Kenny guessed that he'd always been aware of Christophe, one of many familiar presences who had fumbled vaguely along the edges of his consciousness ever since childhood. He only became a real person in Kenny's head, though, one dismal Thursday afternoon in February.

Instead of learning about prokaryotes in last period, Kenny made the executive decision to fuck off after lunch and smoke behind some Dumpster for the rest of the day. This Dumpster, being in a suitably remote and secluded location, was a popular point of assembly for South Park High's extensive collection of burnouts and losers. Kenny didn't expect to have the spot anywhere near all to himself so it was a surprise when he ducked around the hulking dark green thing to find only Christophe, slouched there by himself with a cigarette clamped firmly between his lips and another one stowed behind his ear.

This alone meant little aside from the awkward perfunctory greetings of people who would much rather smoke than speak to one another, and Kenny would have been perfectly happy letting their interaction die right there. Until he realized that he didn't have any cigarettes. How this could have happened when he'd ditched class for the express purpose of smoking escaped him. Maybe his dad stole the rest of his pack, or maybe they ran out without him noticing--details seem insignificant when measured up against the problem of him not having any goddamn smokes.

He turned to Christophe, who had been taking drags off his Gauloise and glaring at nothing in particular for the duration of Kenny's mental crisis. Sucking up a lungful of secondhand smoke, Kenny slapped on what he hoped was a winning smile.

"Can I bum one?" he asked, gesturing towards the cigarette dangling from the corner of Christophe's mouth.

Christophe remained silent, sparing Kenny a brief and calculating glance. For a terrible second Kenny thought Christophe wouldn't even acknowledge his request at all, but eventually he fished a battered pack from the pocket of his cargos and offered one up. Kenny took it from Christophe's gloved hand and lit up before the guy could change his mind, hardly believing that had actually worked. He didn't remember to say "Thanks, dude" until after the tip flared to life and he'd taken a nice drag, smoke coloring the words.

Christophe shrugged and shook his hair impatiently out of his face in one movement, muttering something contemptuous-sounding that was unintelligible to Kenny around his accent.

Kenny couldn't really think of anything to do in response but nod and smoke, so that was what he did. He made it last for six minutes even though he usually finished in four, because who knew when he'd be able to get another pack. Stan would probably find him one if he asked, but Stan and Kyle basically lived in each other's pockets and the mental image of Kyle scowling with his arms folded as he beseeched a guilty-looking Stan to think of his asthma effectively killed that idea.

Once he'd dragged it out for as long as he possibly could Kenny flicked the butt down onto the asphalt, already littered with them. He was getting ready to walk down to the gas station and try to steal some chips when Christophe wordlessly offered him another.

Kenny regarded Christophe in surprise before accepting it gratefully. He leaned against the side of the Dumpster without much regard for the well-being of his hoodie, which was already slightly filthy. Kenny liked to think that his dirtiness was endearing, but going the look Christophe was giving him, that might not have been the case. Which, hey. Wandering around with a muddy fucking shovel on your back all the time couldn't have been all that awesome for your health.

Kenny considered bringing this up in conversation, but decided against it because Christophe didn't seem like he would take kindly to someone insulting his shovel. Instead he kept quiet in favor of perusing the layers of inane graffiti scrawled all over the Dumpster. He recognized a masterfully rendered stick-figure lady with improbably huge tits as some of his own work.

Eventually Christophe left, grinding out his cigarette next to some unintelligible initials scratched inside of a clumsy heart and saluting vaguely in Kenny's general direction. Kenny watched him go, blowing twin streams of smoke through his nose that mingled with the slushy gray of the snow around him.

--- --- ---

He did end up stealing chips from the gas station, and then promptly forgot about the whole episode until Friday night at Stan's. The four of them were all crammed on the couch together, watching Superfly and trying to block out Cartman's gleefully racist remarks. As the night wore on his running commentary quickly devolved into snoring.

The end credits rolled and Stan shuffled off in search of snacks, leaving Kyle to cast disapproving glances at Kenny every few seconds until he finally broke down and said "Oh my God, what."

"You smell like an ashtray," said Kyle, and Kenny frowned. He hadn't even smoked since yesterday, but to be fair he hadn't washed his clothes since then either.

"Sorry," he said because it was easiest, putting on his best apologetic face. "You can wash my jacket if you want."

Kyle rolled his eyes but seemed appeased. He was always trying to steal Kenny's clothes and wash them anyway, so really it was kind of a favor. They watched Cartman drool in companionable silence for a few moments.

