A/N: Ohgosh, it's been forever since I've written anything. I'm sorry if this is absolutely horrible! The idea's been floating around in my mind for quite a while, but due to writer's block and a general lack of motivation (thank you, summer), it's taken me forever to actually write it. I'm kind of looking forward to writing more of this one, though. I actually know where it's going, so hopefully it won't be as terrible as usual!

Dedicated to my good buddy Cissa DeLancome, who loves Cartman/Clyde and Craig/Clyde just as much as I do, if not more. This brings the total of Cartman/Clydes up to... 10? (we'll beat Style someday, just watch!)

Mmm. This will deal quite a bit with self-image and sexuality and unrequited love, so keep an eye out for possible wangst! Otherwise, there'll be some language and, of course, slash - but hopefully you've come to expect that from the South Park fandom.

Enjoy! Feedback is appreciated.

disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt and Trey.

Chapter 1

Craig sat with his feet up on the seat in front of him, tapping his fingers on the empty spot to his right. His navy-black backpack rested on the floor, slightly open, revealing a glimpse of crumpled biology papers and what could have been an English essay, but Craig didn't care. Who gave a shit about homework, anyway?

He gave the back of the seat a kick just for the hell of it. Pip turned around and asked Craig if he would be ever so kind as to refrain from such activity, so Craig gave him the finger. He would've added a swear word, too, but just then Clyde stepped on the bus, and Craig focused his attention on waving his friend over.

Pip sighed and turned back around, and before long Craig could hear his annoying French-British-whatever accent floating back over the seat. He rolled his eyes and whipped out his phone, stabbed at a couple of keys, and shoved it back in his pocket. Moments later, the sound of Pip's ringtone - some lame instrumental thing - filled the air.

Pip turned around again, waving his cell phone, just as Clyde walked up. "Craig, I am not a 'fucking French fairy'!" Several kids around them laughed. "I'm not even French!"

"Whatever," Craig said, putting his feet back up on the seat and turning to the chubby brunet. "Hey, man."

"Hey," nodded Clyde, shooting Pip an odd glance. He slid into the open seat, shrugging off his orange backpack and setting it on the floor in front of them. "So… are you coming? I was going to ask you at lunch but I didn't want the others feeling left out, you know-"

"Coming where?"

"My house," Clyde said, digging around in his backpack. "Didn't you get my email?"

"Email's for faggots."

Clyde sighed.

"But yeah, sure, I'll come. Now?"

"Yep." Clyde pulled out his chipped white iPod and snapped in the headphones. "Pool's fixed. Hopefully for good this time," he added.

"I don't have my swimsuit."

"Um… you can… borrow one of mine? Dunno." Clyde shrugged and closed his eyes, his head bobbing slightly to what was probably some weird Broadway shit. Craig scowled and turned away, leaning his head against the window as the bus began to move. Clyde really wasn't the best seat partner – once his headphones were in, there was no waking him from his trance.

He focused on the seat in front of him again, where Pip and Butters were hunched over, whispering. Craig thought about giving them another good kick, but reconsidered. Clyde liked Butters – he liked almost everybody - and Craig didn't want to seem mean, not in front of his best friend.

Best friend. What a stupid, girly term. What a stupid, girly concept – picking one friend to be your favorite, your superlative, and leaving all the other friends in the dust. As a kid, Craig had prided himself on liking all his friends equally – sure, he only had a few, but they were all good friends, they were all close. But then, somewhere between seventh and eighth grade, something had shifted and all of a sudden Craig had found himself as a guy with a best friend. He and Clyde weren't as close as Stan and Kyle, admittedly, but still. It was different, strange even, having someone he could talk to and trust, someone who knew things about him that no one else could begin to imagine.

He ran his tongue over his braces – only three more weeks, then they'd be off – and reached down into his open backpack for his sketchpad. Craig liked art. Not lame art, like drawing or painting or whatever, but the cool hardcore stuff – photography, videography, things like that. The sketchpad, a gift from Kenny for his last birthday, was his plotting space. It was pretty damn nice, too, and Craig had no clue how the hell Kenny'd been able to find the money, but it didn't really matter. Maybe he'd jacked it. Whatever.

Craig dug around for a pencil, came up empty, and reached into Clyde's backpack instead. It was messier than his – if that was possible. He felt around at the bottom, pushing aside handfuls and handfuls of candy wrappers, finally found what he was looking for, and began to sketch.

