11. Style-Grant

"Stan, close your eyes. I have a surprise for you." Kyle said to his husband.

It was his birthday, and Kyle had what he thought was the perfect gift. The couple had been trying to adopt a baby for some time now, but another family had always been picked. Or so Stan thought. Kyle had secretly gotten a yes from a lady in San Francisco. It was a baby boy named Grant, and he was about three weeks old. Kyle had been out there on business, and had swung by the hospital to pick him up. He had been staying with Kyle's parents so that he could surprise Stan on his birthday.

Kyle left the room and went to the room he had made the baby's, thankfully Stan hadn't noticed. He took Grant out of his crib and brought him downstairs.

"Okay, Stan, open your eyes!" Kyle said eagerly.

"Dude! Kyle… He's beautiful! Who… How? Oh, I won't even ask!" He laughed. Kyle put baby Grant down in Stan's face. Stan gave the baby back to Kyle so he could look at him. He really was cute. Stan bent down to give Grant a kiss, but right when their lip collided, Grant opened up his mouth and spit up on Stan's face. Kyle laughed and handed Stan a towel.

"Well, he's going to be a handful, isn't he?" Stan joked when his face was clean. "But we're up to it, right?"

"Of course, we can raise him together. We're a family."

Kyle kissed Stan on the forehead and he then went up to shower.

12. Dip-Coal

I held him close to me, staring into his massive red eyes, so much like Damien's so breathtakingly beautiful. "You're going to grow up to become the handsomest boy ever." I cooed into his face, nuzzling his nose against mine. "I could just eat you up." He made a grab for my lips, swatting at them with his pudgy little hands.

"Please don't eat him; I would miss him something terrible." I laughed and shifted so Damien could sit next to me on the couch. Immediately, I made a face, but grinned at Damien. "You smell like a dumpster, what have you been doing?" He grumbled, leaning back into the sofa and reaching for the remote, which I deftly plucked out of his fingers.

"Oh no you don't, we're going to have plenty of TV time later tonight without staring now." I threw it halfway across the room, where it landed with a mocking thump on the carpet.

"Pip, come on! I've been working since seven this morning, cooking, cleaning, mowing, dusting, vacuuming, washing, and preparing, while you've been sitting here drooling over Coal! Don't you think the least I could get in payment would be five minutes of television?" The Anti-Christ stretched, laying his feet on the coffee table.

"Well Damien, now you know exactly how I feel every day!" I cheered brightly. "And nice try, anyway we're not doing this for just any reason. I mean it's the first time our friends get to see him!" I looked down again at the brilliant red eyes roaming the room curiously, his mouth forming a cute little o. The doorbell rang, and Damien groaned. "Here I go, spawn of Satan, playing Mr. Servant for the day." I rolled my eyes.

"Damien wait!" I suddenly screamed. He whirled around, alarmed. "What? Are you okay?" I smiled at him. "I love you."

"The things I do for love." He sighed.

13. Grestophe-Orange

"Christophe, darling, how come you never allow me to go on missions with you?" I wrapped my arms around my French mercenary's neck and looked up into his dark eyes. Oh how I loved the moody killing machine.

"Gregory, I 'ave told you before, you are ze brains of ze operation." He kissed me chastely on the lips. "There es no need for you to come wiz me." He added, freeing himself from my arms.

I couldn't help but feel a bit discouraged, he had let that Jewish boy Kyle go with him many time, but always refused to let me.

"Darling, is it because you don't want me to get hurt?" I asked, pulling him back into my embrace. He should know better that I wasn't a delicate flower and I wouldn't break so easily. I had taken martial arts as a child so I knew how to fight well, and I was very skilled when it came to using a gun.

"Non mon amour, eet es because you wear ze color orange."

14. Bunny- It's Not Even Scary

Kenny was well prepared.

He consulted with Stan, take Butters to the movies, and pick the scariest one you can. When he gets distracted, yawn and put your arm around the back of his chair. When he gets scared and leans into you, wrap your arm around him, so he can settle against your side.

Kenny tried playing it cool, Butters was after all, a so fuckable. He arrived six minutes late, as planned and Butters ran through the rain from the front door to his truck, and hopped in.

They chatted aimlessly on the way to the movie, but his mind was in other, less honorable places.

They arrived, and he didn't even bother to look up to see what was playing, repeating the name of what was supposed to be the most horrifying horror movie playing.

Kenny smiled, taking the tickets and leading Butters to the concession stand, buying an overpriced popcorn and drink.

He led him to the right theater, scanning the seats for the best one, as the previews began playing.

They munched on the popcorn a bit, occasionally both taking sips from the drink. He would pretend it was an accident when he grabbed Butters hand in the popcorn bag, as he blushed.

