Blindfold

Disclaimers: Rinse, Lather, Repeat.

Author's Notes: You might not hear from me for a long time again, but stay patient! I promise to finish this, so don't worry your pants off. I'm determined to get this done. Thank you for all your kind reviews! Hugs to everyone!

Chapter Seventeen: Like a Drug

The day after the fight, Mr. Mackey called me to his office and all of a sudden I felt almost new to the trip to the counselor. I haven't been visiting there as often as I had before, and I'm trying to bring my head around the idea that it's good.

It was routine, I remember. He'd say, "Mmkay, how are you, Craig?" And I would answer a monotonous "Fine" with a flip of the middle finger.

But that time, it was different. He asked me the standard question, and I replaced my automatic answer with a "My face hurts."

"I talked to Clyde yesterday, mmkay. He told me why he did it," he said.

I remained quiet. He didn't want to push the matter further, and so he asked, "So, how are you with Tweek?"

I didn't want to say a lot, so I said, "Fine."

"Mmkay, just fine?"

For a while, we only stared at each other. I looked at the band aid on my knuckle and told him, "We're okay."

He began to tell me how big the improvement is, and honestly, he's just flattering himself. Maybe that's why his head is so big.

As I stare at the net above me, I recall the scene over and over again in my head. When the Lunch bell rang a while ago, I proceeded to the basketball court just to see if it was merely a lucky shot last Friday. I take off my jacket and toss it aside, gripping the orange ball tight.

I then start to think about Tweek. Just random moments that happened this morning, and his odd mannerisms I haven't really noticed until my little realization just a few days ago. I remember the sketchpad he dropped yesterday and how tempted I was to peek inside, but a voice inside my head told me not to.

So I gave it back and tried not to ask any questions about it. Besides, I was too wrapped around the idea of him wanting to see me at the Nurse's office to think of anything else.

Absentmindedly, I throw the ball and it shoots perfectly through the net. A few more tries, and I end up with the same result. I unconsciously grin, satisfied with the answer. It actually feels good being able to shoot now. My problem now is to not become too distracted during a game, or else it'll just defeat the whole purpose.

Leaving the court in quite a good mood, I pass by the cafeteria and get two slices of pizza to compensate for the one I dropped yesterday before heading towards the gym. Tweek's already there at the 2nd floor sketching with a tuna pie dangling his mouth. I take a seat beside him, tempted to poke the pie to annoy him. But I decide to focus on my lunch instead.

Taking a bite of the cheesy goodness feels like a cosmic orgasm, and if I had ovaries, I'd say I dropped them and call the FBI.

"What kind of sketches do you have there?" I ask Tweek, eyes fixated at the string of cheese practically begging me to eat it.

"Ah! Nothing," he says, shaking a bit as he draws. I take a peak and my eyes widen at the sight of him drawing the old swing where I had fallen from and cut my elbow. "Awesome," I find myself muttering, and I could smell the caffeine, tuna and peppermint scent on him as I inhale. His breathing starts to become uneven, but he continues sketching. When I place my cheek on his shoulder to watch, he breaks his pencil and screams, "Oh God—THE PRESSURE!"

I throw my head back and say, "S-sorry. Do you want my pencil?"

He shakes his head furiously. "I have an e-extra one."

He fishes a pencil from his bag and I stare at the sketchpad placed on his lap. "Are you gonna show me what else you have there?"

His wide eyes stare back at me in hesitation and he twitches. "I-I don't know."

I grin. "Why, have some secrets there I shouldn't know? Sketches of people who'd kill you if they saw what you drew of them?"

He almost breaks his extra pencil before I reach out and take it away from him. "Calm down, Twister, I was just kidding."

He calms down a bit and touches his sketchpad. "O-okay."

With a smile of triumph, I look through the book. Page after page, I become appalled at how Tweek could make ordinary, boring and normally overlooked things so interesting and, dare I say, beautiful.

I pause at one page that contains a watercolor sketch of the track oval here on the second floor. I compare the sketch to real life and it's amazing to see how stunning he could make it.

As I flip the pages further, I notice him becoming tenser. It is when I stop at a page that he altogether stops breathing and squeaks. It's a sketch of someone riding a bicycle with the wind blowing through his black hair and the scene looks so familiar. "Is this supposed to be me?" I ask, amused grin on my face. He nods his head sheepishly, as if embarrassed at the fact. I touch it and admire how he had captured it so perfectly despite him not actually being there. "It's amazing," I tell him, smiling wider at the pink that appears on his cheeks.

At least, that's how I had imagined it would happen, but I arrive at the last page of the book before finding any drawing of me that I strangely had hoped to spot. "Cool," I merely say, trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment welling up inside.

He takes it back and I ask, "No portraits, though? Or whatever you call that." He shoots me a look and replies, "I-I don't really like drawing people."

