It could be colder, Kenny thought. It could be.

He stared at his hands; the tips were blunt and calloused, nails varied in length and skin littered with scars. His hands bared no temperature, but he was sure that they were like stone.

Rubbing them together in the back seat, knees pressed tight together as burst of shivers shook his body as he breathed into his poorly protected digits.

When the day had drawn to a close, the thickness in the air noticed only by Kenny kept him silent. The sun dipped behind the mountains surround the town, leaving behind South Park a blaze in oranges and yellows as the fourteen drove home.

Stan in the driver seat had been talking with Kyle the whole drive; Ken overheard heard Cartman's name once or twice in passing, as he were too preoccupied trying to faze through the glass window and out of the car. Clyde sat beside him, watching with arms crossed and staring down the road.

It was Kyle's burst of laughter that brought Kenny out of his stupor; Stan had reached over and began tickling his side. Ken managed a weak smile, seeing his friends so happy. To see after recent events they were both together he thought, as long as that happiness remained. The three of them cut from the same cloth that was South Park, falling into similar pits of despair, as they grew older but they had all remained together finding support from it all. Kenny was thankful for that.

Clyde cleared his throat, and Kenny sighed.

But then, there was Craig-fucking-Tucker.

Kenny sat up, crossing his own arms and stared down the road as they passed the first block of houses. "Hey, Kenny?" Stan perked up from behind the wheel.

"Huh?" Kenny responded.

"You've been quiet the whole ride," He pulled up to Clyde's home and set them in park before turning back eye the blonde. "Is something up?"

"Maybe he just needs some rest," Clyde shrugged, "he did mention getting sick earlier."

"I didn't you did," Kenny turned to the teen stepping out of the truck, "and I'm fine. Nobody's sick, nothings wrong. Drop it."

The others stared, Kyle shifting uncomfortably with his seat belt. "Right, well I'm going to go." Clyde said, turning around and walking up the driveway. "See you guys, at school."

They said their goodbyes and Kenny was silent. As the truck pulled away, Clyde watched them from his front porch. Kenny took off his seat belt and lay down in the now open space, blood now full circulating and allowing him to breath comfortably.

"Well that was weird," Kyle spoke up.

"Yup," Kenny said.

"Want to talk-"

Kenny interrupted, "Nope."

Kyle pouted, staring into the review. "You sure?"

"It's nothing, I'm just pissed off."

"Why?" Stan asked, Kyle turning back to him.

Kenny rubbed his arms, shaking his head. "I just, I don't know. Clyde and I don't see eye to eye right now."

"Could have fooled us," Stan said, "you guys seemed fine today."

"You didn't notice how often he'd try to worm Craig into every other conversation?"

Stan shrugged, "Honestly, I wasn't paying attention."

Kyle frowned, "What's his gain in doing that? Did something happen, Ken?"

Suddenly the car stopped, Kenny found themselves out by the tracks. His house was in clear view under a street lamp across from the shack. Kenny got out of the truck and walked passed the driver side as Stan out after

Stan turned to Kyle, taking off his seatbelt before he raised a hand. "Let me talk to him."

Kyle frowned, "He's my friend too, Stan. I'm worried."

"I am too, but do you really want to hear anymore about Craig?"

For a second, they stared at each other. Kyle sighed, and leaned back in his seat. "You'll tell me after?"

Stan smiled, "Maybe."

"Dick," Kyle rolled his eyes, watching Stan shut the door and run after Kenny through the windshield.

"Kenny!" Stan shouted after the parka clad teen, stopping him within a yard of his home. "Hey, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about this." Kenny shrugged, back to the jock. "Go home."

Stan stood there, watching Kenny from behind with a quizzical look. "Ken, what the fuck? Everything goes back to normal and then two days later you're acting like a dick."

Kenny chuckled, bitterness in his voice. "Maybe I am one."

"Man what are you talking about?" Stan pled. "Come on, you're my best friend-Kyle's too! You've been with us since day one and through so much, dude. You can't just shut us out."

"I'm not acting petty over some dumb disagreement with Clyde, Stan-"

"Then what?" Stan stomped, "What he said pissed you off about Craig getting sick-"

"For fuck sakes!" Kenny growled, "He isn't fucking sick, he's shutting himself out somewhere."