His latest project was a short film about a high school student who falls for his best friend – who's also a guy. It was for an assignment for film class; they had to explore a stereotype or minority in order to promote acceptance and understanding or some crap like that. Kyle was doing a documentary on Jewish customs, Stan a study on African-American culture (starring none other than Token, of course) and Craig was doing his… thing. His gay thing, as Cartman liked to point out sixty times a day, but whatever. It wasn't as if Craig was gay, anyway – he just happened to appreciate all types of people for who they were.

No, really.

…ah, screw it. The truth was he wasn't really sure, but no one knew that, not even Clyde. It was one of the few secrets Craig kept from his best friend, and it was essential that Clyde not find out.

Like, really essential.

He shook his head and drew a couple more panels, filling them quickly with stick figures. They were faceless – Craig still didn't have a cast. He could probably talk Clyde into a part (it wouldn't be hard; Clyde was such a pussy), but who would star opposite him? Kenny? Tweek? He'd need to find someone who worked well with Clyde, who had chemistry – well, as much chemistry as two straight guys could possibly have. And that was going to be hard.

Craig worked out the script for the next fifteen minutes, humming softly to himself, until the bus pulled up to the first stop, jerking as it slowed down. He stood up.

"Nn," murmured Clyde, his eyes still closed. "Not yet."

"But this is my- oh, yeah." Craig sat back down. "Next stop, right." At least Pip and Butters were getting off here. One less annoyance, one more footrest.

He flipped the empty seat off anyway.

Five more minutes to go.

Clyde possessed the amazing magical ability of knowing when the bus was rounding his corner without even opening his eyes. 'Course, that wasn't going to get him too far in life, but at least it was a talent, and Clyde didn't have too many of those.

Craig watched his friend tugged the headphones from his ears and, taking this as a sign that it was almost time to get off, shoved his sketchpad back into his backpack. Clyde's pencil fell to the floor and rolled away.

Whatever.

He stood up, ignoring the REMAIN SEATED WHEN VEHICLE IS IN MOTION sign plastered at the front of the bus, and swung his backpack over his shoulder.

"What're you doing?" asked Clyde, his eyes wide with the usual worry. "The vehicle's still in motion."

The bus stopped.

"…and now it's not," Craig muttered, pulling Clyde up from the seat. "C'mon, let's go." They stepped out into the aisle, careful not to trip over carefully placed feet – Cartman, a grinning Kenny, Trent. It's a wonder no one's died yet, Craig thought. Ever since Tweek had almost broken his arm on the bus two months before, the trips home had been growing steadily more chaotic.

Then again, so had Craig's life.

"Want a drink? Snack? Whatever?" Clyde asked as they walked up the path to his house – conveniently located three doors down from the bus stop. "We've got leftover pizza, nachos, ice cream, cookies, I think probably some pie but I'm not sure-"

"Vanilla Diet Coke?"

"You bet," Clyde grinned. It was Craig's all-time favorite, and the Donovans always kept a couple cans in the fridge just in case. "To eat?" He pulled out a can and tossed it to Craig, who caught it with one hand and sat down.

"Not hungry." Craig popped open the lid, snapped the top off, and flicked it across the table. "Thanks," he added.

"Suit yourself," Clyde shrugged, opening the freezer and pulling out a carton of ice cream. "Mmm, Cherry Chocolate Chunk."

Craig looked up from the table and shook his head. "Don't know how you can stand that stuff, man. Chocolate's so gross."

"Chocolate's incredible," Clyde shot back. "And that drink of yours doesn't taste so great, either."

"You just hate it 'cause it's sugar-free." Craig took another long sip and wiped his mouth with the heel of his palm. It was kind of true. Clyde loved sugar almost as much as Cartman did, possibly more, and had a really hard time staying away from it. He and Tweek were similar in that way, giving into their addictions so easily; Token and Craig had much more self-control.

"Vanilla and Coke should never be mixed. Period." Clyde grabbed his bowl and sat down across the table. "So. Up for a swim?"

"Uh… yeah. Can I ask you something first?"

"What?" The brunet swallowed his spoonful of ice cream. "It's not about that song Bebe made up, right? Because I swear I had nothing to do with that-"

"Nah." Craig bit his lip. "It's about… about my project for film class?"

"Mhmm?" Clyde took another bite.

"Would you, uh, be willing to star in it?"

Clyde, looking uneasy, tugged at his shirt. "Dude, you know how I feel about cameras-"

"Pleeeeeeease?"