"Why not?"

He shrugs, which sort of looks like a super twitch from the angle I'm sitting at. "The art project was a nice challenge, though—erg!"

My eyes widen a bit, catching his drift. "That was your first time?"

He nods and I almost gag. I ask him if he was kidding, but he reacts like I insinuated that it was a bad thing that will place him in the Top 10 most wanted criminals of America, or something.

"What you did was totally kickass, man," I tell him amidst his hyperventilation. "You're one awesome artist."

He lets out a small smile and thanks me, and I realize the part about the pink appearing on his cheeks in my fucked up fantasy managed to come true, so I'm not as disappointed anymore.

10 minutes left for Lunch period and we decide to head back to the main building.

On our way to class, I decide to bring up the subject again. "So," I start, "why don't you want to draw people?"

"I just don't." He says it firmly as though he wants it to end there and then. But persistent Craig is persistent, and that tone of voice only piqued my curiosity. I urge him on, even nudging his side for him to explain why. And I can tell by the jerks of his body and his lip biting that it tickles him, and it's actually kind of adorable.

Before, I would have punched myself unconsciously for describing someone that way, but now that I've proven myself a fag—yes, I've come around to accept that horrible fact albeit quite bitterly—I don't see the point in denying it to myself. And, honestly, I've done a lot of tickling before, and Tweek's reactions are just, well, cute. I've tickled Clyde quite a few times to irritate him. He'd screw his eyes shut, bite back a laugh which would make him sound like a pig giving birth, twist his body like a worm and try to push me away. Not cute. Not even close to cute. I've tickled Ruby countless of times, too. She'd scream and punch me in the face. That's kind of cute.

Tweek isn't as contorted nor as violent, and it amuses me. I stop after a few minutes in fear of actually breaking him and ask again.

He swiftly turns towards me. "GAH! I just don't see the point, okay? Why do you care anyway?"

I shrug. I don't really know. I just do. Care, I mean.

"Why don't you just try?"

"I already did!"

"That was a project. You had to do it."

He stays silent and I could tell by his pink face he wants to punch me. At least, I think so. Normally, for me, that kind of face is equivalent to my don't-fucking-touch-my-fucking-brownie-bitch face.

I decide to drop it. Until I catch him in Geometry class doodling Shakespeare's face all over his graphing papers, and I smile inwardly at the sight of it.

~.::.~

I dream I'm running down a spiral staircase in this white space surrounding me. I trip and fall upon a soft, sticky mass and I realize I'm lying on top of a cheese pizza. The ground shakes and I try to break free, but to no avail. Someone emerges from the distance and it's an anorexic Lion King running towards me on two legs and brandishing a tall large number 2 pencil. I see a few seconds later that it's Tweek and he breaks me free from my cheesy captivity. The ground shakes once more, and Tweek hurriedly draws a door in the white space we are in. He grabs my hand and we run away from the whiteness to the blackness and there's not a single thing I could see. I hold Tweek's hand tighter and it sends electricity through my veins. A voice in my head says, "Don't look down," and so I do. Suddenly, we find ourselves falling into the nothingness. I could see Tweek's face, now, and he's scared. I cup his face with my hands and I know the words that escape from my mouth are "I like you," but the words I hear with my ears are "Shakespeare will save us." And from beneath, Shakespeare emerges and catches us before flying off into the night sky. We're both lying on top of his bald head and the stars start to twinkle above us. Tweek looks at me and says, "Good pilgrim, our parents would never allow it!" I hold his hand and say, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." I lean forward with intent to kiss him, but I tickle him instead, and it swells my heart to hear his squeaks like a small helpless mouse trapped in a room full of cats. Tweek lifts his hand, and—trust me—I know a high five when I see one coming, but he balls it into a fist and punches me right on the nose.

I awake bathing in sweat at 4:17 in the morning.

Kicking the sheets off, I head towards the bathroom and check my reflection in the mirror. All right, my nose is still in one piece. I turn the radio on as I wash my face, but slow love songs start to break the silence and I rub my eyes in frustration. It's starting to get on my nerves how the words are affecting me in some way, now. And this stupid crush is eating me up inside that I can't even sleep properly.

I grab a random CD and pop it in the player, and I almost gag on my toothbrush when Spanish lyrics pervade the air, but I decide to shrug it off. Must have been one of Clyde's that he forgot to get back. For the most part, it's because I'm thinking too much about Tweek that there isn't enough space in my mind for anything else. If I could, I would bang my head for all eternity against my locker, or unconsciously punch myself, or belt out a random lyric from a song just to keep him out of it like I used to. But that sickening feeling of aggravation that accompanies the thoughts is replaced with the sickening feeling I don't really know.