"Hey," said Kenny without really thinking about it. "You know Christophe, right?"

"Sure, why?" said Kyle, giving Kenny kind of a weird look. Kenny shrugged. He hadn't really thought much further than asking, and upon reflection he couldn't remember why he thought that was such a good plan in the first place. Before he had time to make something up Stan came back in from the kitchen wielding some Cheesy Poofs and a liter of soda. He flopped down onto the couch and slung an arm casually around Kyle's shoulder, frowning at the bag for a few moments before just ripping off a corner of it with his teeth. Kyle looked vaguely disgusted.

"What are we talking about?" asked Stan through a mouthful of processed orange snack food, and Kyle said "Christophe" before Kenny could say "nothing."

Both of them looked at Kenny expectantly while Cartman carried on like a dying elephant in the background. Kenny shrugged.

"I dunno, we smoked together yesterday." Even that seemed like too strong a word for it--smoked in each other's general vicinity was more like it. "He's alright."

Kyle reached across Stan's chest to get at the Cheesy Poofs. "He's British or something, right?"

Kenny recalled the night in fourth grade when Christophe died in Kyle's arms and wondered how stuff like that was so easily dismissed with time.

"French, I think," Stan mused. "Mrs. Bolger has the biggest hard-on for him ever because he aces all the tests and shit."

Kenny shrugged again. "He smokes Galouises."

Kyle snorted, and Kenny realized too late how that probably sounded, like he had been actively contemplating the guy's choice in cigarettes. Which, no.

Stan feigned thoughtfulness. "I have a couple classes with him," he offered with a shit-eating grin. Kenny really hated his friends sometimes. "I could tell him that you want in his pants."

"Now, now," said Kenny, trying to appear nonchalant. "No one here wants in anyone's pants. Except your mom, obviously." Then Stan had to beat him upside the head with a pillow, giving rise to a brief but violent skirmish that successfully woke up Cartman.

He and Kyle immediately fell into a heated debate concerning which movie they should watch next, leaving Kenny to demolish the rest of the Cheesy Poofs and hope that Stan, who could sort of get like a dog with a bone about things like this, would forget about saying anything to Christophe that concerned either Kenny or pants.

--- --- ---

Kenny showed up to school on Monday with two stolen Marlboroughs in his pocket and a freshly laundered hoodie thanks to Tweek and Kyle, respectively. The day passed by slowly, boring class followed by a glimpse of Kyle's stupid hat in the halls followed by boring class followed by Stan's face at his locker when he realized he forgot to do his Trig homework. Kenny never realized how often he passed by Christophe in between periods.

Eventually lunch rolled around and Kenny followed Christophe outside, trying to make it seem like he wasn't actually following Christophe outside. He wasn't really sure how well it worked out, because when Christophe came to a stop at the back of the school building and turned around, he looked thoroughly unsurprised to see Kenny.

Kenny tried rather futilely to pretend that he had just been strolling by, coming to a stop in front of Christophe and making a stupid half-waving gesture that he regretted immediately after performing.

"Hey," he said anyway, wondering why the fuck this was so hard. Probably it had something to do with the way Christophe was looking at him as though he had recently grown a few extra heads.

"I don't 'ave any more," he finally said, shoulders tense and movements sharp and wary. Kenny shook his head vigorously.

"No, here," he said, fishing the two cigarettes out of his pocket and offering them to Christophe.

Christophe looked from the cigarettes to Kenny's face and back a couple times, eventually taking them with an ambiguous mumble that could have been thanks but sounded more like he was wishing Kenny to eternal damnation. He pocketed one of the smokes, but the other got tucked behind his ear in the same position as his Galouise from the other day. It was weirdly intimate to see something of Kenny's (Tweek's, really, but who cared) incorporated so seamlessly into Christophe's person. Weird, but not unpleasant. Kenny allowed himself along this line of thinking for a couple more seconds before telling himself sternly not to be a fucking idiot.

He stood around for a few more moments to see if Christophe would break down and say anything to him, but he just continued exhaling meditatively and staring off into space. Making his excuses and wandering off, Kenny glanced furtively over his shoulder once he was a safe distance away.

Christophe looked after him with a perplexed expression, lifting a hand to his head to examine the cigarette as if he expected it to reveal itself as a cleverly disguised grenade at any moment. Kenny grinned to himself and kept walking, boots crunching in the snow.