Kyle cleared his plate, unable to eat. His stomach felt as if it had contorted itself into a shape similar to that of the small intestine, and then been filled with burning acid. Maybe that was because it was his last night here.

Even after a month, he still couldn't believe he was actually leaving South Park for New York. He'd lived here his whole life; all his friends were here! Everything he knew and loved… he'd be leaving it behind.

The moving vans had already left with the packed boxes, and the Brovlofski's had been housing in the Marsh's home for the last week of their stay in South Park. Kyle and Stan had spent every night hanging out wit Kenny and Cartman, laughing at corny jokes, looking through old yearbooks and photo-albums, swapping stories and playing video-games. All of his friends had expressed their regret at his leaving, even Cartman, who chose to express it in the form of a rather tight hug that had nearly broken several of Kyle's ribs. Kyle insisted that part had been on purpose, no matter how much Cartman said otherwise.

"Hey, dude, you alright?" Stan asked, jogging after his friend as he trudged up the stairs.

"I'm fine," Kyle muttered.

Stan frowned, knitting his eyebrows. "Don't believe it," he replied.

"I'm fine!" Kyle repeated, exasperated.

"Oh cut the bullshit!" Stan scoffed. "Come on- attic, now."

Kyle groaned. "Jesus fucking christ, dude, I'm-"

"NOPE!" Stan interrupted sharply. "You don't get a say in the matter!"

Kyle shook his head as Stan dragged him up the stairs and to the attic. He pulled out a heavy photo-album, and handed it to Kyle. It was bound in leather, with a label that read in scrawling sharpie, "Memories." The red-haired boy stared at it, confused. "It's yours now," Stan told him. "I made it."

Kyle looked up, his eyes wide. "You… you made this? For me?"

"Duhh," Stan said, rolling his eyes. "I mean, you're probably never going to come back, so…" he trailed off, staring at his feet. "I figured I'd make you something to remember us all by. Kenny and Cartman helped out too. We signed it and everything."

Kyle could feel the tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh my god…" he whispered, his mind walking the thin line between laughing with pure, loving joy, and sobbing in torturous agony.

Stan looked up, noticing the bittersweet expression on his friend's face. "Shit, dude, no!" he exclaimed. "Don't you go crying on me now!"

Kyle rubbed at his eyes, his voice shaking as he said, "I'm not crying, you dumbass!" He stared at the leather-bound book, gently flipping open the cover. "Fuck," he whimpered. "You little shit! You cheesy-ass little fucking shit!"

"I know, I know," Stan chuckled. "But hey, it could be worse!" he added, snickering. "I could have puked on you instead!"

"Thank *God* you outgrew that one," Kyle mumbled through the hot streams of tears falling freely down his cheeks. "You're horrible, you know?" He half-heartedly smacked Stan, who just laughed, wrapping his old friend up in a tight hug.

"I know," he replied, smiling. "But it's nice, right?"

Kyle buried his face in Stan's shoulder, clinging on tightly. "It's perfect," he said, his voice muffled and distorted. "Fucking perfect."