Kyle Broflovski was walking home late one night from an epic PS3 tournament with his friend Stan. He carried a paper bag filled with leftover cookies that Mrs. Marsh had given him – "Take them, Kyle," she had said, "my son just won't let himself lose that weight he gained over Thanksgiving…" – as he walked steadily along the sidewalk, hesitantly placing his feet, trying to avoid the icy patches hidden under inches of snow. His feet weren't cold because he was wearing new winter boots, but his long fingers and rather large ears were growing chilly, even under his protective gloves and green ushanka.

The red-haired boy reached up to blow on his fingers, although it barely helped, and besides, he wasn't that cold anyway. Bitingly chilly, but not cold. Giving up, Kyle stuffed one of his hands into his pockets, the other hanging out, holding onto the paper cookie bag. Every so often, once the cold grew too unbearable for that hand, he would switch, exchanging the bag to the other hand and stuffing the cold one into its pocket. It worked well enough, except for the chill that was constantly biting at his ears, and now the tip of his long nose.

Kyle exhaled and watched the steam that emanated from his mouth dissipate into the cool night air. Startled by a flash of white that drifted past his face, he realized that it had begun to snow. Great, fat white flakes floated on the breeze, landing on the layer that was already stuck to the frozen ground. South Park rarely ever saw a day without snow layering the ground, especially in winter, and it was deep into December. Almost Chanukah. And almost Christmas, Kyle mused. He would have to start thinking of presents for his friends soon.

As Kyle walked past his old elementary school, he glanced casually towards the playground, shrouded in darkness. Recalling childhood memories, he smiled slightly. When he was just a kid, he would play all over those plastic slides and monkey-bars with his friends.

Kyle shook his head, containing his reminiscent grin, and continued to walk. He wouldn't have noticed the boy on the swing if not for the noise of the chains from the rust that had formed over years of exposure to the harsh mountainous climate. As it was, the swing had barely moved at all, and only the slightest creak could be heard in the heavy silence of the snowy night. Nonetheless, Kyle heard it.

Starting at the slight noise, Kyle turned immediately towards the faint sound back in the playground. The swings were shrouded in shadow near the dark school walls, but peering closely into the dark Kyle could make out the slight silhouette of a boy, sitting on a swing.

"Hello?" Kyle called to the figure, unsure of whether he should have said something or not. It could be a boy who had gotten lost and wandered here, and needed help. But it could just as easily be a kidnapper or rapist, and the anxiety Kyle felt about the unknown person's identity prickled at the back of his neck and almost made him turn back and walk away as fast as he could. But then the figure raised his head, and Kyle sighed in relief at the dim sight of the hood of an orange parka. It was Kenny McCormick.

"Dude," Kyle said, walking out across the old playground to the swing upon which his friend was sitting. "What are you doing?"

Closer up, Kenny was easier to see. In one sweep of his green eyes Kyle observed his friend's threadbare parka, his ungloved hands clutching at the rusty chains of the swing, his damp, filthy sweatpants, and his sorry excuse for winter boots. Kenny peered at his friend through his hood, his impish blue eyes twinkling. He cracked a grin.

"I decided to take a walk," he said casually, digging the heels of his old boots into the snow. Kyle laughed, shaking his head.

"Only you, Kenny, only you," he mused, walking over to the swing next to Kenny's and taking a seat, stretching his legs out – the swing was short, it was meant for elementary-school kids, after all – and placing the bag of cookies in his lap, stuffing both of his hands into his welcomingly warm pockets. He pursed his lips and blew a stream of steam into the darkness. It was visible for a moment as a cloud before vanishing.

Kenny shrugged, and Kyle saw his knuckles under his taught skin as his grip on the chains tightened. He wondered if the boy was cold. "What about you? What are you doing out at this time of night?"

"I was at Stan's house," Kyle said.

"Ah," Kenny replied, turning his gaze to his damp boots. He scraped them against the snow, uncovering the frozen ground beneath. "Bet you had loads of fun."

"Yeah," replied the Jewish boy, gazing piercingly at the blond. Kenny seemed a bit off to him, and he didn't know why, and he couldn't quite put his finger on how. But he did, that was for certain.

Kyle hesitated before asking the question. "Are you okay? You don't seem… like yourself."

Kenny McCormick raised an eyebrow at his friend, then shook his head. "I'm fine."

"You're out in the middle of our elementary school playground at one in the morning. And you're not wearing gloves. You must be freezing, Kenny."

"I never wear gloves," Kenny reasoned. "And I'm always out at one in the morning."

"At the elementary school?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

"Memories?"