The two fell silent, Kyle watching all of this with the words muffled. He pondered getting out and rushing over, seeing the two shout back and forth.

"Then it is about Craig," Stan took a step forward. "Something did happen."

Kenny turned around fully, glaring at the ravenette. "Don't do this, Stan."

Stan stood firm, eyeing Kenny. "Then spill it."

Kenny eyes narrowed, only to close and sigh. "I can't." He groaned, "I just fucking can't."

"Why not?" Stan asked, holding out a hand. "If it wasn't a big deal then you'd have no reason to act like this-"

"Why do you care?" Kenny snapped. "Huh? Why do you still give a shit about that guy, Stan? Why's it still matter how he is?"

A breeze blew past the two, pulling with it leaves and trash rolling in a gust blowing Stan's open jacket and the fur on Kenny's hood in silence.

Kenny took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be, Ken." Stan said softly, "Look, how about we drop it?"

Kenny eyed him, Stan shoving his hands in his pockets. "I won't push this…you're right, I shouldn't care. I don't, it's you I'm worried about overall. Kyle and I worry when you get like this."

Kenny rolled his neck, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pulling one out. "Eh, don't be worried. I'll manage."

Stan nodded, trying a smile. "Alright…Cartman comes back in a few days, yeah?"

Kenny waved him off, pulling out a lighter and placing the cigarette between his lips. "Yeah, yeah. We should do something when he does." Stan had started to walk away, when Kenny called back after him. "And Stan?"

Stan turned, "Yeah, Ken?"

Kenny lit the cigarette. "He says 'Hi'," he nodded, "Craig, I mean."

Stan stood there, eyeing the expression on the teen's face. His eyes half lidded with blues hidden in the darkness of night falling. "Oh, alright."

With that, Kenny watched the jock return to his truck and after a few moments drive off into the night. As the glow of the taillights faded, Kenny stood alone in the single light and smoked. His shoulders heavy, his eyes like frozen over shutters, and his chest tight.

The conversation replayed in his head for the hundredth time.

If the moon were a spotlight, highlighting for all to see and pulling secrets out to the open, then it aimed intentionally on the hood of the crimson truck parked out front of the Broflovski residence. It was there Kyle sat rosy cheeked, muscular hands around to his back as his sat around Stan's neck and gazed into his eyes.

The cold ceased to exist; the nerves had stop shifting in his gut when he fell into them. They were like a lifeline, his oceans of blue of his friend and love. Waves crashed and so did he, burying his face in Stan's chest, hearing his snickering.

His parents were inside, cars in the driveway but he couldn't get away from Marsh, it was hard. His hands clung on to him, his face to his sternum breathing in his scent, and Stan made it no easier for him to leave either. Moments post to leaving the vehicle, Stan picked him up and sat him on the hood where they remained.

"Kyle?"

Kyle reluctantly removed himself from the warmth of Stan's torso and gazed back up into his eyes, seeing a chilling half lidded set stare back as he leaned down. They were inches away, Kyle's heart beating hard and nerves on fire as Stan lifted a hand to his chin and brought their lips together.

The kiss, as short as it were, felt as though years gone by. As they pulled away, Kyle was positively beaming. His cheeks glowing crimson, he pulled the flaps of his ushanka down to hide from his friend. Stan snickered, stroking the Jew's cheek and pulling him back in.

His hands mapping Kyle's back and lips carrying a smile.

"You're amazing, Kyle," Stan smiled.

"S-Shut up," Kyle snickered. "I think I'm going to cry."

"Pffft! Why?" Stan pulled back, seeing Kyle still trying to hide his face.

"Because…I'm just really happy right now," he whispered, "I don't know."

Stan leaned down, kissing his forehead. "Good, so am I."

Ash smoldered onto a plate, baring a half eaten sandwich crowded by empty cans of soda and a half empty bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. The wall behind this nightstand flashed from the TV screen, a black silhouette caste a shadow over the bottle. In front of the TV in a beanbag and stoic, Craig sat half conscious eyeing the floor.

His head hurt, the lights in his room hadn't been on in a while, his phone set to airplane mode with music blaring through the ear buds shoved in his ears. Bittersweet melodic Punk rock soothed the mental frenzy eating away at the back of his mind, his heart as of then was steady again. The taste of whiskey lingered for days with out a single sip, and the bottle stood behind him mocking the ghost on his taste buds.

