A/N

Happy New Year, lads! I decided that another oneshot was necessary, as I have recently noticed that I haven't written one involving Style yet. I found this rather strange as Style is my OTP. Well, I guess I've included Style in my multi-chapter fic, but I can't really show their regular, everyday side in that, with all of the death and killing going on in it. I also thought the title was a bit funny, to be quite honest. Like, shit will go down if you take away Kyle's caffeinated beverage. Just a little side note, I'm currently in the process of writing the next chapter for Fearless, which should be up either tomorrow or the day after. Enjoy!

"Hey, Ky," I whispered, nudging my snoozing boyfriend.

"Mmm," was his half-asleep response.

"Kyyyle."

"T'fuck d'you wan'?" he slurred with a whiny voice, clearly annoyed at the fact that he had been woken from his nap.

"It's time to get up, babe," I laughed as he groaned and covered his head with the blanket.

He had stayed the night at my house and we ended up sleeping on the couch, not bothering to haul our lazy asses upstairs after eight solid hours of playing Black Ops on my Xbox. I'm sure Kyle would've loved to sleep in my bed, but he wanted me to carry him upstairs and that just wasn't going to happen. Any other night, I would have done it without question, but I was exhausted. He was too. Luckily, we had been smart enough to cover ourselves in about three huge blankets surrounded by a bunch of pillows when we had decided to begin our gaming spree, so we didn't have to freeze overnight. We had woken up at about eleven o'clock, but after a good morning kiss, he fell asleep once again. Instead of following suit, I decided to text Kenny while rubbing Kyle's back.

"Ken wants to meet us at Shakey's in a bit," I informed him. "I think we should go."

He sighed, removing my arm from around his waist and stretching his arms above his head. "Is Cartman going to be there?" he yawned.

"Umm, yeah," I replied, already knowing his response.

"Then no."

I rolled my eyes at his childishness. "Dude, come on. He's our friend too. Just because he pissed you off yesterday doesn't mean you have to shut him out completely."

"He got me a detention, asshole!" he snarled, suddenly not seeming as tired.

I tried to suppress my grin. "Ky, you punched him in the jaw in English. You got yourself a detention."

"Whatever," he mumbled, slowly getting out of our cave of blankets. I watched him walk into the kitchen, no doubt about to make himself a cup of coffee. That kid was addicted.

I waited for him to re-enter the room before I decided to get up. He didn't look angry anymore, which was most likely due to the fact that he was sipping from his mug of caffeinated goodness. Once I had successfully exited the warmth of my couch, I strolled over to him and kissed his forehead. "Are you ready to get dressed?" I asked.

He sighed once again. "I don't know. I just don't think I care enough about fries to put on pants and brush my hair."

"You can't live in boxers forever, Ky," I chuckled, wrapping my arms around the short redhead and swaying slightly.

"Watch me," he grinned, looking up at me. It was at this point that I decided to fulfil his request from last night. I leaned over and wrapped my right arm under his legs, keeping my left arm secured around his slender waist. He yelped as I lifted him into the air, causing him to spill some of his beverage on his clothes. "Stan!" he screamed. "What the fuck! This is fucking hot, you prick!"

I only laughed in response as I began to head towards the staircase. "Guess you're going to have to change after all."

"Whatever, asshole," he smirked. "I'm wearing your t-shirt anyway. You're after staining it, retard."

"It was worth it," I winked. Upon reaching my bedroom, I carefully placed him on the bed to reduce the chance of anymore coffee being spilled. While he finished his drink, I walked over to my closet and picked out an outfit for the day. I figured ripped jeans and a black hoodie would be suitable for the casual occasion and threw the garments I chose onto the bed beside Kyle. I then peered over at the side of my closet where he kept some of his clothes for whenever he stayed over, grabbing his favourite pair of high-waisted skinny jeans and his green sweater. "This okay?" I asked, showing him the outfit I had picked out for him.

"Yeah," he smiled at me, placing his empty mug on my bedside table. "Thank you." I smiled back, walking over and giving him a lengthy kiss on the lips. His smile was infectious. I then proceeded to strip my pyjamas and get dressed. "Stan?"