Kyle looked at Kenny for a long moment before dropping the subject. He gazed out at the playground, at the snow coating the dirt, gleaming off-white even in the darkness. The snow that had started began falling in larger flakes, although not heavily. Kyle smiled.

"There really are a lot of memories here, aren't there?"

"Yeah," Kenny agreed. "Like, over there, by the spinny thing, the one that you run around and then jump on and get dizzy?" Kyle looked over to where he was pointing. "Cartman got sick on that when we were kids. He threw up all over Stan, remember? Said it was Stan's fault for being in the way when he had to puke."

Kyle laughed. "Hey, yeah. Except that he specifically aimed at Stan. What are those things called, anyway?"

The two friends stared for a moment at the item in question. They had spent so many fun days playing on and around it, but they had never thought to learn its name.

"I always thought it was just called 'that spinny thing,'" Kenny replied sheepishly, shrugging.

"Yeah, me too."

There was a silence for a moment, before Kyle brought up another memory.

"There. That's where Tweek and Craig were going to fight for the first time, but then they didn't 'cause they were pussies."

"I think it was more because they were eight and didn't wanna go psycho on each other's asses," Kenny pointed out. "But it's true. Those two are wimps."

"Well, there, that's where you almost got killed by that runaway tractor." Kyle pointed out another area of the playground.

"Yeah," Kenny hesitated. "Almost."

"God, that scared the fucking shit out of us, dude. You have so many near-death experiences."

"Mm-hmm."

Kyle looked sideways at Kenny. The blonde's eyes were glazed, and he was staring straight ahead, as though recalling something that wasn't really all that happy. Kyle sighed, looking down at his boots. He compared them to Kenny's. Kyle's were shiny and new, heavy, sturdy and warm; Kenny's were years old, too small, ratty and did barely any good besides keeping his socks from getting too wet.

"I'm sure glad you're not dead, dude," Kyle said quietly. He heard Kenny chuckle.

"Yeah. Me too, I guess."

Kyle stared at Kenny's face. It was shadowed under the hood of his beat-up orange parka, but he could make out the big, almond-shaped blue eyes; his chapped lips, smirking like he was quietly laughing at some private joke; his slightly crooked nose, broken from a fist fight a few years ago; and the way his cheeks were sunken from lack of food.

Kyle looked down at the paper bag of cookies on his lap.

"You hungry, Kenny?"

Kenny turned his head to look at his friend, looking incredulous.

"Seriously?"

"Sure," Kyle said, holding out the bag. "They aren't Kosher, anyway, my mom would go ballistic. She's gone all hardcore Jewish."

"Weren't you already hardcore Jewish, dude?"

"Yeah, but she didn't used to force me to eat Kosher. She even makes me Kosher lunches now."

"Yeah, but…" Kenny stared hungrily at the bag.

"It doesn't matter, dude, just take it. Mrs. Marsh made them, man. They're your favorite."

After a slight hesitation, Kenny reached out and took the bag. As his fingers brushed against Kyle's gloved hand, Kyle could actually feel how cold they were through the cloth.

Kenny's hands shook as he opened the bag, and he pulled his hood down to his shoulders as he reached in to take out a cookie. His hair was messy and dirty, as always, and was flat against his head from the pressure of the hood. He proceeded to eat the cookies as though they were a gift from God, rather than leftovers from his friend.

Kyle watched the boy eat, a pit forming in his stomach.

"Dude," he said, "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"I dunno," Kenny muttered through his mouthful of cookie.

"Seriously, Kenny. How long."

Kenny swallowed his bit and lowered his hand, which was holding another cookie at the ready.

"Not long."

"How long?"

"Since breakfast."

Kyle was quiet for a moment.

"Breakfast when?"

Kenny sighed, raking his fingers through his messy, uneven bangs, bringing them out of his eyes.

"Breakfast on Wednesday."

"Kenny, that was three days ago!" Kyle gasped. "How can you go that long without food?"

"I can survive without food for two weeks, dude." He paused. "And it's really not such a painful way to go."

"Don't joke about that, Ken!" Kyle Broflovski was shocked that his friend had gone this long being so hungry, and without even saying anything. "Jeez, Kenny, you could have asked for some food at lunch! We'd all have shared with you!"

Kenny shrugged, taking a bite of another cookie and speaking with his mouth full. "It doesn't matter to me. I've gone a long time without food before. Besides, we don't have much. Everything I get I mostly hand off to Karen. She's the one that needs it."

"I know she's your little sister, but you deserve food just as much as her," Kyle pointed out. "Jeez, Kenny, how do you stand it?"