An old zippo flicked about in one hand, the flame illuminating the room for seconds at a time and bring life to his eyes like dying light bulbs. The TV remained on for company sakes, he figured. Having not spoken to more than one person out side his family the past few days left his throat dry, Irish coffee and cigarettes were simply fallible ailments in this cold he had.

A cold, he had told his parents. His father bought him medicine, his mother consoled him, and his sister bitched and moaned about him being home to do whatever. A cold-it would explain the tired, teary eyes, the stuffy nose, the hoarseness in his voice, and the sleeping. Whenever it did come, Mister Sandman being a passive aggressive piece of shit then was a heavy inconvenience.

Craig leaned back further into the beanbag. Maybe it could swallow him up, the blue fabric could stretch out over him and take hold. He took a breath, imagining the bag opening up like mouth and blue tendrils wrapping around his limbs with the warmth of it soothing the inevitable calming demise he were to surely meet.

But the blue were too similar, his twisted imagination shattering from the image of a stupid blue hat atop a stupid head protecting a stupid brain.

Fucking McCormick.

He groaned, the whiskey and sandwich duked it out for supremacy-loser meets the floor and possibly the carpet. He reached for his phone, swiping up with his thumb and hesitantly pressing the airplane symbol.

Oh, the many messages that graced his screen. Like an ocean of applause the came in droves, a good majority from Clyde he figured. He read several from Token to call him or at least let him know he were alive or he'd kill Stan. The idea forced a smile to his lips, he hated that he could. He responded with a poop emoji and kept scrolling through Clyde's messages.

That he did before receiving a phone call. He glared at the contact for a second before answering, "I hate that you know when I turn my phone back on."

"Geez! Be grateful I called, you ass!

"What are you up to?" Craig asked, clearing his throat. "How're the folks?"

"You s-sound sick, Craig," Tweek's voice came calm yet uneasy through the receiver. "Have you been there all day? You aren't drinking are you?"

Craig rolled his eyes, "I'm fine, Tweek. Tell me how your day's been."

"Craaaig," Tweek whined, Craig snickered at his straining. "It's been fine, more breathing exercises, more family stuff-"

"You're sounding better and better whenever we talk," Craig smiled, "No more bad thoughts?"

"Nope! I do get worried a lot though." Tweek replied, Craig imagined him toying with his hands with the phone on speaker across from him on his bed. The hospital he resided was in another state, too far no matter where it was. Craig had begged his parents to take him, but the doctors advised against visitors so soon. Tweek's parents would let Craig know every other month of any updates on when he could go visit. Since Tweek had a phone, it was easy making both just as inseparable as they were in South Park.

"The scars…" Tweek whispered, "They're going away, slowly. I wanted to tell you that, and also that I'm-"

"Tweek please."

The other line went silent; Craig could hear Tweek stammering quietly. "Do you still hate me?"

"I never hated you."

Tweek was quiet again. "I…erm…"

"You don't have to be sorry. You're still here, and you're healing. I miss you, Tweekers."

"I-I miss you too, asshole." Tweek's voice spoke from the phone. "I want you to be okay, too."

"I am."

"Don't lie to me."

Craig sighed, flicking the zippo again. "I'm not perfectly fine, but I'm alright."

"Ahem."

Craig glared at the phone, "Don't clear your throat at me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You suck," Craig said, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. After a few moments, Tweek broke the silence.

"…It's Stan still, right?"

Craig was silent, closing his eyes as Tweek continued. "You told me yourself, and it's not like Stan to just let shit with you escalate. He usually comes to you when it gets bad right?"

"But it's Kyle," Craig spat, "how do I compete with that?"

"Just, I don't know. I don't know what to say."

Craig sighed, "I'm still mad at Kenny…Piece of shit knows about everything."

Tweek sighed, "I wish I was there with you."

"So do I," Craig groaned, sitting up. He walked over to his bed and crashed into the sheets. "I can't sleep, I haven't in awhile."

"…Want me to stay on the line? I'm going to take a nap too."

Craig snickered, "Why are we lame?"

"You're lame!" Tweek blew a raspberry into the phone. "Go to sleep, ass."

"Pfft." Craig yawned, "Goodnight, Spaz."