and I'm really damn glad Kenny agreed to come with me. It's not quite what I thought it would be. I definitely didn't expect the motels.

A dark haired male welcomes us, and somehow he feels familiar.

"Damien," Kenny grins.

Oh, right. The son of Satan. Well, he certainly grew more intimidating over the years.

"Kenneth… how nice to see you again," he nods his head, "And Stanley Marsh. Welcome to Hell."

"Thanks…" I laugh nervously, wondering what would happen if I was here alone.

"We're going to look for Kyle," Kenny says, linking his arm in mine and dragging me through a series of pathways.

"Do you know your way around here?" I ask as we turn onto another path.

"Duh," he says. "I've been here enough times."

I turn my gaze away from him, glancing every which way. "Apartments, townhouses, motels…" I state dumbly, taking in my surroundings.

"I told you hell wasn't that bad. It's pretty chill down here," Kenny says. "You didn't believe me, did you?"

"Well, I do now..."

"Satan isn't all that bad either," he chuckles, "He's pretty easy going. As long as you stay on his good side, you won't need to worry about torture."

I snicker. Satan? Easy going? Who knew…

"Is Kyle really happier down here?" I ask, sad he wasn't more content with everyone else up on earth.

"Well," Kenny starts, "He seems better… Lighter, if that makes any sense. Up on earth, it was like he had all this shit weighing him down. There was all that baggage. Here, there really isn't much that can weigh you down apart from the whole torture thing. Things are simpler here… I know how ironic and outrageous that sounds, but it's the honest truth. Here, everyone is equal. It doesn't matter how you lived your life on earth."

I nod slowly.

I guess it isn't that outrageous.

Soon we come to an area filled with bright apartment complexes. They don't seem like they fit in among the hellish atmosphere.

"Kyle's here?" I ask.

"Kyle's here."

I glance at Kenny, who simply nods his head, urging me forward.

"Fifth floor, room 5-15," Kenny says. "I'll leave you to it."

Fifteen. The age Kyle will be for the rest of his life…

As I approach the building, I can't help but look around and think about how much it doesn't suit Kyle. Then again, none of this suits Kyle. Kyle deserves a clean-cut life… but maybe that isn't quite what he wanted and that's why he's down here.

The building doesn't look like it fits in a place like hell. It looks like something out of Hollywood, instead. This place just keeps getting weirder.

I enter the lobby and take the elevator up to the fifth floor.

My hands are shaking and clammy as I walk down the hallway.

Room 5-01…

Room 5-02.

5-03.

5-04.

5-05.

5-06.

5-07.

5-08.

5-09.

5-10.

5-11.

5-12.

5-13.

5-14.

And finally 5-15.

I knock and, what could be minutes or mere seconds later, the door opens.

Kyle is standing there, looking exactly the way he did last time I laid eyes on him. His hair is a typical curly mess, his eyes are just as bright, and he's wearing an ordinary pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Kyle looks like Kyle and it's comforting.

He is visibly shocked upon seeing me, and well, I guess I can understand why.

"Stan?" he whispers weakly, green eyes swimming. Hell, I hate it when he says my name in that tone. It makes me feel like I did something wrong… Then again, I guess I did.

"Hey," I hold up a hand and wave awkwardly. Now that I'm finally standing in front of him I don't know what to say. I've been rehearsing a speech in my head, but it's all forgotten now.

"No…" he takes a step back, "If you're here, then that means…"

Not quite the welcome I was expecting, but then again, it was dumb of me to expect that he'd be happy to see me. After all, I am dead and so is he.

"I'm sorry, Kyle."

"Stan," he stares at me, "Why did you…?"

"I need you," I say, hoarsely. "You're a part of me and I'm a part of you. I think that's how it has always been."

"Yeah…" he whispers weakly.

"I wish I had realized it sooner," I continue.

"It's okay, Stan," he says. "None of this was your fault… I was…"

"Tired?" I guess, remembering his suicide note.

He shrugs. "I guess life just isn't for some people," he laughs sadly.

"Is it better down here?" I ask.

"In ways," he admits, "I don't know most of the people down here, and they don't know me. It's… easier. I have nothing to stress out over. I don't need to worry about a future that was planned out by everyone except me. I don't need to worry about giving my parents the grandchildren they always spoke about. I don't need to worry about becoming a big time lawyer and raking in all kinds of money. It isn't really all about eternal torture down here. I mean, sure, there is torture, but I think it's reserved only for the people who piss off the king. I've never been tortured, but then again, maybe it's because Kenny put in a good word for me. I still get to see Kenny each time he dies. I see Chef sometimes, and now… Now you're here, too."