"Mm-hmm," I mumbled, concentrating on buttoning my pants.

"I'm going to hop in the shower," he informed me, picking up his clothes and heading towards the door. "I got coffee all over myself."

"Oh, okay," I said, disappointed at the fact that I wouldn't get to see him change. He then stepped into the bathroom across the hall and locked the door, just in case Shelley would walk in unknowingly. He didn't want that to happen again. I laughed at the memory. They couldn't look each other in the eyes for weeks. Luckily, she mellowed out a bit over the years. She wasn't as much of a bitch as she used to be, but she's still not exactly nice. Sometimes I get a bit jealous of Kyle. Himself and Ike rarely fight, and when they do, it's about something completely stupid and irrelevant. One time Ike gave Kyle the silent treatment for about three days, only because he drank the last drop of milk and didn't tell anybody. Apparently, that was "so uncalled for", according to the young Canadian, as he had already poured his bowl of cereal, to find out later on that he'd have to eat it dry. Tragic. I heard a knock on my door as I finished dressing myself. "Come in."

I turned around and saw mom standing in the doorway, fully dressed, with her hair and make-up perfected. I had always been very close with her. In fact, she was the first one I told about my relationship with Kyle. She was perfectly fine with it, as I had expected. She loved the idea of Kyle and I being together. As did dad. He made it his mission to take Gerald, Kyle's dad, to Skeeter's Bar for a "future brother in-law pint". No one had the heart to tell him that the parents of newly weds weren't brothers and sisters in-law; not even Gerald. Surprisingly, even Shelley was okay with me being gay. "I'm not even surprised," she had told me.

We didn't even get one negative response. I mean, Wendy was a bit upset about our breakup, but she still accepted us and was now currently one of our really good friends. Same as Bebe, who continued admiring Kyle's ass from afar, something she was already used to.

"Where's Kyle?" mom asked as she began putting my clean laundry into my drawers.

"He's in the shower," I told her. "We're going to meet Kenny and Cartman soon."

"That's nice, dear," she smiled. "Are they coming here?"

"No, we're going to go eat at Shakey's."

"Well, if you four want to come back to the house afterwards, that's fine with me."

We heard the bathroom door open and watched as Kyle entered the room, his toothbrush in his mouth. He nodded at mom, acknowledging her presence, and continued brushing his teeth while putting the clothes that he had wore that night into my laundry basket. He then skipped back into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door this time. "Are you almost ready?" I called out to him.

He gave me a thumbs up before spitting out the foamy toothpaste into the sink. I shook my head at him and chuckled, reaching for my converse and putting them on. Once I had tied them, Kyle had re-entered the bedroom and began searching for his own footwear. He found them thrown under the bed and shoved them on his feet, still sitting on the floor. They were a pair of black biker boots that I had bought him for his birthday in May. They were about sixty dollars, so I was glad to see him getting a lot of wear out of them. "Well?" he spoke, looking up at me. "Go brush your teeth!"

I groaned, laying back on my bed. "I haven't even eaten yet. I'll brush my teeth when we get back."

He stood up from the floor and jumped onto the bed, straddling me. "Stanley Randall Marsh, you disgusting excuse for a human being. Go brush your fucking teeth or I'll brush them for you myself. How could you even think of leaving the house without clean teeth? This is not how your mother raised you. Right, Sharon?"

She giggled from inside my closet as she continued putting my clothes away, listening to the entire rant in amusement. "Exactly, Kyle. I couldn't have said it better, myself."

He looked at me smugly and rolled off of my abdomen. I chuckled, getting off of the bed and walking across the hallway, about to do what was asked of me by my persuasive bitch of a boyfriend. While I was brushing my teeth, I could hear him and mom having a conversation in my bedroom. I loved that they were so comfortable around each other, just like I was with Sheila. It made me really happy to know that, in the future, Kyle and I were most likely going to get hitched and we wouldn't despise our in-laws. Sure, it may have been a bit strange to have such a strong belief that you had found your soulmate at seventeen. But this was Kyle and I. We had been best friends since we were four and boyfriends since we were thirteen. Kyle would be eighteen in a couple of months, and a few months after that, so would I. That's a pretty long time to get to know someone.

