The Scenic Route

Stan grins, and it's as if he's looking at Kyle from a distance, years into the future, seeing this moment like it's an old picture of Kyle.

"Let go of me!" Stan shouts when Kyle tries to pull him out of the car. He can feel the others watching them, even Cartman saying nothing.

"I don't want to let you go," Kyle says, quietly enough that no one else will hear.

Kyle turns slowly, feeling for the second time today as if the world he's inhabiting is more nightmare than reality, a kind of snow globe that he's become trapped inside, one that somebody keeps savagely shaking every time he thinks he's figured out how to breathe in its glitter-choked water.

"You thought what?" Kyle is reeling, his eyes dropping down to Stan's throwing arm, the one he held Kyle with in the sleeping bag the other night. Apparently it's worth thirty thousand dollars, up front.

"I know," Kyle says. "But I can't do anything without him." He thinks of something Stan said last night, trying to remember. Something about football.

"Yes, you can," Kenny says. "You've just never tried."

"But I can't do anything without him." He thinks of something Stan said last night, trying to remember. Something about football.

"Yes, you can," Kenny says. "You've just never tried."

“Leave him alone.” Now Stan is all predatory; this is what he likes. Protecting Kyle, keeping him in mint condition, unused on Stan's shelf.

All he can think about is Stan's lips, how they must be sweet and cold. He wants to taste them, warm them up. He wants Stan's mouth all over him, trails of sticky sugar left behind on his skin.

Stan's hands are on Kyle's knees, and they feel like they always have: possessive, protective, perfect.

He feels like he's sitting high inside his own head, like anyone who passes by won't be able to see him. He prays, but not for Kenny.

God, please don't take him away from me.