A/N: ...epic, epic fail.

"I can't believe I agreed to this," Craig complained, slipping one arm out of his backpack and sliding down to the other end of the backseat. "It's gonna be fucking torture."

"Only if you let him get to you." Token said in his slow, deep, voice. He snapped his seatbelt in and slammed the car door, signaling the driver to leave. "Seriously, man, just ignore him. It's not that hard."

"For you," Craig muttered, but Token didn't seem to hear him. Instead, he leaned to his left and reached into the pocket of his skintight dark-wash jeans for his silver EnV, which was emitting an obnoxious buzzing noise. "What?"

"It's Tweek," Token mouthed, then held the phone to his ear. "What, dude?" He paused. "Today, right? Yeah. Why?" He rolled his eyes and smirked at Craig. "No, I didn't forget. It's only three o'clock, dude. I'll see you at eight. Kay. Bye- yes, Craig is coming too. Kay. See you then. Bye." Token pressed the off button and shook his head, tossing the phone onto the seat in between the two of them. "Tonight's Harbucks night."

"Yeah, I know." Craig leaned his head back against the dark leather cushion.

"Tweek wanted to make sure I didn't forget." Token laughed. "Just because I left my shoe untied one day three weeks ago, he thinks I have, like, Alzheimer's or something. Kid blows everything out of proportion."

"Yeah." The seat was ten times more comfortable than Craig's own mattress, which was either just incredibly unfair or proof that car manufacturers were smarter than they were given credit for. Or both.

Token glanced over at Craig but didn't say anything. This was one of the major differences between him and Clyde – Clyde would've just started babbling to fill the awkward silence. Token, on the other hand, wasn't that talkative of a guy. Usually Craig preferred Clyde's background noise, but today he decided it was kind of nice being able to think for once, especially since there was so much on his mind. He had two days to write the script. Two days, and Cartman would spend the whole time moaning about how gay everything was. The film was gay, the world was gay, and Craig – Craig was the gayest of all, which didn't even make any sense. It wouldn't have bothered him that much – well, compared to the other crap Cartman threw his way – if Clyde hadn't laughed.

Granted, Clyde was a follower; it was his nature. But… something about the way he'd gone along with everything Cartman had said that afternoon bugged him. It was like he hadn't even hesitated, hadn't even side-glanced at Craig to make sure it was okay to laugh along like he usually did. It wasn't like Craig laughed when people teased Clyde, either, and people teased Clyde a lot. So why couldn't his best friend treat him with the same respect?

Craig frowned and decided to mention it to Clyde that night at Harbucks. Maybe Clyde hated confrontation, but Craig was more afraid of them getting into a fight over something stupid. And anything that involved Cartman at all was completely and totally stupid.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" Token said. Craig blinked.

"Wh- what do you mean, again?" he asked defensively. So he did spend a good deal of his time thinking about Clyde – but was that bad? They were best friends, after all; it was justifiable. And was it really that obvious, anyway? Or was Token just a good observer?

"You have to stop letting him bother you like that. He's just looking for attention, always has been." Token leaned forward and reached into the car's shiny black mini-fridge, pulling out two grape-flavored vitamin waters and tossing one to Craig.

Oh. Cartman. Right. Craig felt stupid, and he was glad he wasn't a blusher. "Um, yeah, I guess. I dunno." He screwed off the top of the drink and took a sip; it tasted more like water than grape. He wished people would realize that water was water and grape juice was grape juice.

"Anyway, you don't technically have to have him in your group," Token continued. "Just tell Olsson that he's a slacker; it's not a lie or anything. He'll drop him from the class like that."

"That's not going to work," Craig moaned. "Olsson said groups are final. And besides, we need him to act. Everyone else is part of a group."

"Why don't you act?"

Craig nearly spit out his water. Act?! I can't act as Clyde's- no! "I- I want to film," he said lamely, wiping faint purple dribble from his bottom lip. Token raised his eyebrows and took another slow sip of his own vitamin water. "You know. I can't act for shit, anyway."

"And Cartman can?"

"Better than me." Craig sighed. "Listen, I just think that if we absolutely have to work with him anyway, it's for the best that he's the actor. Y'know, 'cause I'm the one who actually cares about moviemaking." Token was one of the only people who knew about his hobby, that Craig wasn't just taking the class to fulfill his arts requirement like most of the other kids.