"I-" Clyde sighed. "I guess so. But what- what do I have to do?"

The hard part. Craig gulped. Clyde had given in easily to the first request, but this would be considerably tougher. "Nothing… nothing too bad. I mean, you know how it's about, like, stereotypes and stuff?" The other boy nodded. "Well, I'm, like, doing my film on… on ga- on homosexuals, and it'sreallynotthatbadIprom-"

"Woah. Woah, woah, woah." Clyde put his spoon down and looked Craig in the eyes, something he rarely was able to do. "Dude. I put up with that weird dress-up thing of yours-"

"That was cosplay, it wasn't weird-"

"-and the movie about my foot-"

"It was an abstract!"

"-and let's not forget that time I had to interview those creepy sushi guys-"

"But they gave you free sushi, dude!"

"-and there's no way in hell I'm playing a gay guy. Find someone else." Clyde crossed his arms. "How come I always have to be in these things, anyway?"

"'Cause you're my best friend?" Craig tried.

"I'm not being gay. Not even for you." Clyde shook his head. "I- I mean, I'm not being gay for your movie! C'mon, can't you find anyone else?"

Craig could sense his friend cracking. "I trust you, dude. Please?"

"No."

"Come onnnn."

"No!"

Craig pouted.

"Don't do that."

Craig pushed his lower lip out farther and tried to force his eyes into some kind of puppy-dog expression, though he probably looked really, really stupid. Clyde sighed.

"Fuck. You know what, fine. I'll do it. But this is the last time, I'm seriously." He blushed. "I mean, I'm serious."

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you, man!" Craig grinned. This was good. Very good. "Hey, you can pick your co-star if you want – you know, if you think it'll be less awkward, we can do Tweek or Jimmy or-"

"You want me to pick who I'm supposed to have a fag-crush on?" Clyde asked incredulously, tilting back his bowl and drinking the melted ice cream. "Nuh-uh. That's gay."

"That's the poi… you know what, never mind. I'll pick then. I don't think there's that many guys left without a part, though. We'll have to see in class tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah." Clyde rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, let's just go over to the pool now, 'kay?" He stood up and walked over to the counter, dumping his empty bowl and spoon in the sink. "You need a bathing suit, right?"

"…yeah." Craig followed his friend out of the kitchen and down the hallway to his room. It wasn't that big, but it was a lot larger than his own, and it was filled with crap. Clyde cleaned his room – what, every four years or so?

They stepped over dirty jeans and old Playboys to the dresser. Clyde pulled open one of the drawers and began rummaging through it. "Mmm… here's one." He tossed Craig a bright green suit with yellow stripes, then pulled out a navy one for himself. "I'll change in the bathroom, okay?"

Craig nodded, waited for the door to shut, and then slipped out of his own pants. Clyde had always been really weird about changing in front of other people – but then, so had Tweek. Craig and Token, who didn't really give a crap, always laughed about it at sleepovers. "It's not like we're gay or anything," Token would say, and Craig would nod.

…oh God, he hoped he wasn't gay. Screw tolerance – being gay would mean no more laidback sleepovers, no more throwing the word around as an insult. It wasn't being laughed at that he was afraid of - Craig was tough enough to take shit like that – but the awkwardness… and the fact that the guy he thought he might like was completely straight.

NOT that he liked anyone in particular; he was just thinking hypothetically.

"Craig? Dude, you changed?" Clyde called out from the bathroom. Craig shook his head and hurriedly climbed into the lime-green trunks. They were a little big, but that didn't matter.

"Yeah, I'm good." He hiked up the swimsuit, which was slipping past his hips. Okay, maybe it did matter.

There was a rustle of fabric, and then Clyde stepped out of the bathroom, clad in the dark blue bathing suit and his usual red t-shirt. "Kay."

"What's with the shirt?" Craig asked, but Clyde said nothing, just led the way down the hall and into the backyard, where the pool glistened in the afternoon sunlight. It was the only time of day in South Park that the weather was remotely warm, but Clyde's pool always felt good anyway. He tossed his hat on a chair and dove straight in, quickly pulling the stupid bathing suit back up before it could slip all the way off. Clyde didn't need to see his ass. "You coming? The water's incredible." Craig did two quick backflips underwater and popped back up.

"I- I think I'm gonna sit this one out." Clyde sat down on the concrete. "I don't feel that great." He wiped some pink ice cream goo off his cheek with his shirt sleeve. "You swim. You're good at it."

