"I can't believe you just hit me." Stan was pressing the back of his hand to the side of his face, over the faint red mark. He was looking at Kyle with wide, shocked eyes. "That actually hurt."

Kyle just stood there, blinking. Part of him wanted to leave, storm out the door, storm back to class, part of him thought Stan deserved it. The lies and the games, all his bullshit, part of him thought Stan deserved a good punch in the face. Part of him thought he deserved a whole lot more. But there was another part of him, a less angry part, a concerned part. A part that was actually slightly shocked. A part that didn't want to leave, that kept him standing in the bathroom. A part that couldn't quite believe he'd just hit Stan either. It'd been such a long time since he last took a swing at Stan.

Awkwardly, Kyle just stood there, watching Stan press his hand to his face. He was halfway between the door and Stan, he could go either way. He could leave, if he just turned around. He had no idea what to do. He had no idea if he should reach out to Stan, if he should apologise for hitting him. Or if he should just leave. It would be the end of it, the end of this all. He'd end it, not with a bang or a whimper, but with a punch. He had no idea, so he just stood there watching.

Watching whilst Stan made the decision for him.

"C'mon." This time Stan gripped Kyle's wrist, pulling him towards the door. Kyle dug his heels in, trying to pull his arm free.

"Get off me!"

"Nope."

"I'll hit you again."

"No you won't."

"Yeah, I will."

"You won't."

"I fucking will."

"Then hey, just do it. I won't let go though, not this time. Hit me as much as you want." He pulled Kyle out the bathroom, towards the art block. "I'm not going to let this go, not like that. I'm not going to let you walk away/"

Kyle was still trying to pull his wrist free, still pulling back. Pulling away from Stan. "Where are we going?"

"For a drive."

"Fuck Stan, just get off me! I left all my stuff in Economics."

"So? So did I. Butters'll get it for us."

"Let me go get it myself!"

"No."

Kyle made a valiant effort to wrench his wrist free, he gave it a violent tug. It didn't work, Stan just gripped on tighter. "Why?"

"Because I'm not stupid. If I let you go, you'll just run off again. You'll disappear, like you always do. You'll tell me you won't, but you will. I'm not letting you disappear this time, not until you let me explain."

"I don't want your explanations Stan! I just want you to leave me alone!"

Stan stopped. They were standing in the deserted carpark, surrounded by snow and silence. "I'm not going to leave you alone. Not now, not ever. Not until… Not until you let me explain. Not until you listen to me. Once I've done that, then I'll leave you alone. Just listen to me, then you never have to talk to me again, okay? Just listen to me, just this once. Just let me explain."

Kyle just stared at him. He'd stopped trying to wrench his arm free, he'd stopped trying to wriggle away. Every time he pulled, Stan just tightened his grip. It was beginning to hurt. "I've had enough Stan. I don't want to hear any more of your lies. I'm sick of your bullshit games!"

"No more lies, no more bullshit. I'll tell you the truth, if that's what you want."

"I don't believe you."

"I promise you. I swear it on my dog. I'll tell you the truth."

For a second Kyle just scowled at him. Then in one quick, sudden movement, he yanked his wrist out of Stan's grasp. Stan let him go this time, watching him.

"Why'd you go whining to Mr Harris? Why did you lie to me and tell me it was Token?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you. I really wanted to talk to you. Because I knew you'd be angry if you knew I did it. Because I wanted to talk to you, but I wanted it to look like an accident. I wanted an excuse."

"Why though? Why not just talk to me? Why go through all these stupid, convoluted plans when you could have just talked to me? Why be such a pussy?"

Stan shrugged, looking over his shoulder, swallowing slightly. "Because I was scared, I guess. I wanted an excuse so… So you had to talk to me. You wouldn't just tell me to fuck off, not if I had an excuse."

"Why did you only talk to me when we were alone? Why did you keep on ignoring me during lunch?"

"I didn't want people to know. I… I didn't want it to be a big deal. I just… I just wanted to talk to you. I didn't want Wendy to know, or Craig to, or anybody. I just wanted it to be… I don't know, a thing. An episode or whatever. The latest little South Park drama. I just didn't want it to be anyone else's business. I wanted you. On your own. Like we used to when we were kids."