And what sucks is that I'm actually embracing these thoughts and making them worse by making myself like Tweek even more. I could just stop talking to him. I could avoid him. But even I'm smart enough to know those methods never work. I've learned quite a lot from the soap operas and chick flicks Ruby and Token (yes, Token) have been watching. So I let it happen. I let this attraction to Tweek grow centimeter by centimeter as the days pass.

And all I want to say is God, Craig, get a fucking grip.

I finish my morning preparations and step out of the shower tousling my hair as though I'm trying to cleanse myself of these douchy thoughts and feelings.

I decide to have an early morning bike ride around South Park before school starts and I realize that I have at most 3 hours to spare. Tying the laces of my Nike shoes, I step out into the cold and grab my bike. It's during these times when South Park becomes bearable because of its silence and calming atmosphere. The bars have closed about an hour or 2 ago, the muggers and thieves decide it's too dangerous to do anything now that the day is almost starting, and everyone else is still snuggled up in their beds.

Spotting a McDonald's, my stomach grumbles in need of breakfast. I stop my bike in front of it and feel the inside of my pockets for money. Heading inside, I blink my eyes a few times to adjust to the sudden brightness of my surroundings. The girl at the cashier greets me and I stare at the menu.

I order a Mac Wrap, fries, a Coke and some cookies to eat during Recess when I get hungry again. I put down 5 dollars and get my change before leaving.

It's a quarter past 5 and I know the perfect place to stay at this time of day. Sometimes, when insomnia kicks in, I go to that place atop a hill and watch the sunrise. It's a little bit off town and leads towards the forest. It amazes me how the town would be flooded with bright orange, and you could hear the roosters cackling, the paperboy making his routes, and early morning risers heading out to claim their newspapers or to jog or do their routine.

It's hard to bike uphill, so I walk with my bike up to the spot. Taking my place on the ground, I start eating my sandwich wrap. I'd have to change my pants when I get back home later because I could feel the wetness of the ground seeping through the fabric. I raise my legs and support my arms against my knees.

I spot the red splotch at the corner of my shoes and I sigh, recalling Clyde's rampage in the cafeteria. And it brings me to another dilemma: what would they think if they find out about me? I could only imagine.

Kenny would laugh and laugh and scream out to the world "Craig Tucker's gay!" and he'd annoy me with sex jokes and wanting to "get it on in the shower room."

Kyle would be too appalled to say anything good or bad about it. He'd unceasingly question me with "Are you serious? Are you really serious?" and make a big deal out of it like I just ate the world's largest popcorn ball.

Stan would probably call me a jerk but would leave me alone to wallow in my jerkiness.

Cartman, without a shade of a doubt, would laugh, run around the campus proclaiming my gayness for the Spaz and call me names like fag, pussy, douchebag and whatnot. This will end in bloodshed and threats of removing his teeth with a wrench.

Token would probably start with "Oh, so that's why you've been acting so weird lately." He'd force me to explain how and why as if that would matter and would tell me his opinions. But he'd still be my best buddy.

Clyde, well, I don't know how he'll react. He'd probably punch me and give this red splotch on my shoes some company.

I can't tell them. Not when I'm still unsure.

Or am I?

My eyes widen at the sudden blueness of the snow and I check my watch. Almost time for the sunrise. I sip my Coke and wait. Watching the sunrise is one of the things-you-must-do-before-you-die mainly because it takes an amount of effort to catch one and to be at the perfect spot, and because it's certainly much more breathtaking than sunsets. It's like watching the world wake up.

And as the sun slowly emerges from the horizon and colors the town with orange and yellow, the only thing racing in my mind is, "I wish Tweek was here."

I start to imagine Tweek sitting here beside me sipping his black coffee in his thermos. And, suddenly, the sunrise seems more amazing. My hand finds his and I hold it tight, smiling at the softness and warmth of it.

My hand twitches, but it grabs nothing but snow. I groan and rub my face against my cold, wet palms. I could feel them warming up from the heat on my face and I sigh.

"I really, really like Tweek," I say audibly. And I shiver as the words roll out of my tongue, but a grin automatically appears on my face. My hands slide down my cheeks and I stare at the still rising sun. Heaving a sigh, I lie on my back and close my eyes, letting sleep take over me.

~.::.~

I awake at a quarter to 8 and bike back to my house to change jackets and grab my bag before taking off again to school.

Along the way, I feel my phone buzz and I skid to a stop to check it. It's a message from Token that reads, "Craig."