"Whatever you say," Token shrugged. "Maybe he'll chill when he realizes how serious you are about this whole thing."

If he realizes how serious I am about this, he'll just have more of an excuse to call me gay. "Maybe." He capped the water and tossed it on the seat. Token looked pained for a split second, but nothing spilled out; he resumed his usual serene expression and continued to sip his own drink daintily.

The conversation was over.

--

Token's bedroom was all glossy black and white and silver, so shiny that Clyde liked to refer to it as the Chrome Dome. They didn't spend a lot of time in it as a group, though, because it scared Tweek to see his reflection staring back at him from forty different angles and Clyde just didn't like mirrors to begin with. Luckily, there were about twenty-two other rooms in Token's house – all considerably less reflecting – so they hung out more often in one of those.

Craig, however, didn't really have a problem with Token's bedroom, other than it being a little blinding at times, so the two boys grabbed a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies from the kitchen counter and headed up to the Chrome Dome in their socks. Craig noted bitterly that Token's socks were new, clean white with black tips, while his own were ratty gray and exposed three of his toes to the cool tile.

"What homework d'you have?" Token asked, pushing open the door to his room with one foot. "Bio?"

"Did it in class," Craig muttered, not wanting to admit that he'd left his Bio notebook at school. Oh well, he'd do it in the morning. "I've got Film stuff."

"Ah, yeah, you've gotta do your storyboard, right?" Token set the plate of cookies on a shimmery black coffee table and shrugged his backpack onto the floor. "Stan says he's got ours done already, so I don't have to worry." He frowned. "Should I be worried?"

Craig laughed. "It's Stan. He knows what he's doing. Isn't his dad, like, a professional videographer or something?"

"Stan's dad? He's a geologist." Token said through a bite of cookie. "Mmmph."

When Clyde tried to talk with his mouth full – which was a lot of the time – crumbs were sprayed everywhere. Token, on the other hand, was a perfectly neat eater.

Craig pulled out his Film notebook and rifled through the pages to the one sloppily titled Storyboard. It was a mess. He'd started out with a simple enough plot – Boy A and Boy B are best friends, Boy A falls in love with Boy B, Boy A declares his love, Boy B realizes his feelings for Boy A, both live happily ever after. "But that's gay," Cartman had said, and Clyde hadn't dissented, so Craig had scratched out the whole page and was now going to have to start from square one.

He drew a square in the upper left-hand corner and labeled it 1.

Next to him, Token dropped his Bio textbook onto the coffee table – thunk – and opened it to a perfectly Post-It'd page. Where Craig had scribbled in an answer in Sharpie in his own book, Token had written a short sentence on one of the several sticky notes. Craig kind of wanted to kick him for being so damn organized, but then he realized that an injured Token would be less inclined to share the notes on test day. Back to the drawing board.

So Boy A – that's Clyde – he's in love with Boy B. Cartman. Craig frowned. And Boy B is straight, okay. But they're best friends, and Boy A doesn't want his feelings to ruin their friendship. So he… tries to forget about it. Right. And everyone thinks he's straight, and he tells himself he is, and everything's cool. But then… then, uh… he gets drunk and confesses his love for Boy B and Boy B likes him back and they get together? No. He moves away and never worries about it again? Lame. He… Craig doodled two tiny stick figures holding hands and a big ugly fat one drowning in a poorly-drawn lake. He…

Oh, fuck it. Craig slammed the pencil down onto the notebook and scowled at himself in the mirrored wall, flipping himself off for good measure. Token noticed but didn't comment.

Usually, coming up with a plot wasn't this hard at all. In fact, Craig seemed to have a talent for it. But this time… he supposed it was Cartman, Cartman was the one screwing everything up. He couldn't write Boy B the way he wanted to, because Cartman would inevitably twist and bend and mutilate the character beyond recognition. And everything would be ruined.

--

Four and a half hours, three cookies, and seven wasted sheets of notebook paper later, Craig and Token clambered into the Black's backseat. Well, Craig clambered; Token executed more of a graceful slide, but either way they were buckled and ready and off to Harbucks to meet up with the group.

"We're going to be, like, fifteen minutes early," Craig said, picking at a spot of dried mud on his old green Converses. He didn't like getting places early. It was uncomfortable.

"That's fine," said Token. "Better than being late."

"I guess so."

