Warmth

It was always so cold.

No, not that much on the outside. Cliché as it may have sounded, his heart just felt numb. Screams of agony became a daily occurrence, the snap of his bones breaking became ineluctable, and the metallic tang of blood on his tongue became just another thing to check off a to-do list.

Days passed him in a blur of black and white monotony. He found himself dreading getting out of bed. What was the point of anything? Did he only exist to live in this inevitable misery?

No one remembered. No one appreciated sacrifices he'd made for them. It was just so unfair.

It was always so cold.

And as of now, Kenny McCormick was laying in bed, clutching a worn teddy bear against his hospital gown. And he felt strange.

There was no dread as his breath rasped through tired lungs. No bitterness as the quiet beeps of the heart monitor hummed beside him. No loneliness as the pale fingers clutching onto his shifted.

He stared at the peeling plaster walls of the hospital, and thought.

Was he going to die for real this time? Was this it? For a long time, permanent death seemed like a blessing, a long awaited escape from this living hell.

But this death was different from the others. It wasn't full of blood and flesh and crushing agony, for a change. Rather, it was faint. The illness seemed to blanket him in a thin haze, and he could feel this life start to slowly ebb away. Through all his lightheadedness, it felt gentle. Could pain feel gentle? Kenny wasn't sure.

And so if he died... there was a chance that he was never coming back.

It was cold.

His gaze shifted to the figure curled up by his bedside. Tufts of soft red hair peeked out of a old ushanka, its owner breathing lightly as their hand grasped Kenny's.

Kyle, with his iron resolve, had stayed by his side ever since he had been diagnosed. Without fail, he'd head back to Kenny's room in the hospital every day. He'd do his homework, read a book, or just talk. There was even a day where he stayed overnight to accompany the blonde through the wee hours of the morning.

It astonished him. He didn't think Kyle would go this far for him. Stan, definitely. But Kenny...?

If there was ever a time where his life felt like a cheesy romance movie, it was now.

Though most of the time, the people in the movie survived.

"You're gonna be okay, right?" Kyle had asked him a few days ago. "You're not gonna leave us, are you?"

Kenny could tell that he was trying to crack a joke, but his voice seemed to waver far too much.

It was cold...

His fingers twitched as the redhead almost stirred, mumbling something inaudible.

Kenny, his lips seemed to say.

Kenny.

And despite the fact that he was lying on a hospital bed, counting down to his last moments, his chapped lips pulled into a smile.

He tightened his hold around the redhead's hand, his own burning from the contact. A sense of comfort washed over him and his heart felt the slightest bit warm.

For the first time, Kenny McCormick felt at peace.

It really was funny how death made you appreciate things a little more.

He took a weak breath, before it broke into a cough. It wasn't long now. He could feel his heart begin to slow, could feel his head begin to spin.

He closed his eyes, letting his thumb brush over pale skin one last time.

It was cold, but he couldn't feel it any longer.