Years of being friends with Token got us both to have this special understanding and connection with each other. With Clyde isn't any different. It's the same for every other pair of bros out there. It's that mental connection that even without the other saying it directly, or sometimes not even saying anything at all, you perfectly understand what they mean. Oftentimes, it's due to the repetitive mannerisms, and at other times, it's because you can simply tell. There were times when Clyde would start scratching the area of his mole near his right ear whenever Token and I start planning some game or movie night. It always meant that he wouldn't be able to make it to those dates because he's in deep shit with his parents. He did it a few times when we were kids and he'd always say the same things. As we grew older, he needn't have to say his excuse anymore. When Token and I would spot him scratching his mole, we'd merely nod and he'd smile, embarrassed at the situation.

Token also has his quirks that needn't require explanation. Just by reading his simple text, I know exactly what he's trying to say. So I quickly pocket my phone and pedal to school faster to see what kind of trouble he's in.

Once I arrive, I lock my bike and head towards Token's locker. From a distance, I spot him staring intensely at his locker with steam almost visibly coming out from all his holes. Passersby would glance at his locker and would raise a curious brow. When the sight comes to full view, my eyes widen and I stop a few feet away from the Earth's core that is Token Black. Whenever I receive a text that says "Craig," I immediately know something or someone is about to make Token snap which, I assure you, is not a pretty sight to see. Even Golum from Lord of the Rings humping your toilet hissing "My precious" would be a better thing to witness.

I stare at Token and you could almost see the red hues amidst his, well, blackness, and it's like you're expecting hot lava to erupt from his face. Little by little I could see his head blowing up and his lips tightening into a fine thin line. I catch my breath and his head dramatically explodes, blood splattering all around us, decorating the white paint that is now coated onto his locker door.

"Secret Santa?" I ask him.

"Secret son of a bitch." He thrusts onto my hands a small bottle that, upon reading it, is whitening cream. I could laugh at the pathetic prank, but the gravity of its stupidity is completely outweighed by the gravity of the insult. Perhaps it's my imagination, but I could sense Token slowly blowing up and threatening to explode. I reach into my bag and bring out my McDonald's cookies to hand to Token. He doesn't say a word and keeps his gaze at his locker attempting to melt it, or maybe melt whoever vandalized it. He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes as he exhales. He gets the cookies and shoves them down his mouth.

I feel a wave of relief. "So," I start, "how are you going to explain this to the principal?"

He waves his hand dismissively. "I'll have it fixed before she even finds out." I watch him dial a number on his mobile and place it against his ear. "Hello, dad?"

I touch the locker door and let out a whistle. The white paint was spray-painted, and quite an impressive feat to pull off in such a short time without getting caught sooner or later.

From a distance, I spot Kyle walking side by side with Clyde heading towards our direction. My eyes fall upon Clyde's bruise under his eye and sigh. I wave at them, but keep my eyes on Kyle. He waves back, and Clyde looks at Token's locker, eyes widening at the sight. "Whoa, what happened here?"

"Kris kringle," I answer, tossing the whitening cream to him. "Quite a pathetic one at that."

Kyle stares at it thoughtfully. "I'd say minimalist." I raise my eyebrow at him. "Subdued racism. But, yeah dude, that sucks."

He looks at Token. "What's he doing?"

I shrug in time with Token clicking his phone. "I just asked my dad to send some of his workers here to install a brand new locker door before class starts."

"Looks like your Secret Asshat needs to kill all your little minions first before ruining your Christmas," I kid.

"Well, good luck to whoever that racist asshole is," Token says. "He'd have to go through all 700 of them."

Our conversation is interrupted by a loud elongated cry of "Oh!" Token, Kyle and I look at Clyde whose eyes are still glued to Token's white locker.

"It's racist because it's—and you're—oh! I get it!" Clyde laughs hard for a few seconds before pulling himself together and saying, "Man, that is weak" deadpan.

"Congratulations, Clyde, you win a gold medal," Token says with sarcasm.

"Hey, give me a break," Clyde tells him. "I've been doing math all night."

Kyle scoffs. "You? Doing math all night? Tell me 'math' is a new term of endearment of yours to some girl you picked up at Raisins."

I get lost in the conversation after that. At the corner of my eye I see a familiar figure with wild, blond hair fidgeting about as he ties his shoelaces. I bite the inside of my lip to avoid sighing like some schoolgirl in a Disney movie.

"I can't believe this."

I close my eyes instantly and groan. I turn to Clyde with a half-annoyed "What?" but am surprised to see them staring off at a distance.

"All these years and he's still barking up that tree?" Kyle muses.

"A much scathed tree," Token comments. "Just how many dogs have clawed and scratched that?"

Clyde puts his two cents in. "Whatever Stan did to deserve her attention, it must have been golden."

I stare at Wendy fixing Stan's hair and giggling at whatever Stan was telling her. His hands are placed firmly on her waist and, now and then, Wendy would slide her knee up Stan's inner legs.

"She's been clothing herself too," I say, "that's pretty weird."

