It was slightly too cold to be sitting outside, slightly too windy, slightly too biting. But the coffee was hot, the view was nice, the seats were comfy, and they were wearing jackets. Stan had insisted they bring jackets. Besides, the midday winter sun was fairly pleasing. Bright and warm, clear and cloudless. It was nice, Kyle thought, having Stan all to himself for a day. Being Stan's sole focus. No work talk, no phone calls, no abruptly leaving the room, no Mr. Sheener. No sheet music, no random pieces of paper, no fucking jingles. None of that. No, Stan was being amenable, indulgent even, he was letting Kyle drag him around art galleries, drag him across Denver, drag him to all those cliché, pretentious date places Kyle enjoyed, and Stan tolerated. He was giving Kyle whatever he wanted, driving him wherever he wanted. Escorting him, following him. Buying him coffee. It was just like they were courting again, the same clumsy sweetness. It was nostalgic.

Kyle smiled; if he shut his eyes and faced the sun, if he blocked out the milling people, muted the noise, he could sort of make believe that they weren't in Denver, that they weren't in Colorado. That they weren't even in America. With his eyes shut, they could be anywhere really. Well, anywhere with a Northern wind, with a vaguely busy road. Some leisurely, wintry, European city, sitting on a sprawling boulevard, cobbled road and old, old buildings. Paris, Belgium. They could be in Canada, Russia. They could be anywhere. They could go anywhere. They could leave tomorrow, right now, they could just pack a bag and go. Quit their jobs, sell the house. Do something really stupid. They could leave, they could travel the world. They weren't even thirty yet. They had no obligations, no dependencies. No anything. No nothing. Nothing like that.

Kyle bit his lip, turning his face towards Stan. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

"Hm, who?"

"Kenny. The whole Powder… Situation. Do you think he'll be okay?"

Stan sighed, clutching his coffee cup in both hands, frowning out across the street. "He'll… He'll be fine. He's Kenny. He's always fine come the morning. They'll… They'll make it work somehow. Resilience, you know?"

"Hopefully."

"Mm, hopefully."

Kyle smiled half-heartedly, picking up his coffee cup, absently fiddling with the handle. "I'm going back to work on Monday. I'll hire a car tomorrow. I'm sick of waiting for mine."

"Hm?"

"Even if they don't want me there. I'm fucking going. I'm sick of that house. I'm sick of that TV."

"Mm."

"It's driving me insane. Also, we need to get a new couch. I hate that green one."

"Mm."

Frowning, Kyle looked up. Stan wasn't listening to him. Stan was looking out across the street. Stan was leering out across the street. Across the road, a woman was standing with her back to them, arms crossed as she admired a garish window display.

Pursing his lips, Kyle slammed down his coffee cup, causing the dregs of liquid to slosh dangerously against the china sides. "For fucks sake Stan! We're on a fucking date. Can you please not do that for like, one fucking day?"

Stan started, frowning down at him. "Sorry, but what am I doing?"

"I mean, I know-" Kyle felt himself flush slightly, anger or embarrassment, he wasn't quite sure. It was probably a mixture of both. "I know I'm hardly pick of the fucking litter, but do you really have to be so obvious?"

"Kyle, what are you talking about? What am I doing?"

"Checking all these fucking women out with that leer on your face!"

Stan was staring at him with a very aghast look. "What women? Why would I be checking out women? Shit Kyle, what the fuck?"

"I dunno, but you were!"

"When?"

"Like, right then! Five minutes ago! Her!"

Stan frowned, starting across at the woman Kyle was (very rudely) pointing at. Then the penny dropped. "Oh, no. No Kyle, no. Just..." Stan paused slightly, before lifting up his coffee cup, holding it over his mouth. Just in case the woman could lip read or whatever. "Dude, just look at what she's wearing."

Frowning, Kyle glanced away from Stan, back to the woman, then back to Stan. Then he did a double take, and narrowed his eyes. "Dude, what the fuck's up with… Wait, has she painted her jeans on?"

"Wendy says their called wet look jeggings. They're like, clingy spandex leggings things. That look wet. And like denim."

"God… Those are… Those are… Those are awful! Fuck me."

"I know. I mean, even you can see that they are hideous."