"Yeah," I say. "I've always been here for you, Kyle."

He gives a lazy, one-shouldered shrug. "Some things are difficult to talk about, Stan. I know you understand this."

I just frown.

"So, found my note?" Kyle changes the subject after a brief pause.

"Ike did... He let me read it. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's fine…" he whispers. "How did you do it?"

"Die?"

He nods slowly and tentatively. "You killed yourself... didn't you?"

"Yeah, me and Kenny jumped."

"Why?" he asks, sounding suddenly desperate. "You had no reason to do that! You were happy!"

"I wanted to see you."

He lets out a sharp laugh, closing his eyes and covers his mouth with one of his hands. "God, Stan, you're so impulsively stupid…" he says in a wet voice.

"Heh," I laugh quietly. "I know." I take a step toward him. His shoulders begin to tremble. I take another step forward so we're within arm's reach of each other.

"Come here," I whisper, pulling him into my chest.

This is when the dam breaks. He lets out a string of dry sobs before I feel his breath and his tears start to dampen my shirt. I don't mind. "Fuck you, Stan," he cries, "I wanted you to live!"

I rest my chin on the top of his head.

If that's what you wanted, you should have stayed.

I hold him tight. I hold him together. I hold him as he lets the memories out, as he lets the past go.

"I think it had to happen like this," I say softly, because we are both too stubborn for it to have happened the easy way.

"Maybe," he sniffs, clutching the material of my jacket.

And I'm beginning to think that it's all right. Maybe this is how the pieces had to fall in order to be put together.

"Kyle?" I ask later on once we've taken things inside. The inside of the house is just as bright as the outside. It's organized. Tidy. Everything has its own place. There are books, too. Lots of books. Kyle always did love to read. I guess things don't change, even after death.

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you tell me you loved me?" I wonder from my seat next to him.

He laughs, hugging his torso. I can tell he feel's uncomfortable. "Like I said, Stan," he starts, "Some things are difficult to talk about. It never ends well when you fall in love with a straight guy."

I don't say anything for a minute. To be honest, I don't know what to say. All I know is that I need Kyle in my life more than any girl, and maybe that means I'm a little less than straight.

"I wish you told me. I would have…" I trail off, knowing he'll understand what I mean.

"Really…" he mumbles.

"Yeah," I say. "I know that I'm not the reason you did what you did… It would be arrogant for me to think that. It was a lot of things, right? But… I would have tried to make you smile."

"Maybe."

"I would have tried so damn hard to make things better for you…"

"What about Wendy?"

"We never got back together."

"Because of me?"

Maybe. Maybe it's because of what Kenny said about me and Kyle – that we're in love. Without ever realizing it, I stopped thinking about Wendy.

However, I don't say that.

Instead I lean over and press my lips to Kyle's. I don't know what kind of kiss it is. Maybe it's the kind that says I love you. The kind that says I need you. The kind of kiss you only give to your best friend.

When I pull away, Kyle is smiling a small smile. We don't say anything else. I think what needed to say has just been said.

So Kyle sits here and lets me lay my head on his lap. He runs his long, pale fingers through my hair and I know I'm not dreaming. Not this time.

"Let's try this," I say, looking up at him.

He stares down, meeting my gaze. "You really want to?"

"Well, I followed you to hell, didn't I?"

He smiles softly, placing a hand on my cheek. "Yes, you did."

And I'd do it again.

I'm not sure how much time has passed, but Kenny skips through the doors, grinning to his ears. I can't help but grin right back at him from where I'm lying. I have my head on Kyle's lap. I'll stay here with him. We'll live together. Forever.

"We should play scrabble," Kenny suggests, picking up the box from the bookshelf.

"Kenny… you suck at that game," I say, sitting up. "You always make up words and insist they're real – or you just put shitty words like to and of while trying to save up your letters to make curse words and sex words."

He snickers, sitting on the floor. "It's all good fun!"

"Prepare to get schooled," Kyle says, getting up off the sofa and sitting down next to Kenny.

"With the power of perverted words, someday I will win," Kenny vows.

I snort, joining them both on the floor as Kenny sets up the game. "I doubt either of us will ever win against Kyle, dude… even with all of our points combined."

"Trust me, someday it will happen!" Kenny insists.

All right, so this whole thing is far from perfect, so it's a little fucked up, but who cares? We still have things that need to sort out, but we will take care of that in time. Yeah, sure, I'd rather be on Earth with Kyle…

But here is all right too.

Fin.