"Whatever," Kyle shrugs, "she's only playing with him. Even a hobbit from Ireland with no senses would find that obvious."

"Do I detect jealousy?" Clyde laughs. "Funny, I've always known you've been playing for that team."

"Am not, you dickwad!" Kyle punches his arm. "I'm gonna pry some answers from him later to get to the bottom of this."

"Yup," I nod, "definitely for the other team."

Token, Clyde and I snicker at Kyle's annoyed expression. "Jerks!" he screams. "Bros always look out for each other so the other won't get hurt. You guys know that."

There is a terse pause between the three of us and Kyle doesn't notice it. He glances at his watch and says, "Oh, I'm gonna be late. See you guys!"

We watch him run off and Token looks at his watch as well. "Dad's workers will be here any minute. I'll go wait for them at the front door." Without acknowledging how he's leaving me with the guy who gave me this bruise on my chin, he walks away towards where Tweek is still crouched on the floor and tying his laces. With a slight shake of the head, I walk to him, knowing Clyde won't say a word to me even if I stayed on the spot.

I kneel beside him and say, "Didn't preschool teach you how to chase bunnies to their burrow?" as I took the laces from his hands.

His eyes flared with horror. "Chasing bunnies? What did they ever do to—OH GOD! Now, they must be planning revenge! Jesus, Craig! Why the hell did preschool teach you to torture bunnies?"

"Dumbass." I roll my eyes. "It's a song for tying shoelaces. Other foot."

He shifts his position to let me tie his other shoe. "You're tenser and louder than usual. What, did gnomes spike your coffee?"

He buries his face on the palms of his hands. "I didn't have coffee!"

I raise my eyebrow. "You what?"

"When I looked at our cupboard, the coffee packs were gone! Mom said they transferred it to Harbucks because shipping got delayed and they needed them right away and I didn't know where to get coffee and I needed one soon or else so I couldn't get out of the house and buy a cup because—OH GOD!—I can't get out of the house without my coffee fix! And then I saw a sachet of instant coffee and I didn't have any other choice left, so I drank instant and—JESUS! What maggots would have thrived in there? A sachet of coffee, Craig! That's—that's blasphemy!"

I finished tying his shoes in the middle of his rant and get up. "Stop freaking out, dude. I'll get you coffee later. Just relax." I extend a hand towards him and he pulls it, pushing himself off the ground and on his feet.

I smile at him and he blinks at it, but I am in no right state of mind to stop acting so lovesick. What breaks me from my trance is a slap upside the head. I growl and rub it furiously. I look up and see Clyde walking away.

"What is up his ass?" I groan.

Tweek's staring at him with a funny look on his face. I cock my head to the side and try to read his expression like he suspects something.

"Tweek?" I call.

He gasps and looks at me. "Yeah?"

I shrug it off and put a hand on his back. "Come on, we're going to be late."

~.::.~

"So," Stan says as he drops himself on the bench beside me, "how's this mystery crush going?"

"Wait," Token leans forward to look at Stan. "Craig likes someone?" I stare pointedly at the accusing finger being held at my direction.

"I think so." Stan lifts his leg to tie his laces. "He's been asking me weird questions lately."

"Me too," Token nods.

"Craig's here, you know," I say, glaring at the both of them.

Everyone in the class is already out in the field and passing the soccer ball to each other while waiting for Chef. Tweek is still in the changing room having been paranoid to strip in a room with a bunch of other guys. "They might mistake me for a stick for pole vaulting!" He had screeched. "They might break me!" Despite the coffee we had gotten for him during recess, he still hasn't toned down.

Stan stands up and looks out into the field. "Are you going to tell us who she is?"

"No offense, Marsh," I tell him, "but your girlfriend happens to be the queen bitch of this school. You think a little piece of information about me will stay between us in, at the very least, 10 minutes with her sucking your dick?"

He sneers at me. "Hey, if you don't want it out, you can trust me not to tell."

"That's exactly what you said when I told you my grandma gave me 100 bucks for my birthday and look where that had gotten me in less than 24 hours."

"How would I know we'd get deported to Peru?"

"Exactly, now get your ass out of here. And that's me asking very nicely."

With a half-second glower, Stan runs to the field and leaves me be. Token looks at me with an amused grin. "Harsh."

"Like I would want to tell him anything," I roll my eyes and pick a stray thread on my PE shorts. Token shifts beside me and says, "You're going to tell me, right? Whoever this mystery girl you're infatuated with is?"

I smile half-heartedly at him. I don't want to tell him. I don't want to tell anyone. I don't even want to tell it to a helpless squirrel. But having said it out loud to myself this morning made me feel so overjoyed that I feel that saying it to someone else will amplify that emotion. And I trust Token the most, and I'm confident he won't judge me like Clyde would.

"Maybe," I say quietly. "Just not now."

