Kyle Atop Mount Silverheels

Beef Wellington

"MmmPh mmmmph—" Kenny started.

"Kenny I do not understand a word you are saying," Cartman face palmed.

Kenny whipped out his phone and texted Cartman the following:

Tpssz up cf cpsjoh, cvu J epo'u uijol if't xfmm. Mbtu xffl if xbt mbnfoujoh uif fggfdut pg bo boujefqsfttbou if uppl jo uif hspvq dibu boe J opujdf if't cffo tipxjoh vq bu tdippm mftt boe mftt. J ibwf ijn gps gpvsui qfsjpe boe if bmxbzt mfbwft po Xfeoftebzt xjui b epdups't opuf.

"I don't get it," Cartman deadpanned after looking at his phone.

"What about you, Stan, what do you think he's doing," Cartman poked Stan with a stick but he was still out cold after hearing the thunderous voice of Trey Parker himself. It sounded kinda like his dad taking a shit.

"I think he's playing Uno with Butters on the Xbox, I'm pretty sure he does that on his sick days because they talk about Uno at skewl," Cartman continued, thinking up another story about Kyle.

"Kyle doesn't have Uno, dude," Stan sat up groggily.

"Everyone has Uno, you dip-shit! It comes free with your fucking Xbox."

"He doesn't have it, dude, he has a really old Xbox."

"My Xbox is older than Kyle's and I have Uno!"

"He doesn't, I'm sorry, man. Maybe he just doesn't wanna play with you."

Cartman clasped his hands together, pupils dilated, "Why not?" He whined. He sounded like he was going to burst into tears.
Stan clasped his hands together and made similar puppy dog eyes in return,"Because you're a fat, racist, misogynistic, piece of shit~ mmmm..."

"Nuh uh..."

"Yuhuh..."

They had a Mexican standoff of crude cuteness until the fire started to burn low.

Stan gave Cartman permission to stomp the campfire out—and that he did with lavish, stomping out generations of ash that would never see the light of day again... just Cartman's shoe.

They headed home, a weight on Stan's shoulders, what was Kyle really doing?
He was missing for longer than usual.

When he opened his front door and started making his way to his room, he tried to take his phone out from his pocket only to discover that he never brought it.

The sky was dark and the moonlight made its way through the curtains in a serene way that evoked an emotion difficult to describe.

Stan sat on his bed scrolling through his unread messages and took a deep breath when it came to Kyle's contact.
He had messaged Kyle earlier that week asking if he was ok and he finally responded.
His message read:

I'm sorry I haven't been honest with you.
I'll explain at recess tomorrow.
Just don't bring Kenny or Cartman with you

Stan put his phone on his bed stand facing down and he stared up at the moonlit streaks of his ceiling.

He struggled to think of a response, so he didn't reply and sleeplessly waited out the night with morbid curiosity; tossing, turning, and feeling the temperature differences of his room.
His blanket made it too hot so he tossed it off only to be hit with an intense cold front from his air conditioning.
Blanket? Back on.

Too hot? Off.

Too cold.

He realized that the heat he felt came from an anticipating anxiety so he got up to get a glass of water for his night stand.