A/N-Hi. I just want to say 'thanks' to all of you who stuck around and/or those who just started reading. I fall into rough patches sometimes and well, I'll sort of just end up abandoning things I love and create, such my love for writing. So thank you, everyone.

-MMM

Cold black coffee diluted at the bottom of Kenny's plastic cup, the ice added had long since melted into the caffeine. The clock above the Tweak Bro.'s entrance read six-thirty in the morning. A rasp present in his voice as he groaned, knowing that sleep would be fallible upon waking up in the middle of the night to a haunting dream of seas of black and voices speaking past mistakes.

So- no. There was no going back to sleep.

He got dressed with the few remaining clean clothes; he would eventually have to ask one of his friends to borrow their washing machines again. He hated asking them for favors and acting as a liability, being the poor friend alone in town.

He had tiptoed passed his sleeping siblings and rushed out the house, toothbrush in his mouth as he made his way to the only coffee place in South Park. He knocked back another sip, the bitter taste still wrestled with the unrelenting freshness of fluoride.

The guy behind the counter fiddled with the big espresso machine, Kenny eyed him with a half stare, mostly looking past him in thought. He wondered what another day of class could possibly do for him, what not just giving up and snagging a job around town would hurt. He would be justified; education wasn't exactly a ticket around town. With a basic knowledge in stepping in shit you could land a position anywhere there.

With a sigh, Kenny let his head drop atop his crossed arms on the bar. He was cold, sober, and tired as fuck. Any thoughts, which there were many that buzzed around his head, was swatted like a fly for any wink of sleep in exchange.

His conversation with Craig, he blamed Clyde for it occurring in the first place. He wish he didn't know his feelings for his friend, wished he didn't know about him giving him the tattoo, and especially wished this growing sick in his stomach would dissipate. Was it guilt-what for?

It's not like he gave any thought or consideration that Craig's fling with Stan might've developed into something more, it was Craig Tucker. Through out their younger years they had moments, glimpses of a potential friendship being he and the bitter teen. Stan never liked him, so what was different now? Was it really just a fleeting moment of giving a shit?

Kenny rose from his place at the espresso bar with cup in hand, turning to trench out the front doors of the café. The cold air of the morning stung his nose, the cold coffee going numb in his grasp. The days had gotten colder, he had acknowledged. The week's days bared more senseless bouts of crowding thoughts and awkward passing between classes.

The sidewalk beneath his boots was frozen; snowflakes descending like faintly falling ashes. He noticed the silence outside, the breeze no longer whistling and the sky showed no blue. Winter had completely consumed the mountain town.

Kenny grimaced at another passing thought of regret, and he poured out the rest of his drink onto the concrete. A small smirk grew on his lips; the only solace found was the thought of some asshole later that day slipping on the freezing beverage as he walked away.

The day came to Craig in a reverie of stirring blurs, static and other noise, taste was a abrasive concept and the only thing residing in mind were a toothbrush, a cup of water, and two Tylenol. His pillow stuck to his face with drool, red lines of the wrinkles of fabric tattooed to his cheeks and neck.

His phone sat besides his head, blinking away the sandman's bullshit as he took the device his grasp. He clicked the home button and was greeted with the time and date, the brightness causing him to squint. It was the early morning of the day he would have to return to hell, surrounded by his alienated demons that took him for ill. His trenches leading to his usual stomping grounds, forced interactions and elbow brushes with jocks and Hebrews.

With a grunt, he turned to sit up to see his pants only half down his legs and socks kicked to the edge of his bed. Craig laughed at his past self, a heap of depressed teen crawling into bed like a child. It was easy to laugh at it then, wrapped in the morning aftermath of his mopping period. Tweek helped, he figured. He always did, assumed it had been a traumatic case of irony. So many months ago it had been the other way around.

The TV played some random early morning baby's cartoon as he trudge across the floor to his dresser and fetched new pants. A fresh t-shirt and jeans, and a layer of deodorant later, Craig dragged his feet to the bathroom and dug into the medicine cabinet for any pain relievers. Finding a big can of Advil, he popped the lid and dry swallowed two before turning on the sink and splashing water in his face.

His hair stuck out on beneath his hat, a mass of spikey matted strands now wet and clung to his forehead. He brushed his teeth and stared at his reflection. He wasn't hung over, he hadn't drank that much. Only the headache seemed like it, and the mess of his stomach would beg to differ.

The journey down stairs was met with little voices, accepting that his parents had already gone and his sister already in school. He managed a sigh and pulled out his phone. It was ten minutes to the first class starting, and even if he managed a ride he'd be late. And that didn't necessarily bother him. Just the person whose name he scrolled to and clicked to call.

Two rings later-

"Craig? Where the hell are you?"

"This was a mistake," Craig grumbled into the phone.

"Where are you," Token repeated. "I just got to school."

"Look, just ditch and come get me."

"Oh, I'll get you. I'll pick you up and make you tell me what's going on. Man, you had Clyde on like some sort of manhunt the past couple of days. He's been on Kenny's case-"

"You're kidding," Craig disbelieved, glared at the wall. "You're actually kidding. What the fuck, why didn't you stop him?"

"You know how he gets when it comes to you man," Craig could hear Token's car start up in the back ground, "I can't say I wasn't too thrilled when the idea of you locking yourself away again."

Craig fell silent, dropping his gaze to the floor and leaning against the wall. "It wasn't like that…" His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Uh huh," Token verbally rolled his eyes, "Bet you sat in your room locked in your fucking head like some basket case, drinking and smoking."

"Stop being my fucking dad, dude," Craig snapped, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. "It doesn't make me feel good, okay? I'm sorry, I guess. Is that what you want to here, Toke?"