"Why… Why did you call me a loser?"

"I wanted Wendy to shut up. She shuts up when she hears what she wants to. I didn't want her knowing. I didn't mean it. You're not a loser."

Kyle quirked an eyebrow. "You said you were going to tell the truth."

"I am telling the truth."

"You're not. You're telling me what you think I want to hear. I am a loser. I know I'm a loser. I collect floppy disks and I like doing my homework. My best friend is Kenny. I know damn well I'm a loser."

"You're not a loser. You are uncool. But you're the right sort of uncool. It's like, you don't even try to be cool. Not even a little bit. It goes back round again and becomes cool. Like an ugly Christmas jumper or horn-rimmed glasses. You're like, an accidental hipster, you know?"

Kyle snorted. "I'm nowhere near tall enough to be a hipster."

"You're a perfect hipster. You're… Perfect."

Biting his lip, Kyle crossed his arms. He didn't look at Stan, not this time. "Why did you tell me to fuck off and die when we were thirteen?"

"Because I was scared. I was… Because…" Shaking his head, Stan smiled. Sadly. It looked like he was on the verge of tears, or about to laugh. Or about to have some miniature mental breakdown. If he wasn't already having some miniature mental breakdown. "I'm guessing most of my answers are just going to be 'because I was scared'.

"Why-"

"Look, get in the car. I'll… Tell you, but not here. Not in the middle of the carpark, not whilst we're at school. So just come for a drive. Just this once, one last time. Then you never have to speak to me again, not once, not if you don't want to. Not once you know, alright?"

"Alright. But if you flip you shit and start crying or trying to strangle me or something, I swear to God I'll kick you in the balls so hard you'll spend the next year choking up cum."

"Fair enough." Stan opened the driver's side door, climbing into the car. Exhaling, Kyle ran his fingers through his hair. He paused for a second. He could leave now. Stan wasn't gripping onto him anymore. He could go back to economics, apologise to Mr Harris for his extended absence. He didn't have to do this.

Cursing under his breath, Kyle wrenched open the passenger side door, sitting down heavily on the passenger seat. "If… If this is all some big-ass game you're playing, if you're seriously doing this for shits and giggles, I won't ever forgive you, alright?"

"It's not a game. None of this was ever a game." Stan twisted awkwardly in his seat, grabbing the shoebox off the back seat. He passed the box across to Kyle, dropping it unceremoniously onto his lap. Kyle heard soft clatter as the floppy disks bounced together. "I brought you back your sorry."

Kyle took it, lifting the lid. He should have been happier, to get his box of disks back. It was still the biggest collection he'd ever had all at once. But he felt too weird to really enjoy it. This whole situation had him on edge, it was so awkward. Stan, the lies, the stuff Kenny had said, Wendy. The truth. The supposed truth. A box of floppy disks just seemed so pointless right now.

But they'd probably become less pointless when this drive was over. Kyle began to carefully stack the disks, lining them up into neat little rows. "Did you take out all your whiney tweenage journals?"

"No."

Kyle frowned. "Why?"

"Because I don't know which ones they are. I never used to label them, I only ever labelled the boxes. None of our computers actually have the slot you stick those disks into, not anymore. They only have CD-ROM's and USB ports." Frowning, Stan pulled his keys out his pocket. "I'm not entirely sure how you manage to read them."

"I have an external reader. Do you want me to pick out your ones for you? I won't read them, not of you don't want me to." Kyle wasn't quite sure he could keep his word on that, the temptation to see what it was Stan was acting do wackadoodle over was fairly strong. But he thought he should make a gesture nevertheless. Stan had given him back his sorry, after all.

Shrugging, Stan started the car. "It's okay, you can read them if you want. I don't care anymore. If you're going to stop talking to me, I'd rather it be because… Because you… I'd rather it be you know, not just because I…"

Stan trailed off, reversing the car out the space. Gripping the box to his chest, Kyle just watched him. Something about this was very weird. Very wrong. He should have run when he had the chance.

A/N – You know what they say about buses. You wait for an age then two roll up at once.