He raises his eyebrows. "Must be some chick for you to be reduced to this."

I give him a look of confusion. "Reduced to what?"

"An alpha dog brought to a pound and hopelessly in love with a poodle outside his cage. Or maybe that's just me." He chuckles.

"Definitely just you," I say. I see Tweek come out through the door gripping a bottle of sunblock lotion and bite back a smile. I almost miss the soft hum from beside me.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look at Token. He blinks at me slowly and says, "Well, I hope you'll come around and tell me soon, Craig."

I watch him get up and make his way to join Stan and the others. I sigh deeply before making my way towards Tweek. "Sun's not out," I tell him, eying the lotion on his hands. He only twitches in reply.

Behind us, Chef pats our back and shoves us lightly to the field. "Come on, warm up children!" The class converges and starts jogging around the field, Tweek and I staying behind them. I glance over to Tweek and say, "Keeping your speed and agility discreet?"

"I'm not a showoff—ah!"

I skid to a stop and find Tweek rubbing his head and his shoes untied. "Again?" I point out breathless. "Make an x, find a bunny—"

"GAH! Enough with the bunnies, Jesus, they can hear you!" He's flailing his arms like a duck, and it almost makes me want to throw a breadcrumb towards him. I manage to suppress a smile, and then I remember what Token had told me. It's going to be weird, confessing to him and it feels like I'm a murderer about to confess to a priest. And it's fine that way because you can always count on a priest not to say anything and, most of all, not to judge you.

Tweek's on his knees, now, and telling me "Just—just go ahead! Erg!"

I raise my eyebrows and do as told, catching up with the rest. I jog my way beside Token and pull his arm. "Ow—Craig, what are you—"

"Cheesesticks after school on Friday," I tell him. "You free?"

"Asking me out on a date?" He laughs.

"Not my type. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"That I'm not your type?"

I shove his head down, making him almost trip and fall. "Just kidding, you asshat!" When he regains his composure, he eyes Tweek bent over by the sidelines. "What's up with him? Is he going to puke all over the track?"

"Just tying his shoes," I answer. Token looks at me with eyes oddly glistening. "Hey," he says with a large grin, "remember that song back in preschool?"

I laugh. "Like how I remember my own birthday."

He matches my laugh and shakes his head. "Can't wait for Friday!"

I lick my lips and look up at the sky. "Yeah."

~.::.~

There are times when I can't stand Tweek, and no, not counting the years before I started becoming more comfortable around him. And no, not also counting the times he'd go ballistic and give me his insane theories and monologues because I've found that I've gotten accustomed to those fits as well. I'm not counting the times when he's so silent as well and, yes, those moments drive me more insane than when he's screaming his head off.

It's when the teacher is out and has left us with work to turn in at the end of the period on his desk to be claimed by another faculty member. It's when it's Math time when everyone would rather chew their own waste than to answer something impossible to finish within an hour even if you start guessing from the very beginning. It's those times when I can't stand Tweek.

Because Tweek always, always finishes the work before time ends.

And it's always been that way. We've been in the same Math classes even before I was sentenced to be attached to his hip, and whenever there were seatworks, a little over 30 minutes to time he'd be scrambling on his feet to place his paper on the desk and fleeing off to God knows where. I would purposely trip him just to spite him, and I admit I've stolen his paper and changed his answers because he pissed off the class so much during those times.

That was then, but he hasn't changed. A few moments ago, he'd already run to the teacher's table to deposit his work and fled to God knows where. I had wanted to throw a pen to his head for old time's sake then.

"Gross, Stan!" Cartman yells from the side. "Stop being a pussy and enclosing Wendy's name in hearts!"

"Shut up, fatass!" Stan stammers, blushing. "I was not! Kyle, tell him to get off my back!"

Beside me, Kyle sighs. "Stan, as much as I'd like to believe you're solving and graphing a trigonometric equation, you are being a lovesick fag."

Stan gapes at him. "Screw you!"

"Screw Wendy is more like it, you desperate little dick," Cartman laughs. "Now let me copy off your work! Oh wait, I'm sorry; are all your answers 143?"

"Get off my case, Cartman!" Stan slaps him away. "Go bug Craig!"

"I was expecting you assholes to drag me into your annoying and loud display," I tell them with a sarcastic tone, eyes not lifting up from my paper. "Why I even got stuck in a class with you guys I'll wonder forever."

"Craig, give me your paper!" He demands.

"I already gave up halfway. It's no use going on." I've been writing random things on my paper ever since I stopped attempting to finish it and decided to just stare into space to think about whatever will come to mind. I look down at my paper and immediately find a strange set of numbers amidst obscured sketches of pizza, guinea pigs and middle fingers. 20, 23, 5, 5, 11.

