A/N: Hi! I have positively no idea if anyone is still waiting for this story to be updated, but if you are, hello again and thank you for being a devoted and patient cutie pie!

Also, I feel the need to say, that my writing in this so far has SUCKED. To say the least. Especially my "take" on mental disorders and all of what the boys have gone through. Now that I'm older and more knowledgeable in said subjects, thanks to books and experience, this story might take a bit of a different turn than originally planned. I hope no one minds too much.

Anywho~I don't own South Park, please enjoy!

Chapter 8: Future Fatigue

Nearly six months later…

It was a brutal winter in South Park. Freezing snow, rain, hail, and a near-death car wreck after Stan's Honda slid on sleet.

However, now the birds were beginning to chirp. The snow had melted, flower buds were blossoming, and knit hats and beanies were being thrown to the backs of closets. The teens of South Park were pulling out their swimsuits and preparing for the short, sweet summer.

So much had changed in the past half-year.

Kyle Broflovski thought about it, as he gently leaned on a windowsill and watched a soft May spring storm sprinkle on the warm clovers outside. He tried to forget all of the dirty things he was doing just months before. He had gotten rid of the plastic bags and jars of secret he had hidden when needed. The bile stench had miraculously left his room.

He also thought of Stan. After his super best friend's near death experience, and a rediscovered affinity of liquor, he was put in therapy. Stan never talked about it, though. Anyway, Kyle tried not to think about Stan.

As ninth grade came to a close, Kyle began to realize that the blush on his face wasn't his lack of self-esteem. He really loved Stan. Loved. With a capital L.

So, he couldn't trust himself around Stan. He assumed that, soon enough, the crush would fizzle away and they could go back to their usual goofing around and playing video games.

Now, Kyle was tidying up his room and setting up the cot beside his bed. He straightened the pillows, sheets, cups on the nightstand, and everything else that caught his eye. He didn't have OCD, he just loved to have order and perfection. Kenny claims that is OCD, but what does he know?

Speaking of the devil, Kenny steps into the room and lets his wet towel fall on top of his cot.

"Ken!" Kyle screeches and yanks off the towel, throwing it to the floor. "Dude! You're totally gonna ruin your bed!"

"Sorry, Kyle," Kenny tried not to smile, but he loved his easily riled up friend. But, to make Kyle happy, he hung the towel up on the bathroom door and then sat on his bed with his phone.

Kenny checked his phone religiously these days. After his parents had been arrested for their meth lab, and various other illegal things, he and his siblings had been split up throughout South Park. Their friends' families had been kind enough, thank God, to take them in for however long they needed.

Kevin and Karen were living with Token's family, and Kenny with Kyle's.

Still, Kevin texts Kenny everyday with an apology and a promise that as soon as he can, he's going to get a job, buy a house, and the three of them will live happily ever after. Kevin McCormick always had a problem with blaming himself for everything. Especially anything that hurt his brother or sister.

Hello? Kenny texted, and Kevin immediately began to text.

Hey! How ya doing?

Just fine, Kev. Don't worry so much, just take care of Kare bear.

U know I am.

Good.

Night?

Yeah. Talk to u tomorrow.

Yep. Night, kiddo.

Night.

Kenny sighed and let his phone rest on his sheets. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried to ignore the buzzing in his ears. After some of his life's drama had been sorted, the noise got a bit quieter. Though, his brain still barked mean things to him constantly. It was maddening.

"You okay?" Kyle asked as Kenny began to drift away.

"Yeah," Kenny snapped himself out of it and nodded. "Just fine. Are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You're barely even talking to Stan, apparently."

"Oh God," Kyle slapped his palm over his face and laid back. "What do you guys say about me in private?"

"Nothin' much," Kenny lied. "But Stan misses you, Kyle. Don't you think you could spare some time for your best friend?"

"Don't you think you shouldn't be lecturing me, Kenny?"