Finally, the movie started, and he grew excited. He smiled victoriously.

As promised, the movie was a total bloodbath from start to finish. He hardly noticed that Butters wasn't even fazed by any of it.

About halfway through, the anxiety causing music started up, and Kenny could sense a climax approaching. He yawned, stretching his arm out… Closer… Closer… and…

"Oh golly, are you tired Ken? Let's go home, this movie sucks. Why did you pick this stupid movie anyways? It's not even scary."

15. Grestophe-Je Suis Désolé

What if I told you there was a time when Christophe trusted mankind? Would you believe me? Or what if I told you he believed people could change for the better? Or what if I told you he actually loved people purely with his heart and soul? Would you believe any of it?

I didn't blame Christophe for becoming what he did; I fully and thoroughly blamed his mother. His mother was the reason my best friend turned out the way he did. Christophe was sweet, and he cared about people, but his mother destroyed that. She took Christophe's beautiful spirit and she stabbed it. She ripped it to pieces then left it.

I loved Christophe, everything from his name to his fiery personality. It tore my heart in two to have him show up on my doorstep in tears, covered in bruises, scars and own human blood. His mother, his drunken mother, did that to him, all of it.

Christophe was arrested for the first time at sixteen, for what I can't even remember anymore. The look on his face when he was forcefully shoved into the police car was undeniable. I could read every emotion his eyes held, and I knew it wasn't his fault.

I would have paid the bail earlier, but my family was against it. I earned my own money so they wouldn't know; I saved every penny I had while Christophe sat in a jail cell, cold and utterly alone. Did his mother pay any of the bail? I don't think I need to answer that. His mother didn't care if he was in jail, she rather him be dead.

When Christophe was finally released, he was different. Suddenly, Christophe was real, so real that he scared me.

He was killed to death on our last mission together, by guard dogs, he deserved so much better. That night, watching him die on our mission it changed me. For the worse or best, I still don't know.

As I sat down on the rough, cold pavement outside I held his hand and cried until the ambulance and police showed up. Christophe held on for a long time, his eyes for once in many years, had tears in them.

"Gregory." His voice was rough. "Je suis désolé."

"For what?" My voice cracked, I couldn't seem to hide any tears.

"Evertheeng." He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He opened them again and stared at me. "Gregory." I opened my own eyes and looked down at him. "You were ze only theeng I ever loved."

"I love you too, Christophe. Always will." I promised, he nodded, and then his hand slipped from mine.

They say that when people are dead they look innocent and peaceful. But Christophe didn't, not to me. He looked like a candle without a flame. He was empty and more alone than ever before.

16. Style-Why Her And Not Me

A silent agreement passed between us, that once our laughter dies, our bottles are emptied and are head's feel fuzzy as the alcohol pumps through are blood stream, no one will know what happened tonight.

Six months of long painful disciplining of the heart are swept away with one kiss. I decided long ago that he's a drug, my drug. I push him away and we recite the words we've said one hundred times before.

We shouldn't, he knows. He has a fiancé, not tonight. I have a girlfriend, he knows. He's messing with my heart again, he's sorry. We'll regret it in the morning, he won't.

"I love you Stan." I tell him, just like every other time I tell him. Fully expecting him to ignore the declaration and crash his lips back to mine. When his palms cup my cheeks, I force my eyelids to open, green meets blue and he is smiling, he repeats the words back to me.

Gods, how much did we drink tonight?

So many questions, but one is painfully screaming for an answer. Why Wendy? Why her and not me? My tongue runs across my bottom lip and I nod my head. I don't ask the answer to painful to hear.

"Okay dude." I believe him, like a fool I believe.

And then, he kisses me again.

17. Creek-Voice

With a sigh, Tweek closed his laptop and returned it to the table; he had been trying to sleep for the day ahead of him. It seemed, that thoughts of someone, was keeping him awake. He emitted another sigh and positioned himself to try to fall asleep again. Tweek found himself drifting away to sleep until a shrill ringing made him jump back into reality. "AH!" He screamed reaching for his nightstand surface for his cell phone. As he held the phone to his ear, he tried his best not to drop it, but had no such luck.

"Oh, were you asleep? I thought you'd still be awake since you've have insomnia." said the voice coming from the cell phone. Tweek knew who it was, Craig. He had his voice memorized in his head, heart and soul.

"Tweekers? You there?" asked Craig. As much as he hated being called by that nickname, coming from Craig, it made his heart jump in his body.

"AH- I told you not to call me that," said Tweek. "and believe it AH- or not, I was about to fall asleep."