Kenny stared down into the bag of cookies. He moved his boots around in the snow, his fingers twitching. He turned to look at Kyle, and Kyle saw that his left eye was black, with a cut above his swollen brow; he hadn't noticed before. Kenny half-smiled.

"I don't, mostly," he said. Kyle stared incredulously at his friend's bruised face. He reached out tentatively with his gloved fingers, hesitating before touching Kenny's bruised eye.

"Ken, how'd that happen?" He asked. Kenny leaned away from his friend's fingers.

"My dad."

"Why?"

"I asked for new boots."

Kyle looked again down at his friends feet, at the holey boots with their worn-down rubber tread.

"I could buy you some new boots, dude."

Kenny shrugged. "It wouldn't matter. Dad would just take them to sell for drug money. It wouldn't make a difference."

Kyle stared sadly at Kenny for a while. Kenny stared back.

"I'm just… I'm so sorry, Ken," Kyle said helplessly, not knowing what else he could say.

"I don't want your pity, dude. I'm fine. I've been living like this my whole life."

"But we could've…"

"You couldn't have done anything."

Kyle turned his eyes to his feet. "Do you… want money?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I've got twenty bucks right here…"

"Dude, I fucking don't want charity."

"But…"

"Shut your mouth, Kyle. Keep your money. And keep your stupid cookies."

Kenny stood and threw the bag of cookies at Kyle. The red-head was too surprised the react, and the bag fell pitifully to the ground. The cookies spilled at Kyle's feet. Kyle looked up at Kenny, shock on his face. Kenny had stood and was walking away, hands stuffed in his pockets. Kyle could see him shivering.

"Kenny, wait!" Kyle called, standing as ignoring the spilt cookies as he ran to his friend.

"Go home, Kyle," Kenny muttered, kicking at the snow.

"Dude, I was just trying to…"

"Ease your guilt? Give to a needy charity? I've heard it all before. 'There's that McCormick kid, dumpster diving for scraps. Maybe we should give him some money.' I'm sick of it." Kenny looked furious for a moment, then his expression softened. "Dude, I'm used to being hungry. I'm used to my dad beating me up. I don't look for pity or charity from you guys."

"I wasn't trying to give you charity," Kyle fumed. "I was just trying to be your friend. I gave you the cookies to be nice. I was offering to buy you boots because I hate how you have to be cold all the time. I care about you, Ken. It's not a bad thing."

Kenny stared at the Jewish boy for a moment before smiling slightly. It wasn't a grin or a smirk, it was a smile.

"I have to admit, Kyle, I'm glad you're here. I came out here to kill myself, but I guess with a friend like you I don't have to, right?"

Kyle gasped, horrified. "Oh, Kenny, don't do that! Never kill yourself! It would be terrible if you died. God, Kenny…"

Kenny looked curious at his friend. "Really? What would you do if I did die?"

"I… I don't know, dude! I'd freak out for one… and I'd probably cry…" Kyle blushed a furious red. "We shouldn't even be talking about it! Don't die, Ken, I don't know what we'd do if you were dead."

Kenny shook his head. "Oh it's not that bad when it happens."

"What?" Kyle asked.

"Nothing," Kenny replied. He lifted his hood back over his head. "Well, I guess I won't kill myself tonight. Maybe later."

"No, never!" Kyle insisted, rushing forward to catch up with his friend, who had started walking.

"You wouldn't really care all that much, trust me," Kenny said.

"I would too!"

"Yeah right." Kenny punched Kyle lightly on the arm. "You should probably go home, dude. Your hardcore Jewish parents are probably worried sick."

Kyle stared piercingly at Kenny. "I bet your parents are too, Kenny. You should go home too. Get out of the cold."

Kenny laughed. "My parents don't give a shit," he said, fingering his black-eye. "But thanks for the worry. See you tomorrow."

Kyle backed away from Kenny, looking at him accusingly. "Yeah, tomorrow, Ken. Don't you do anything stupid like killing yourself." Kenny nodded and waved. Kyle looked at him for a second longer before turning and beginning to rush home. It was later than he'd thought, he realized, looking down at his watch.

Kenny watched the boy go, hands in his pockets. He grinned slightly. Then, he turned back to the playground and walked over to the swings, bending to pick up the spilt cookies, putting them back into their bag. He could give them to Karen and Kevin. They'd be psyched.

Here's my first 'South Park' fanfiction. I was really excited to write it. Lately, I've been breathing, thinking, and dreaming South Park. I especially like K2 friendship and Crenny. But the K2 came first. I hope you all liked it. Please review!