"It's not my favorite thing to do, Ky. But come on. A crush isn't the end of the world."

Kyle sprung up from the sheets and hushed Kenny loudly. "Shhh! Don't say it so loud, damn it!"

"Oh, no one's listenin' to us. What are so worried about anyway? Your mom took us to the tolerance museum."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean Ma wants her perfect little Jewish baby to be a homo."

Kenny rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, dude."

"I'm serious! She gives a shit, so don't say anything about it to anyone! Especially not Stan!"

Kenny shakes his head. "Please. Stan's so oblivious to blushing and crushes and all of that bullshit. You don't have to worry."

Kenny said this with a smile, trying to console Kyle, but he did it with a heavy heart. For a while now, he realized that he, too, had blossoming feelings for the sweet little Stan he had grown up with. He wouldn't dare admit it, though. Or even accept it. Stan was Kyle's, end of story.

Still, he could dream.

"Let's just go to bed," Kyle groaned and rolled over, wrapped in his sheets. "We've got all day to lay around in the sun and talk about nothing."

"Sounds good," Kenny agreed, turning off the lights and laying back in his own bed.

Both of them pressed their cheeks to their pillows, but it was hard to get to sleep. Spring had brought about a plethora of storms and with them came heavy thunder and lightning. Kenny knew these terrified his little sister, and it took all of his strength to not rush to her side. He couldn't wake the Broflovskis and the Blacks. He needed to stay where he was and not bother anyone.

Don't be a fucking burden, he heard bite his ear.

Kenny half heartedly agreed, rolled around in his sheets once more, and forced himself to shut his eyes and retire from the heavy thoughts. At least for a night.

Meanwhile, Stan Marsh, up his own bed with a book in hand and a half-peeled banana in the other, absentmindedly scrolled down a page and let his right leg anxiously shake. He swallowed down the banana timidly, loving and hating every bite. It was heaven and torture all wrapped in about 100 calories.

When he went to the hospital for his car wreck cuts and bruises, they found that the crash was caused by Stan's own exhaustion. Exhaustion brought on by the starvation, which was the real reason he was blessed with a therapist. His parents made up some "traumatic incidence" sob story, to hide the sad truth of a pun worthy "Stanorexic" son.

He was sure he had already gained back much of the weight he had lost and it was an arduous, terrifying process. Stepping on the scale just this morning drove him to tears. The loss of his control was driving his absolutely insane. He couldn't stand what was happening to him.

And he wasn't. Stan still did not eat breakfast. He didn't eat lunch, or snacks. He had dinner, to fit the role of good boy Stan and to avoid suspicion, and tried his hardest to avoid anything afterwards. Especially with stick thin 130-pound Craig breathing down his neck.

Though, sometimes, he found himself pawing at the kitchen cabinets at pitch black 3 AM. He would load his arm, and then fill his aching stomach, with food upon food. Not even necessarily unhealthy foods, but whatever there was. He had settled for raw flour at one point, even though it nearly choked him.

Nothing was satisfying enough. Not even seeing the numbers going down on his phone's weight loss apps. It all seemed so pointless. Life seemed pointless.

With this in his tired mind, he turned to his trusted bottle and took a dirty little swig when all other eyes were on the television. It was too easy. Stan was descending into Hell, but the Food Network was so damn enticing.

Still, he was happy for the distraction. Especially considering what happened to Eric.

A/N: Okay, I'm going to go ahead and end it there! I hope it's okay so far! For the record, Kyle is certainly not entirely cured, he's just trying to fool himself. Bulimia is taken lightly, but the urges are as strong as those of any other addiction.

Anyway *hops down from my soap box*, I hope you all enjoyed. I really do intend to get back to this story and actually continue it, because I remember I truly had some great ideas for it.

Anywho, if you liked it, I would greatly appreciate it if you followed, and left a quick review! I love to hear your sweet feedback. Thanks! Love you all.