"Well, Tweekers, I think you passed your insomnia to me because now I can't fall asleep. So, you need to pay for it by staying up with me."

"Craig," Tweek cried, "It's three in the AH- morning!" Not that Tweek really minded, he would stay on the phone with the brunette all night just to hear his voice.

18. Kyutters-Thanks

Parking the car, Kyle got out and ran up the driveway, not even bothering to lock the car. He ran to the house and pounded on the door. There was rumbling inside before the door opened, revealing a rather short blonde. His face brightened when he saw who was at the door. "Kyle, I-" Immediately, Butter's sentence stopped and he trailed off, noticing the look on Kyle's face. "Kyle, what's wrong lil fella?" He asked in alarm.

The red head suppressed another sob, wiping the tears from his eyes. "It's Cartman!" He cried, "He dumped me!"

The blonde looked trouble. "Oh hamburgers!" Butter's cried. "Oh come in we'll sort this out!"

Kyle, stepped inside, and made his way over to the couch, when he collapsed into tears. Butters took a seat next to him, rubbing his back encouragingly. "Oh golly take it slow," he said softly. "What happened?"

Kyle took a calming breath, "We were just talking, and he said, 'I don't think you're the one for me!' he dumped me!" Kyle cried, accepting a tissue Butters handed him and drying his tears.

"That's ridiculous!" Butters said furiously. "Prom is in two days!"

"I know," Kyle choked out. "And there's no way I'll be able to get a date in time. I think I'll stay home."

"Oh Jesus! Don't do that!" Butters cried. "Look, you've been waiting for this for a long time. Come to the prom, I'll be your date."

"But you have a date," Kyle pointed out. "What will Kenny think?"

Butters shrugged. "Ken's a good guy, he'll understand."

Kyle forced a smile. "Thanks."

19. Style-Heaven On Earth

"I never should have come to this stupid prom in the first place." Kyle grumbled, leaning against the wall. Butters and Kenny were off dancing in each other's arms, and Kyle hated it. He wanted to go home, but Kenny was his ride.

"So much for prom being fun," he mumbled, scuffing the ground with his shoe.

"Well, it's supposed to be." Kyle nearly jumped five feet in the air, and flipped around, coming face to face with Stan. He placed a hand over his chest, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"Stan!" Kyle cried. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "It's prom, aren't we all suppose to go to prom?" he asked.

Kyle leaned back against the wall, next to his super best friend. They had been friends for as long as both of them could remember, and enjoyed each other company very much.

"Where's Wendy?" Kyle asked.

Stan shrugged. "How should I know, probably off dancing with Token?"

Kyle shot him a confused look.

"We broke up last week." Stan explained.

Kyle nodded in understanding. "Do you have a date?" He asked with a small quirk in his voice. He shook his head in response. "I see," Kyle said, and then it was silent. The slow song ended and another followed.

Stan sighed. "Do you want to dance?" He blurted out.

Kyle had to blink, before he smiled. "Sure." And then he led him out to the dance floor, and it was like Kyle had been whisked away on a cloud. Despite Stan being his super best friend, Kyle had the hugest crush on him for a number of years.

It was heaven on earth.

20. Grestophe-This Isn't Working

"Well fuck you zen!" he screamed at Gregory, storming out of the house and slamming the door behind him. A picture of the two framed and hung on the wall, wobbled and fell onto the floor with a sickening smash of glass.

The cold night air bit at Christophe's arm, and he wished he'd thought to bring a jacket. But then again, one doesn't think when one is storming out of a house after an argument with their boyfriend. He dithered on the porch for a moment, then stayed where he was, and with fingers shaking from the cold, lit his eighteenth cigarette of the day. He sucked in and felt that strange calmness once again fill his mind. He was still shaking though, and he paced the porch, trying to warm himself up.

As Gregory opened the door, he felt a rush of cool air, smelt the fresh scent of rain soaked grass, and sow the orange tip of Christophe's cigarette. The tendrils of smoke spiraled up into the evening sky as he held the cigarette loosely in his hand. He walked closer and brushed the smoke out of the air, then reach out to touch the French man's hand. Gregory felt a shiver run through his body and looked down at his bare arms, they were covered with goose bumps.

"I'm sorry," Gregory said.

Christophe turned from Gregory and dragged on his cigarette. The blonde watched the smoke blur as tears sprang to his eyes.

The cigarette dropped to the floor. He stamped it out with his foot, then without turning around he said. "This isn't working, mon amour."

Gregory felt hot tears pour down his cheeks.

Christophe walked down the steps, got in his car and drove away. Gregory watched until Christophe turned the corner, until the sound of his engine was lost in the quiet sounds of birds calling.