I cough and turn the paper over. "Just shove off, you tub of lard."

He contorts his face in anger. "Fuck you guys! Stan, I bet you 200 bucks Wendy'll run off with a random dude on the street and fuck each other's brains out faster than you can say David Hasselhoff!"

"E-Eric," Butters pipes in from behind, "I think you should leave Stan alone."

"Butters, you're gay. Therefore, you have no say in these heterosexual affairs."

"Stop it, Cartman." I honestly have no idea why that came out of my mouth. But I stand my ground when Cartman looks at me with a disgusting smirk on his face. "What, you have a soft spot for the fairy now too?"

I rise from my chair menacingly. "I hope you know that I could turn you into Rudolph the Black-nosed Fatass in a matter of seconds if you don't shut up."

"Yeah," Kyle says, "just shut your trap, Cartman. It's hard to concentrate with you yapping."

"Whatever," Cartman huffs. "You guys are douchebags, and Butters will die a virgin."

I roll my eyes. "You're one to talk."

"You're one to talk," Stan remarks, glancing at me.

"Same goes to you," I say, earning an incredulous look from him. "Dude, I've already had sex."

"Saying you already had sex with Wendy is like telling the world you breathe oxygen. Everyone has, thus making that argument null and void."

"She hasn't had sex with you yet."

"She wants to and has been wanting to ever since she started selling her tits to everyone, and if you ask her now, she'd wholeheartedly admit she'd rather make out with me than go to bed with you." It's a disgusting thought, but nonetheless true, and Stan's face is making the whole scene priceless. "And you, being so head over heels with her, will die alone in your room with posters of her taped to your ceiling."

Everyone in the room laughs, and Stan's fuming. He opens his mouth to give a retort, but the bell rings before he could. I smirk and turn my paper in before leaving the room.

I'll leave that as a Kris Kringle strike.

~.::.~

Time flies, and it's already Friday afternoon. Token is seated across me with a curious look upon his face. He licks his lips and crosses his arms without breaking the glare he's giving me.

I match his expression and say, "What?"

He sighs deeply. "There is a blond Smurf beside me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Craig."

"Token, just pretend—"

"Craig."

"I don't see a Smurf!"

Token looks beside him with an annoyed look and I roll my eyes. "Butters, I'm talking about you," Token says.

"Oh." He looks down at his blue clothes.

"Why is Butters here?" Token questions.

"Let's say he serves as a support system," I explain. "I thought it might make me feel uncomfortable with just you right in front of me while I say what's on my mind the past few weeks. Plus, he might give helpful input."

Token raises his eyebrow.

"He's as innocent as a baby penguin. It's going to help." I wave my hand dismissively and cross my arms.

Token only nods. "So, get on with it then. Who's this mystery crush you've been waiting 'til today to tell me and dragging Butters along to hear?"

I gulp. I had no idea it was going to be this hard to break the news to Token. I've been convincing myself that he'll hear me out and not judge me, but now that I'm here on the spot and the receiving end of his expecting gaze, I find myself wanting the table to just devour me right here right now.

"I think…" I start. "I'm kind of…"

Token leans forward to urge me on.

"Me and…" I groan. "God, why is this so hard?"

"It's all right, Craig," Butters says. "Take your time."

"Butters, just shut up for a moment." Token looks at him pointedly. He apologizes and rubs his knuckles together before the both of them stare at me once again. Oh, table, I know how hungry you are. Please eat me. Just swallow me whole and bring me to the center of the Earth. Can the universe just like me for one second and do me this favor?

I close my eyes tight. "Tweek. It's Tweek."

In my head, a thousand little bunnies burst out of my body and hop about the diner leaving me bleeding to death and with a gaping hole in my stomach. In the saner part of my mind, I was convinced the scene will play with Token saying, "You're gay?" and he'll pat my hands because he understands.

All the while, I'm trying to block out whatever is screaming in my head that Token is going to jump on me and try to punch the sparkles out of my heart because Craig—Craig—can't be gay.

But what happens next is unexpected, and it almost sounds like a gunshot near my ears.

"I knew it."

My eyes widen and I gape at him. He stares back with a half-amused expression as opposed to Butters' wild one.

"Don't look at me like that, Craig," Token laughs. "I'm your best friend. I would've known even if you would refuse tell me."

I stare at him and bring my hands to my face. "You know what's even more humiliating?" I tell him.

"What?"

"I bet Clyde knows. Even before I figured it out myself."

He shrugs. "Yeah, he has been complaining; trying to make it obvious to everyone. But only he and I would know it, really."

I smile sheepishly at him before glancing at Butters. "Butters, are you okay?"

"Y-you're…" he stammers. "Wow, geez, Craig, I never would have guessed. O-of course, I'm not saying that I don't approve of you being this way. As Lady Gaga says, 'I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way!'"