Token shifted in his seat and touched Craig's shoulder. "Listen, man, you've gotta stop this worrying. It's not like you."

Craig squirmed. "I'm not- worrying. I'm just pissed off." He tried to pull his shoulder away as subtly as possible, but Token didn't seem to get the message. "You know, Cartman has that effect on people."

"Hah." Token squeezed once and then placed his hand back in his own lap, but Craig's mind was already off and running again. What had Token meant by that? His hand… the spot still felt a little warm. What was he doing? And the squeeze, what was that for? And was it just Craig's imagination, or… was the whole thing a little… gay?

Gay.

Goddamn it, Craig, he told himself, his middle finger shooting up reflexively. One little touch. That was it! People touched each other like that all the time, boys and boys and girls and girls and boys and girls and everyone and Garrison, it wasn't weird. It wasn't abnormal, it wasn't anything more than a touch, and it wasn't gay at all.

So then why was Craig shivering like a South Parkian who was actually using the air conditioning?

He kicked the car's AC vent just in case, but all that got him was a strange look from Token and a grunt from Token's driver. That boy and his anger issues, the man was probably thinking. That was him, Craig Tucker, the sullen welfare kid with the scruffy clothes and permanent scowl. He felt a sudden, intense hatred for Token's driver, even though the man hadn't said a word.

And then, as if reading Craig's thoughts, Token cut in. "C'mon, snap out of it. Have fun tonight." He straightened his purple sweater. "You've got money for coffee?"

"Actually, I do," Craig grinned, reaching into his own jacket pocket and brandishing a Harbucks gift card. "Courtesy of Tweek."

"Occasion?"

"Pip's birthday." Token looked puzzled for a moment, and then they both laughed.

"That's Tweek, huh?"

"Yep."

It was funny, how with Token the mood always stayed so constant. Quiet, somber, serious, changing ever-so-slightly when one of them cracked a joke, but always reverting to the norm. But with Clyde, there was no norm – just happy-sad-serene-angry-goofy-scared-unpredictable; Craig liked it better that way. He wouldn't have admitted it to Token – well, maybe if you paid him – but he couldn't have been more relieved when the car pulled up to the curb outside Harbucks and that asshole of a driver let them out and there was Tweek waiting inside the coffee shop, fifteen minutes early as well.

"Gah! Y-you came together!"

"We did," Token affirmed, letting the door swing shut behind them. It was warm inside, but in South Park, heat was relative, so hats and sweaters and scarves stayed on. "When'd you get here?"

"I came r-right after school!" Tweek yelled, then clamped his hands over his mouth. "I mean I came right after – nnh – school," he repeated quietly, shaking slightly.

Token nodded. Craig didn't. "Where's Clyde?"

"He's not here yet! OhmyGodwhatifhegotrapedorrunoveror-"

"Or brutally stoned with marshmallows?" Token suggested. Tweek's eyes flashed.

"Jesus-"

"Dude, shut up," Craig said, grabbing Tweek's bony wrist. "Clyde's fine."

"Are- are you sure?" Tweek asked, eyes darting from Token to Craig and back again.

"Yes, I'm-" Craig began, but he was cut off by the soft tinkle of the front-door chime. Clyde burst into the coffee shop, cheeks red from the biting cold and scarf drenched in snow.

"I'm here, sorry, I got caught up-" The brunet paused to catch his breath. "I, I went over to Shakey's a few hours ago to get the math homework from Jimmy, and I ran into Cartman, so we grabbed some pizza, and time just flew, y'know?" He panted and shoved a lone piece of hair off his forehead. "Just, yeah, I'm here. Hey."

Craig felt the sudden, horrible urge to be an asshole.

"God, I hope you didn't have to pay," he laughed. Token sent him a warning glance – don't – but he couldn't help it, the words were pressing against his mouth like water against a dam. "The way the two of you eat, I doubt even Token here could cough up the cash."

Clyde flushed and looked down.

Silence.

"Uh, should we just go order, then?" Token said slowly. "I've got to finish up the Bio homework, so I can't be stuck here all night."

"Yeah, let's- ngh- let's order," Tweek said, taking a step towards the counter. "I need caffeine, I'm so tired-"

"I'm sure you had some before we got here," Craig grinned. Tweek shrugged.

"Like, half an hour ago!" He twitched. "It's wearing off al-already, I can feel it!"

