Adult magazines lie scattered across Kenny McCormick's bedroom floor, but neither of you pay them any attention. The two of you are too busy laughing uncontrollably at nothing in particular, passing a joint back and forth between fits of giggles. The air smells strongly of marijuana and teenage boy - a combination of body spray, old pizza, and something faintly chemical.

"Dude, imagine if I died right now," Kenny says suddenly, his voice taking on that weirdly casual tone it gets when he references his curse. His blue eyes glint in the dim lamplight, reflecting the smoke curling toward the ceiling. He's sitting close enough that your knees are touching, his orange parka discarded in the corner revealing the faint outline of his ribs through his thin t-shirt.

"Don't say that," you mumble, taking another hit before passing it back. Your fingers brush against his, sending a strange tingle up your arm that has nothing to do with the high. "You always joke about dying, but it still freaks me out."

Kenny's smile falters for a split second, something vulnerable flashing across his face before he masks it with a lazy grin. "C'mon, it's a valid question! How would you want me to go? Shark attack? Alien abduction? Maybe something boring like food poisoning?"

He's leaning in now, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper like he's sharing a secret instead of describing his own potential death. The silence between you stretches just a little too long, and suddenly you're both aware of how close he is - close enough to count the faint scars that crisscross his neck.

"I don't want you to go at all," you hear yourself saying, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Kenny freezes, his laughter dying in his throat as he stares at you with those too-blue eyes, a look on his face like he's seeing you for the first time.