After a couple of minutes, I had finished the boring task of cleaning my teeth. I dashed back into my room and picked up my boyfriend, spinning him around before placing him back on his feet and hugging him tightly. He laughed, bringing his arms up and around my neck, pulling me down to his level for a short make out session. Luckily, mom had left the room by now. Upon parting from each other's lips after about a minute or two, he gave me one last peck on the cheek before reminding me that we had somewhere to be. "What time did Kenny say to be there?"

"One," I replied, taking my phone out of my pocket and checking the time. "It's ten to now. We should probably get going." He nodded, taking my hand in his and leading me down the stairs. We grabbed our jackets off of the coat rack and put them on, intertwining our fingers once again once we had finished.

"Do you have money, Stanley?" I heard mom call out from the kitchen.

"Yeah," I replied, patting the pockets of my jeans and feeling my wallet. "We'll probably be back at around two."

"So they are coming over afterwards?" she asked.

"I'm not sure about Kenny and Cartman, but Ky is."

"Alright, dear. Have fun, you two!"

"Bye!" we said simultaneously, exiting the house and immediately being blasted by a cold gust of wind.

I shut the door and let go of my shivering boyfriend's hand, wrapping my arm around his shoulders instead. He accepted the gesture, leaning into my side and wrapping his arms around my waist. We walked to Shakey's in silence. There was no way of hearing each other over the noise of the cars honking due to traffic jams anyway. It took us about fifteen minutes to get there as the wind kept attempting to push us back. As we entered the warm fast-food place, we were greeted by a cheerful Kenny and a pissed off Cartman.

"You butt-fuckers are late," the large teen growled.

"By five minutes, fatass," Kyle responded with just as much annoyance. "You couldn't wait a couple of minutes to eat some fucking pizza? Typical."

"Be nice," I told him.

"Awh, is the little Jew still butt-hurt about his detention?" Cartman mocked.

"Fuck yourself."

"Guys, shut up," Kenny spoke up, interrupting their fight, thankfully. "The waitress is coming."

Luckily, the blond wasn't lying. A young woman, probably in her early twenties, was making her way over to our table with a notebook and pen in her hands. "Hi, guys," she smiled at us. "Welcome to Shakey's Pizza. Have you decided what you want to eat?"

We then proceeded to order our usual meal; a large cheese and pepperoni pizza and a few portions of fries, with water for Kenny, coke for Cartman, sprite for me, and, you guessed it, coffee for Kyle. Kenny always ordered water, as it was the cheapest drink on the menu. Kyle and I usually offered to chip in for something sweeter, but he declined every time, insisting that water was healthier and that's why he always went for it, but we knew he was lying. Every penny counts, I guess. Once our food had arrived, we started eating immediately. Not the healthiest breakfast in the world, but hey, a treat day every once in a while never hurt anyone.

"..and then I said, 'Fuck you, bitch! This is mah house, and you have to respect my goddamn authoritah!'," Cartman continued with a mouth full of pizza crust. We had been there for about twenty minutes, mindlessly chatting away while eating our greasy meal. As you can see, Cartman was going on about his "fight" with his mom. We all knew he wouldn't dare say that to her, but we played along, not wanting him to whine to us about how he was telling the truth.

"Ky," Kenny chuckled. "Are you alright?"

I looked over at my practically vibrating boyfriend, guzzling down his third refill of coffee. "Hey, slow down," I said, taking the cup away from him and setting it on the table. He looked up at me dejectedly, suddenly feeling disappointed at the loss of his drink. He grabbed a couple of fries from the portion we were sharing and shoved them into his mouth. He then proceeded to cross his arms like a child and stare off into the distance with a pissed off look on his face.

"As much as I enjoy watching the Jew have hissy fits, I have to go," Cartman smirked, getting off of his chair and putting on his coat. "Mr. Kitty needs to be fed. Come on, po' boy."

"Why the fuck do I need to go?" Kenny whined.