Kyle ignored the insult. "Holy… Who the fuck would think buying them was a good idea? Wait-" Kyle paused, gripping Stan's arm frowning slightly. "I think Powder has a pair of them."

"Dude, I hate them. And I have to fucking sell them."

"God, really?"

"Yeah, it's like this massive ad campaign. They want me to come up with a "trendy" song about them! I've written about three! Nothing pleases them! But fuck, I mean, what can I sing? Buy a pair so you can white trash up your wardrobe with one single purchase? Don't feel cheap enough as is? Well now you can spend obscene amounts of money to look even cheaper? Lower your social standing threefold with a single pair of pants? God Kyle, it's fucking impossible! I just-I can't do it!"

"I'm sure you can think of something. I mean, they're really fucking slutty. Girls like slutty things, yeah? Slutty equals sexy, right? Surely you can write something smutty?"

Stan just groaned, rubbing his hand across his face. He didn't want to write something smutty. He didn't want to write anything, not anymore. He was done. Then he froze, looking up through his fingers. "Wait, you thought I was checking those girls out? Dude, is this why you've been acing so weird lately?"

"I've not been acting weird lately!" Kyle lied. Badly.

"You crashed your car. You've been sulking like a bitch. You went running the other day! Fuck Kyle, you hate running. You hate going outside. That was pretty weird."

Kyle pulled a face, tilting his head away. "Perhaps I just wanted some exercise."

"And the storming into my office thing?"

Kyle blinked. "Perhaps I just wanted to surprise you."

"Dude, you were wearing your pyjamas!"

"Yes. I wanted to add to the surprise." Kyle emphasised that last word by wiggling his fingers, arching both hands across his chest in a sarcastic, jazz-fingered, rainbow type gesture. "Pyjamas are surprising."

"Not as surprising as the outfits you usually wear."

"Oh, fuck you."

"C'mere." Stan was grinning now, reaching out, reaching across the little white table, trying to catch him in a hug. Kyle backed away, dodging the hand. "Ky… Kyle, you're all the arse I need, you can rest assured of that. You're all the everything I need. All the everything and a whole lot more to boot."

Kyle narrowed his eyes, still wriggling out of Stan's grasp. A passer-by eyed them wearily. "That sounds vaguely offensive. Are you trying to offend me? Should I be offended?"

Laughing, Stan caught him, pressing a kiss against Kyle's hair, watching him flush slightly. "Dude, no, but you be offended if you want."

"So what? You weren't ogling their junk, you were checking out their pants? Oh God, that's just gay."

"I was glaring at their pants. You thought glaring was leering? How can you not know what my leering face looks like? You're pretty much the only reason I have a leering face!"

"I don't note down all your expressions Stan! It's your fault they all look the same!"

"We can't all be as animated as you now, can we?"

Kyle frowned. "Well, you could if you just tried."

"I love you Ky."

Sighing, Kyle just kneaded his face with the base of his palms, squeezing his eyes shut against the sunlight.

"Even though I can be a bit of a retard sometimes?"

"Even though you're kind of a retard sometimes."

"Even when I get worked up over nothing?"

"Even when you get worked up over nothing."

Kyle's lip quirked. "Even though I have a fat arse?"

"Especially because you have a fat arse. You know, Bebe was right about your arse. Your arse is the epitome of perfection. Your arse is the eighth wonder of the modern world. Your arse is an unframed masterpiece. Your arse puts Benini's sculptures to shame, no grand master has ever come close to painting an arse as perfect as yours. Kyle, your arse was forged atop Mount Olympus by the very Gods themselves!"

Kyle's lip quirked. He tilted his head away to hide his smile. "Well, I'm glad you appreciate it."

A/N – C'est fini! It's over! And I really have no idea. This was an utterly pointless endeavour, I know, but hey, it was kinda fun to write. Nevertheless, I hope hope you enjoyed reading it, thank you for bearing with it. Super awesome lovely lovely uber uber thank you thank you's for reviewing, is wonderful and awesomesauces and really lovely lovely of you, so candyfloss candyfloss 3

Anyhoot, exam exam season starting, it's the final year push! Hopefully I'll be back come the summer with something brand-spanking-new and slightly more pointed. Until then, stay safe safe, and chao chao!