Token and I stare at him. "Sure," I say slowly before heaving a sigh. "But the fact that I am doesn't bother me at all. It's…" I gulp. It's as though the word feels like venom in my throat, and if I say it out loud, it would kill me. "…Tweek. Tweek of all people."

"Well, you have been spending an awful lot of time with him."

"Yeah, and that sort of tells me you're dealing with this so called 'crush' all right." Token points out. "You're not frustrated like I thought you would be. Unless this has been going on for a while and you've already managed to destroy your bedroom in your sexual confusion."

I laugh in spite of myself and shake my head. "I am. I'm so, so frustrated. Tweek is a fucking douche."

Token and Butters blink.

"Is that…" Butters says carefully, "good?"

Token shushes him.

"He's—He's that feeling you get when…" I scratch my head. "…when you get a failing mark in your English exam. He's that feeling you get when you know you had gained 20 pounds eating that Humongo-Burger at Steak Park down the street. He's that feeling you get when your shoes keep getting untied no matter how many times you tie them. He's that ridiculous song that pops in your mind when you wake up at 7 AM on a Friday morning."

Butters opens his mouth to continue, but Token's glare stops him.

"I don't get it," Token says, looking at me. "If you're saying you like Tweek because he's annoying—"

"Your order, sir," a waiter says to me as he places a Supreme Pizza on our table. He gestured to Token and Butters. "Would you like anything?"

"Later." Token swats him away in annoyance. Butters looks at him and says, "I'll have a Chocolate Milkshake."

The waiter nods and walks away. I start eating the pizza and expect another immaculate hymn to send me to euphoria, but I remain strangely intact with the world.

"He's that horrible feeling," I continue. "That horrible feeling like when you get your ass ready for church only to find out that your parents left you and expect you to walk all the way there on foot. It makes you want to smash a table in half, or scream expletives to the sky, or break someone's neck. It boils inside you, and your guts twist and turn and you think you're going to puke all over the street."

I sigh while stretching the cheese dangling from where I bit. "And you try so hard to get it out of your system. You want to forget about it, but you can't. And it consequently gets stuck in your mind no matter how much you don't want it to." I put down the pizza like it doesn't even matter anymore. "Tweek is that feeling. That feeling you can't shake out and it drives you insane. That moment you can't get your mind off of until it grows on you until you learn to accept it and move on."

I lean back. "Tweek is… Tweek is like drugs, and I'm fucking addicted to it. It's driving me nuts." In annoyance, I shove the pizza up my mouth.

Token's staring at me cross-eyed. "All right, who were you reading before we came here? Allan Poe? Hemmingway?"

Butters giggles. "That felt like an Ashton Kutcher movie scene."

"That being said," Token says, "Craig—Jesus, you've got it bad."

"Wait, so you're all right with it, right?" I raise my eyebrows. "Me being gay for Tweek?"

He looks down. "It is weird."

I smile. "Clyde can't even look at me in the eye."

"Well, if-if I'm allowed to say so," Butters pipes in, "I think it's great that Craig is finally letting someone in! You know, since he's been beating everyone up for a good chunk of his life."

I drum my fingers on the table. Token raises an eyebrow at Butters. "Yeah, that may be true, but I think you're being a total jackass as well."

"Oh?" I narrow my eyes. "I didn't know that. Please tell me more."

He leans closer. "Just how do you think whatever this is—" he gestures wildly, "—is going to turn out? He's lived his life cowering under your terror. Just imagine how fucked up he'll be when, all of a sudden, his bully looks at him like he's the light of the world?"

"I'm not going to tell him." I wince at my own words and pick up another pizza. Despite Butters' noisy slurping of his milkshake which had been set down moments ago without my noticing, the awkward silence nerves me. "And he's not going to find out first." That was that.

"Are you going to wait until he realizes the same thing?" Butters asks. "Like in most romance movies? This really feels like we're in one."

Token smirks. "Or, like in most sad movies, wait until you fall out?"

I shrug and eat my pizza. All was said, and I trust they wouldn't tell. I trust that they'll forget about it and leave me alone.

I'm going to wait. I'll leave it at that. I'm going to wait. And whatever will happen in the whole course of things will happen.

There's just one last thing left say.

"I like Tweek."

And just as I had imagined it would be, having to say it again and to a pair of ears not my own feels like fireworks blowing up inside my chest, and I didn't have to hide the goofy smile possibly plastered on my face right now. Butters looks at me curiously, then smiles.

"You have cheese stuck between your teeth."

Further author's Notes: I hope you guys got the numbers part when Craig and Stan's posse were in math. Don't dwell on it too much. It's not that hard to figure out. :D And Craig's dreams are featured once again! Yay! Read and Review please! :)