"If you want to stay over, you have to come with me now, or you can fuck off back to your shit excuse for a house and eat pop tarts for dinner."

The blond mumbled something under his breath and stood up, placing the change he had in his pocket on the table to pay for his meal. Cartman did the same, surprisingly. "See you guys later," Ken waved.

"Later," I replied, as they left restaurant.

I then turned to Kyle, noticing he was now trying to finish off his cup of coffee. "Dude, come on!"

"What?"

"I told you, you've had enough!" He rolled his eyes and continued drinking. I snatched the cup off of him once again and got up to throw it in the trash. Once I had gotten back to the table, I took out enough money from my wallet to pay for both of us and left it on the table, along with Cartman and Kenny's. The waitress was on her way over so I wasn't worried about it being stolen. "Let's go," I told him sternly.

He grabbed his coat and dramatically stomped outside into the freezing cold. I followed him, praying to God he'd calm down before we got back home. Once I had caught up to him, I attempted to wrap my arm around him once again, but was denied. He proceeded to ignore me completely, folding his arms around himself in an effort to provide some source of heat. Clearly it didn't work, as every few minutes he began inching closer and closer towards me. However, it was my turn to be irrational, so I put my hands in my coat pockets and strode ahead of him. I could hear his annoyed scoff behind me and I smirked to myself. I looked behind myself to see him crossing the road, no doubt trying to be as far away from me as possible. I rolled my eyes, continuing my journey home. Suddenly, I could hear the screeching of tires and a pained scream. I looked over in fright and saw Kyle laying down in the middle of the road with a car parked right behind him. I immediately sprinted over to him as the driver jumped out of his vehicle and called an ambulance.

"Kyle, baby, stay with me," I whispered soothingly into his ear as I crouched down beside him and stroked his hair.

He looked up at me with half-lidded eyes. I could tell he was fighting to stay awake. He gripped the fabric of my hoodie in his small hands and pulled me down to his level. "S-Stan?"

"I'm here, Kyle, don't worry. You're going to be okay."

"Stan. I'm s-sorry," he coughed.

"Shh, Ky," I said, tears streaming down my face. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Just stay calm, the paramedics will be here soon." As if on cue, the sound of a siren was heard. In seconds, I could see the ambulance approaching in the distance. Once they had reached us, they placed Kyle on a gurney and wheeled him into the vehicle, allowing me to join him on the journey. I sat down beside him and held his hand as the paramedics began checking him for any form of bleeding, bruising, or broken bones. "Can you tell me his name, son?" a male of about forty years of age asked me calmly.

I nodded, sniffling. "K-Kyle. Kyle Broflovski. Is he going to be o-okay?"

He looked over at one of his colleagues who was examining his body. "He doesn't appear to have any fractured bones, and bleeding and bruising is to a minimum," she explained, looking over at him and I. "However, I believe he hit his head once he had collapsed, which could be problematic. Nothing fatal, but he could be hospitalized for quite some time depending on how dangerous his injury is."

I nodded, relieved at the fact that he'd be okay, but heartbroken at the thought of him being put in a hospital for God knows how long. The man beside me cleared his throat, indicating he had more to say. I looked over at him. "What's your name?"

"Stan Marsh."

"And you're his friend, I'm guessing?"

"Boyfriend," I corrected.

"Ahh," he smiled. "Well, Stan, you shouldn't worry too much. He's in good hands. The doctors will make sure he gets all of the help he needs. Now, can you give me the phone number of his parents, or any other legal guardian, please?"

"Umm, I don't know his parent's numbers," I replied, scratching the back of my head. "But he goes to this hospital a lot, so his file probably won't be too hard to find. He doesn't have the best health record in the world. His parent's contact information should be there."

"Perfect. Thank you for your help, Mr. Marsh."

I nodded at him and returned my gaze to the passed out redhead laying in front of me. I continued holding his hand, not daring to let go of it. Not even for a second.

It had been about three hours of sitting in a waiting room, listening to the quiet sobs from Sheila, the hushed words of comfort from Gerald, and the heartbroken sniffles from Ike. I didn't get it, I really didn't. They practically figured out what was wrong with him in the ambulance, so why the fuck were they taking so goddamn long?

