Stan was clutching his coffee cup in his left hand, steering the car one-handed with his right. It was stupidly dangerous, Kyle knew, but then, Stan had been patiently listening to him bitch about Cartman for the past fifteen minutes. And he had just bought him a coffee. Kyle wasn't about to pick fault with someone who was listening to him bitch, and who'd just paid for his drink. Even if his stupid driving style was seriously likely to kill him.

"Why don't you just beat the shit out of him. Like you used to do when we were kids?"

"I want to, but he keeps getting me into trouble. If I so much as slap him, he goes whining to a teacher. Or his mother. Like some kind of fucking toddler." Kyle groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing his head against the seat. "He's just such a fucking dick."

"I know. Everyone knows. I really wouldn't beat yourself up about it. Besides, Clyde told me he got wedged in his desk last week, during history class. Apparently some kids from the shop room had to come cut him free."

"You're kidding!"

Stan shrugged. "That's what Clyde said. Lord knows if it's true or not, but knowing Cartman, it probably is. Clyde said it took them nearly twenty minutes to hack through the desk and de-wedge him. The poor desk was completely wrecked by the end of it."

For a second Kyle was silent. He could feel it in his throat, the threat of laughter. Proper laughter. The wild, unrestricted laughter he and Stan used to share. He leant forward, gripping both hands round his coffee. His shoulders were shaking. He was laughing, laughing properly. Laughing like he used to when he was a kid.

Stan bit his lip, grinning across at him. "God, it's been a while since I've heard you laugh."

It took Kyle a while to answer, to fight words out through his gasping breath. "It's been a long time since I heard anything that funny. Fuck me Stan, that's brilliant!"

"I'm surprised you didn't know. I thought everyone knew. It's been spreading round the school like wildfire."

"Well I'm hardly an active member of the gossip circuit. I only know what Kenny knows. And I really try not to listen to him when he talks. A lot of the stuff he knows... I just really don't want to hear about."

Stan just smiled, deftly turning the steering wheel with his right hand. Kids were milling about the schools car park, paying no attention to the people trying to park.

Kenny was sitting at his desk with his eyes shut, carefully tilting his chair back, rhythmically rocking it on two legs. Kyle slammed the box of floppies down on his desk, causing him to start and nearly overbalance. After a yelp, and some slight windmilling of the arms, he managed to regain his composure, once again balancing himself carefully on his chairs two back legs.

"Thanks for that fluffywuffydodah. There's nothing I like better than a good near death experience in the morning. Really gets the blood pumping!"

"You deserved it. You'll crack your fucking head open one day. Or you'll break a chair. It's just stupid. Why can't you sit properly?!" Kenny raised his hands in mock surrender. Kyle just dropped his bag on his desk, slamming against the wood with a muffled thump. He was frowning at the box, watching as Kenny pulled it open and began sifting though the disks. A lot of them were cracked, most of them were scuffed. Some of them were all but in pieces. "What the fuck is Butters going to do with those things anyway?"

"I dunno, some sort of gay collage. He'll artfully arrange them on a canvas, make them look like a set of giant tits, or a flower, or a life-size Honey Boo Boo. You know, the usual pretentious crap."

"Since when was Honey Boo Boo pretentious?"

"Since people began making collages of her out of garbage. There's nothing more pretentious then sticking a shitload of trash on a canvas, sticking a four figure price tag on it, and calling it art. I mean, I could arrange trash on a canvas, it doesn't mean I'm an artist. It just means I like to play with trash."

Kyle just raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of coffee. It wasn't particularly hot anymore, but it was still drinkable. "Art's not about painting flowers and perfecting dramatic chiaroscuro anymore Kenny. Art's about acting edgy and ramping up publicity. It's about selling yourself, not a canvas. You could paint the shittist thing known to man, but provided you put the right spin on it, provided you talk it up enough, you'd make millions. I mean, it really is a career opportunity you should look into. You need absolutely no talent whatsoever. All you need is the ability to talk."

Kenny just ignored him. He was staring over Kyle's shoulder, watching Stan lean against Wendy's desk. She was glaring at him with eyes full of murder, glaring at the coffee cup clutched tightly in his hands, glowering at it like it had personally wronged her. She probably had her panties in a twist because Harbucks were harvesting rainforests to produce their stupid paper cups. That seems like the sort of stupid crusade she'd get herself pent up over.

Kyle was frowning slightly at his own cup, narrowing his eyes at the ugly winter pattern. He didn't seem as peeved off at it as Wendy did though. It didn't deeply offend him, he just thought it was ugly. It was ugly. There's only so many ugly little snowman one cup can handle. Kenny just cleared his throat. "So you're driving in with him now, huh? Getting coffee and everything. I bet he even paid. How long until you announce your engagement in the local paper? I'm looking forwards to the engagement photo. Make sure you get the ring in the shot, nice and forced. Just like all the royals do."

Kyle didn't look up from his cup. He was too busy staring at the snowmen with a particularly unimpressed look on his face. "Go to hell Kenny."

"But you make such a lovely couple. The whiney pussy and the screechy Jew. It's like some bastardised retelling of The Owl and the Pussycat. I can't wait to see your lovely pea-green boat!"

Frowning, Kyle looked up, slamming his cup down on the desk. It was nearly empty, so the slight tapping noise it made was far from impressive. "What's your problem with all this anyway?"

Kenny shrugged. "I dunno, it's not that I've got a problem with it. I just… I just think there's something weird about it. Weird about the way Stan's acting towards you, all lovey-dovey one minute, ignoring you the next. Weird about the way you've just, I dunno, just forgiven him. After everything that happened, after everything you... It's just…" He pulled a face, dropping all four legs of his chair back down on the carpet with a muffled thump. "There's something weird about this whole mess fluffball, and for some reason you don't seem to be able to see it."

"There's nothing weird about it. It's not weird." Kyle paused for a moment, pressing the lid of his coffee cup against his lower lip. "Well, it's not that weird, it's just…"

"Not that weird? What do you mean not that weird?"

Kyle wrinkled his nose. "He keeps… Like, hugging me and stuff. That bit's a little weird."

"You let him hug you?! Bitch, the last time I tried to give you a hug, you kicked me in the fucking crotch so hard I had to go to hospital!"

"Yeah, well you were fucking naked! You deserved that!"