They laughed. Token's laugh was deep, rough, and Tweek's was the exact opposite – short, high-pitched bursts – but Clyde's giggle was bright and refreshing, and all of Craig's anger melted away. Cartman was gone, erased from his thoughts, and it was just him and Clyde and their friends, together right then and there.

It was funny how certain things affected him more than others.

They stepped up to the counter, took in the pungent smell of coffee and the sweet scent of sugar, and let Tweek ring the little bell over and over and over again until the woman behind them coughed forcefully. Craig fingered the gift card in his pocket, resisting the impulse to flip her off. Instead, he focused his attention on the counter, where the manager had just stepped up to take their orders.

"What can I get for you boys?" Tweek's dad said pleasantly, his hands filling and shaking and capping the coffees at sixty miles an hour. "Oh, wait, don't tell me, I've got this, I've got this. Mild roast, three extra shots of espresso, that's my boy," he grinned, handing a steaming cup to Tweek. "And Token, caramel macchiato, here you go, not too much caramel, I know. My man Craig… iced mocha, small?"

"Make it a medium," Craig said, waving his card in Mr. Tweak's face. Not all the coffee in the store could beat the incredible rush of adrenaline the thin piece of plastic offered him; he wondered why Token wasn't constantly ecstatic.

"Coming right up!" Tweek's dad spun around, worked his magic, and within seconds, Craig's drink was cradled in his hands, his prize. "And Clyde. Best drink in the house – hot cocoa with whipped cream and extra choc-"

"N-no," stammered Clyde. Mr. Tweak stopped, the whipped cream can poised in the air. "I'll have, um…" He looked up at the menu. "Some… green tea?"

"Green tea? You sure?"

"Yeah." Clyde blinked. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Ah, it's never a bad time to try something new!" Clyde nodded and took the drink carefully, holding it without taking a sip.

They paid up, Craig's card gleaming under the dim lights, then made their way over to their favorite table in the corner, the one with the squishy armchairs. Tweek, who had downed about three-quarters of his drink already, bounced up and down in his seat.

"This is- so good- gah-" He brought the straw back to his lips. It twitched against his mouth before his teeth snatched it up. Craig smiled.

"You're amusing, you know that?" He swirled his own straw around the cup and took a sip, savoring the cool, bittersweet flash of flavor. Perfect.

"How's that tea, Clyde?" Token asked, setting his drink down.

Clyde made a face. The others laughed again.

"Oh, come on, you don't like it?" Token shook his head. "We drink it a lot at home. My parents are tea people."

"M-mine are coffee people!" added Tweek, finishing his coffee and slamming it onto the table.

"I dunno, I think it's kinda gross," Clyde said, ignoring the blonde's outburst. "There's no flavor, it's all water!"

"Suit yourself," said Token, "but that's tea for you."

"I know, I didn't realize that!" Clyde whined. "And now I'm thirsty." He pushed the cup away, towards the middle of the table, and bit his lip, looking (as he often did) like he was about to cry.

Token was Craig's friend, Tweek was Craig's friend, but Clyde was his best friend, and there was really only one obvious thing to do.

"Have mine, then," he muttered, shoving his treat, his trophy, five dollars' worth of delicious, barely-touched medium iced mocha at Clyde. "I don't want it anyway." He scowled, trying to forget the feel of the cool plastic card in his palm.

"I don't like coffee," Clyde reminded him.

"You can barely taste it. It tastes mostly like chocolate."

Clyde shrugged and raised the cup to his mouth. His lips opened slowly – Craig got a glimpse of straight, slightly dull white teeth before realizing he was staring at Clyde's mouth – and closed again, taking a long, slow sip.

"I like it." He smiled, showing his teeth again. "You're right, it kinda tastes like a chocolate shake."

"Yeah," said Craig, even though he hated chocolate shakes. "It does."

"You want my drink, then?" Clyde motioned to the abandoned green tea. "It's really not that bad-"

"No thanks."

Craig leaned back in his chair and watched Clyde drink. His eyes were closed like he hadn't had anything to drink in ages, or maybe it was just the chocolate, or maybe - maybe hanging out with Cartman at Shakey's had been horribly boring, and Clyde would much rather be sitting under the comfy glow of the Harbucks lights, sipping mocha with his best friend. Whatever the cause, though, he seemed so happy, content, almost carefree.

If only Craig could say the same for himself.