"Are the parents of Kyle Broflovski here?" a nurse asked as she entered the room. "You can see him now."

Sheila and Gerald nodded, following her out into the hallway. Ike and I just looked at each other. What about us? Why couldn't we go see him too? I was almost positive that he would've liked to see us a hell of a lot more than his parents.

"This is fucking bullshit," I mumbled.

Ike didn't respond. He was too shocked to speak. He just sighed, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. After about half an hour, the nurse returned.

"Ike and Stan?" she smiled at us. "Kyle requested to see you."

About fucking time. I dashed over to her and she led us down the hallway to the elevator.

"They're on the third floor, room three-hundred and twenty-four."

We thanked her and entered the small space. I let Ike press the button and we ascended in silence. Usually we'd have sparked a pretty humorous conversation by now, but not that day. We were both far too worried. Once we had reached the third floor, we jogged down the hallway until we found Kyle's room. I pushed open the door gently and stepped in, holding it open for Ike to pass through. I then looked over to see my beautiful boyfriend laying in bed with a disgusting, white bandage wrapped around his forehead, trying to ruin his beauty. He attempted to smile at me, but it appeared to be more like a grimace. I could tell he was in immense pain. I walked over to him and kneeled beside his bed.

"Ike, do you want to go down to the store downstairs and get some candy?" Sheila asked, ushering him and Gerald out of the room.

"But, I just got here!" he whined, looking over at his brother.

"We can come back up in a little while," Gerald promised. "Let's just let him talk to Stan for a bit, okay?" He nodded, following his parents out of the room.

Once the door was closed, the room was filled with complete silence. I looked up at Kyle to see him watching me with tear-filled eyes. "Stan," he began as a single tear rolled down his pale cheek. "I'm so sorry. This was entirely my fault."

"Hey, hey, no it wasn't," I replied as I stood up and leaned over him, wiping the tears away. "None of this was your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. You couldn't see the car and the driver couldn't see you. It was way too misty."

"Yeah, but if I wasn't such a dramatic asshole-"

"Kyle, listen to me," I interrupted, cupping his face gently in my hands. "It wasn't your fault." He looked up at me and bit his lip, trying not to shed anymore tears. I leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips, tasting the salty tears that had travelled down his face. "I love you so much, Kyle," I whispered, once we had parted. "Never forget that."

He managed to smile at me sincerely, this time. "I love you too, Stan. Remember that next time I throw a tantrum over coffee again."

"Which, by the way, you're having a break from."

"Good luck."

"I mean it, Ky."

"Mm-hmm."

I shook my head, chuckling at him. "You're a piece of work." He laughed, pulling me down for one last kiss. A few minutes later, the rest of the Broflovskis re-entered the small room. I took that as a sign for leaving. "I'll be back tomorrow," I promised the redhead.

"Good," he responded.

"And the day after that," I said, making my way towards the door.

"You better."

"And the day after that," I spoke once again, opening the door.

"Alright, Stan."

"AND THE DAY AFTER THAT," I shouted down the hallway.

"STAN!" he shouted back. "GO THE FUCK HOME!"

I laughed to myself as I got into the elevator, listening as Sheila scolded her eldest son for swearing. I kept my promise, returning the next day, the day after that, and even the day after that. I visited him every single day until he was allowed to go home, which was about three and a half weeks later. I made sure to see him everyday after that too, as he wasn't allowed to go to school for an extra two weeks. However, once he had healed completely, we were back to staying up until three o'clock in the morning playing Black Ops and falling asleep in a huge pile of blankets and pillows on my living room couch, and I couldn't have been happier.

A/N

I don't know why, but the thought of Kyle being addicted to coffee amuses me. And his little temper tantrums? Gold. God, Stan is such a protective asshole. Gotta love it. Also, I wouldn't have minded if Kyle drank all of the milk in my house. I eat my cereal dry, regardless. I find that adding milk just makes it soggy. Anyway, thanks for reading!