"Is that the problem?" Craig swam up to the edge of the pool and leaned his chin on the ground. It was true – he was a pretty decent swimmer. "You think I'll laugh at you 'cause I'm a better swimmer? Come on, dude."

"That's not it." Clyde shook his head. "I just don't really want to swim right now."

"But I thought that was the whole fucking point of me coming over!"

"Yeah. You swim. I changed my mind." It was obvious something was bothering him – he kept pulling at his shirt and looking at the ground. Craig hoisted himself out of the water, careful not to let the shorts fall off, and sat down next to his best friend. "What're you doing?" Clyde crossed his arms over his chest.

"It's no fun swimming alone," Craig shrugged. "So either you get in the pool with me or we both sit here like losers."

"Dude. Just swim."

"Not unless you do, my little PMSing friend." Shit, that sounded really gay. Craig gave himself the mental finger.

"I'm not PMSing. Get in the fucking pool."

"Not- unless- you do!" In a moment of what seemed like genius but was probably closer to downright stupidity, Craig grabbed hold of Clyde's wrist, unlaced it from its locked position, forced him headfirst into the pool, and then jumped in himself.

Clyde emerged quickly, half-choking on a mouthful of water. "Asshole. You got my shirt all wet," he whined, yanking the sopping shirt over his head and slapping it on the pavement.

"Shouldn'ta worn it, then." Craig laughed and shook out his dark hair, flicking beads of water at Clyde's face. "Hey. Last one to the shallow end buys pizza!" And before Clyde could say "You're on," he'd kicked off from the wall and was halfway down the pool.

The next day at school, Craig had a ridiculously hard time keeping his eyes open. He and Clyde had stayed up until four playing Super Smash Bros (which Craig won every single time), and, as the bus left at seven-thirty, had gotten almost no sleep – and, of course, no homework done at all. Not that that mattered.

The only remotely interesting period was Film, anyway, and that was largely due to the fact that most of his friends were in the class. That, and the teacher was really cool. Most of Craig's other teachers were total bitches.

He and Clyde slid into one of the long tables at the back of the room and promptly laid their heads down on the cool wood. Clyde closed his eyes.

"So… tired."

"Tired of me pwning your ass?"

"You were using Marth. Not fair."

"Not my fault you chose Peach," Craig shrugged.

"Dude, she's the best. Her boobs?"

"She's a video game character, retard!"

"So?"

Craig clenched his eyes shut and then struggled to wrench them back open; they felt like they were on fire. "Whatever." He turned towards the front of the room.

"So, guys, there are three weeks left to get filming," Mr. Olsson was saying, but Craig could barely comprehend him through the obnoxious ringing he'd had in his ears all morning. "I trust you all have some sort of role in a movie? Director, filmer, actor, yeah?"

"I don't!" called Butters from the lone desk in the corner. "I don't, sir!"

"Does anyone need an extra person?" Mr. Olsson asked. "Anyone?" Craig moved to raise his hand. Clyde, apparently more awake now, pulled it back down.

"What the hell, dude, we need another person!"

"I'm not pretending to be gay for Butters," Clyde hissed.

"There aren't that many more people left!" Craig shot back as Olsson assigned Butters to Wendy's all-girl group, who giggled but looked okay with the addition.

"Aaaanyone else?" Olsson called. "Anyone else need a part? Tweek?"

"Kenny and I are- gah!- making our own movie," Tweek called back. "We- nnh- have enough people." Craig clenched his fists.

"Clyde, who the hell are we supposed to have star in our movie?"

Clyde glanced over to the other side of the room and shrugged. "Jimmy?"

"He's working with Stan," Craig muttered. "I can't believe this. I don't think there's anyone left-"

"Does anyone else need a part? Eric? Eric, you don't have a part, do you?"

You've got to be kidding me, Craig thought. No.

"Eric, why don't we find you a group? How about… how about…" Clyde's hand shot up in the air and Olsson clapped his hands. "Clyde and Craig's group! Perfect!"

Shit.

"Oh, the fag group! Hooray!" Cartman rolled his eyes and squished himself into the seat next to Clyde. "How's it going, Craig? I'm so excited to work on this totally awesome movie with you. In fact, I'm really, really happy. Hey, you know what? I know another word for happy! Gay. You could say this film gives me a gay feeling inside, you know?"

Craig flipped him off with both hands.

"Sorry," murmured Clyde before turning away. "He was the only one left."