Token took a breath, readjusting the grip on his steering wheel. "Everybody needs somebody to talk to Craig," he reasoned, "It's important to have people in your life that give a shit. Me and Clyde give a shit, Tweek gives a shit, your family-"

"Alright, alright," Craig snapped, "I get it. Where are you?"

"-Gives a shit," Token stopped, "I'm outside."

Craig hung up, storming out of his house and door slamming behind him spotting the mustang out front. He walked over and made his way to the passenger side, yanking the door open and climbing inside.

Upon shutting the door and pulling on the seat belt, Token stuck out a hand to stop him. This action was met with a narrowed blues staring into dark chocolate browns, a moment passed before Craig sighed and Token spoke. "Would you slow down and listen to me?"

"What is it now," Craig groaned, his voice dry and tired.

Token laid the hand down on his friend's shoulder. "I got you, Craig. You're pissed off, you're upset, and worse than that you're most likely heartbroken."

Craig sat silently, lips shut tight and arms now crossed. Token sighed before continuing. "But-what you are letting yourself fall into isn't healthy, it isn't good for you with everything going on. Clyde and I, you know if you're pissed off or fucked up, you can always come to us." He said this is a calm low voice, his eyes piercing Tucker.

"I'm not going to tell you that Stan Marsh isn't worth starving yourself for," Token added, "I can't, because knowing your feelings is different from understanding them, but I'll be damned if I have to wake up at three in the morning thinking my friend just died. Again."

The last word caught Craig off guard, causing him to look off out the window. "You know I'd kick his ass."

He turned to the dark skinned teen, "If you wanted me to, me and Clyde shit. Okay?"

After taking in a deep breath, Craig nodded slowly.

Token's hand lingered on his shoulder, squeezing before turning down the street he came down. Craig's eyes softened and focused on the passing houses, his mind drained and stomach empty. "Can we stop at Tweek Bro.'s?"

Token smiled, "Sure."

The day went by in a flash for Stan, which he never thought would ever happen again.

With Kyle and Kenny by his side most of the day, things seemed they were finally at peace for once. Only deep down he knew they weren't. The day had hit bumps-lunch especially. He only saw Kenny for a few minutes at lunch, and then he managed a silent getaway upon Craig Tucker entering the cafeteria with Token and Clyde at his sides.

Stan recalled something about Craig changed, to which he eyed the ravenette with the slightest hint of concern. He spotted his skin tone almost a tint paler, his eyes dawning bags beneath them and his moments more sluggish than usual. After a while of staring he watched him chance a glance in his direction. Stan could see life flashing in his face briefly, before turning back to Clyde and Token without missing a beat in the conversation.

Before than, in the class they had together, Craig chosen to sit in the back furthest spot from Stan and Kenny. When he commented on it to Kenny, he just shrugged and droned at his desk. It hadn't stopped there, seeing as how after class Kenny stayed behind as Craig got up and was the first one out.

Later, as he and Kenny exited their final period he glanced at his friend. Passing students chatting around them as Kenny focused straight ahead, his hands tucked into his pockets and walking without a single word in the past hour. Stan sighed, stopping mid step and tripping up a few students behind him.

Over the silent curses under their breath, he waited for Kenny to turn around. Ken raised an eyebrow, the jock cross his arms wrapped in his letterman with his book bag shifting its weight on his back.

"What?" Kenny asked, turning to look around.

"Something's wrong," Stan stated, "and I'm done."

Kenny took a step towards him; students brushing passed them on either side. "Stan, if this is about me being a little sleepy today-"

"You two fought," Stan finished. Kenny flinched. "That's what I thought. Ken, why didn't you tell me-"

"Because why do you need to know everything," Kenny glared, "Just because you feel like you owe something to the guy."

"I don't owe anyone anything," Stan snapped back. "But when he won't even look at me, and you won't say anything, I have reason to believe something's up. So what was it?"

Kenny's shoulder's slumped, dropping his head. "I told you, I couldn't."

"Oh, you can tell me something." Stan said, crossing his arms with a furrowed brow. "As a matter of fact, say if it was about Kyle."

"It wasn't." Kenny sighed, "Why would it be-"

"There we go, now say it was just some normal fight between you two."

"Stan, fucking stop-"

"What was it, Kenny?!"

"You said you'd drop it!"

"Say it had nothing to do with me!"

"Don't!"

"SAY IT!"

"It-"

"Stan!"

Both stood a mere foot away from each other, Stan's bag now on the ground and Kenny's fists out and rose. Stan's own name echoed off the lockers as the hallways were then mostly clear of students save for the two-and Kyle standing at the end of the hall.

"What's going on?" The Jew asked, rushing over to stand besides the two. Kenny glared at the teen before him, mutual best friends standing in a an empty hall. His fist shook, a mental picture of it colliding with the side of Marsh's thick skull and shaking the thought of his bout with Tucker in a flash of white.

Both fists however fell, limp to his sides before shoving into his coat pockets and turning away from the two. "Fuck this."

Stan's eyes sharpened, taking a step in Kenny's path. "No! Don't fucking walk away from me! Where are you going?!"

Kyle stepped between the two, "Stan, stop! Let him go!"

"Kyle-move!" Stan growled through barred teeth, looking past his boyfriend.

"No! You're not thinking right now and you need to," He tried to reason, hand to Stan's shoulders. "Let this go, please. Just for right now."

Stan's eyes focused on Kenny's orange parka headed away from them, turning the corner down the hall an disappearing. His shoulders fell and his expression fell, reaching up to bring a hand to his face.

Kyle brought him in and wrapped his arms around his neck, turning back to where Kenny walked away. Letting out a sigh, burying his face into Stan's letterman.