Well, this is the first SP fic I ever started, so here goes. Once upon a time, (i.e. the first 5 seconds of writing this story), I was trying to write some srs teen angst. Clyde was all like, "NO U," and so here I come bearing crack. Medicinal style~
1. Clyde introduces the horror of being single.
The first thought was probably "Ew," followed up by a graceful segue into "Why God, why?"
It was a... predicament that made Clyde almost giddy with confusion. Of course, a confused Clyde Donovan wasn't the most uncommon thing to find in the fucked up town of South Park. But c'mon gaiz, Clyde's feelings were only totally uncool and mushy. And, in all seriousness, Craig abhorred these outbreaks of – cue: "Sick!" – emotion. A solution needed to be found! ASAP, goddamnit.
Too much confusion could lead to crying, and damn it if Craig (and those guys) really wanted to put up with that.
"Guys, I don't know what the hell we've covered this entire term." Clyde's eyes threatened to release the humiliation of freely flowing tears. Never mind the fact that they were sixteen, and sort of too old for this. "I don't w-wanna faaaaillll!"
Being ever so skilful with words, Craig Tucker began what was starting to be a customary monotone chant of "Shut the fuck up, Clyde, and stop complaining." Clyde was also flipped off a couple of times during this pleasant intervention, but he was too busy burying his face in his hands to actually notice.
Token Black (the smart one!) attempted to reason with Clyde. "It's just a biology test," he said, slowly, as though each word had to be enunciated for proper comprehension. Snaps, Token really knew what he was doing. "We can have a study group if you really want, Clyde. But bio has really obvious answers." Which was why they were taking it in the first place, even though Clyde's memory was absolute shit.
"Ergh," Tweek Tweak offered, spazztastically twitching and being useless. That was okay though, because Tweek sucked at bio anyway. But the explosions were hilarious to watch. :) No one else could make things explode in biology. Not even Clyde! – wait, what did that even mean?
A moment of silence, permeated with a thick atmosphere of 'Clyde-is-a-loser-ignore-him-okay-guys.' This was instigated by Craig and his psychic powers of leadership. Aka magical mind control. It was kind of creepy.
Tweek looked compelled to jump onto the table and accuse Craig of being an alien bent on forcing the Clydes (WHY THE CLYDES?) of the world to do badly in biology, which would endanger the rest of the human population and turn everyone into melty robots and – and then death and ergh! It wasn't a totally improbable idea, because only aliens would have such a strange obsession with wearing UNWASHED AVIATOR HATS FOR YEARS AND YEARS. Unfortunately for Tweek, the mind control was too powerful, and he couldn't think for himself. Instead he suffered quietly and stared at Craig, because he was the theoretical needy chick in that particular relationship.
But Clyde had better things to do than analyze Tweek's terror, so he broke the silence first. Craig's mind powers didn't have a very good hold on crybabies. Obviously.
Thusly: "Dude, this sucks," angsted the brunet, taking his face out of his hands.
"Whatever," said Craig, flipping him off in the nicest way possible.
"Well..." Token tapped the table with his pencil.
Tweek cut him off. "We should start making notes, ngh, NOW!"
The problem was that Craig and those guys were pretty much sitting at a fail. Except for Token, who for some strange reason handed things in on time. Bitch, please. Craig was too lazy, Clyde didn't understand the material at all – and had perhaps the crappiest memory ever, and Tweek had freaked out upon turning to the page about viral replication.
"The test's in two weeks, dumbass," muttered Craig. "We have a shitload of time."
("Oh, really?" Clyde perked up. The threat of tears dissolved immediately.)
"Yeah and then those two weeks will turn into days, and then before you know it, Craig, we'll have to do an all-nighter and cram! Jesus, I don't want to stress about it the night before! It's too much pressure! And then what if we fail, I'll have to retake it in the summer and the gnomes will take everything WHEN I'M NOT LOOKING –"
Craig cut the blond off. "So, study group or not?" he said, disinterest colouring his words. He secured a hand onto Tweek's to calm the spaz down.
It was a struggle to keep the conversation going. Was biology really that boring? Did that question even need asking?
"- they're everywhere!" Twitch. Shudder. An unsexy moan of distress. "Ngyaaah..." Tweek was, for the most part, ignored.
Clyde shrugged. "My place, whenever. I hate bio." He sighed dramatically and turned to the clock on the wall. "Two minutes, and I am going to have a weekend without stupid science."
"So I take it 'whenever' means 'not this weekend because I will be busy fapping?' " queried Craig drily. Air quotes while holding Tweek's hand at the same time ftw. "Just get a fucking girlfriend already. It's not hard."
Said the gay man. Clyde's eyebrows rose skeptically. "You can't lecture me on getting a girlfriend," he pointed out defensively, hazel blob-eyes narrowing in Craig's direction. "You and Tweek... yeah, um." He crossed his arms huffily.
The dark-haired boy ignored this outburst, and continued attacking Clyde's many flaws. It was a favourite activity of his. How he managed to be so influential even with his arm casually slung around Tweek's waist was a mystery. It was like they were in a poorly directed rom-com, Clyde mused.
"Dude, you're blushing. Just get a girlfriend, it's not like you don't want one." The floppy blue hat shook with emphasis.
Oh gee, Craig was really concerned, huh.
"It is kinda sad," Token admitted to his sort of BFF. Clyde made a face at him. This was a little too much, if they were trying to get back at him for being such a crybaby over biology. His friends were assholes.
The bell rang, and the brunet rushed to shove his binder into his awesomely disorganized backpack.
"Well," said Token, as they left the classroom, "you could always try. I thought you liked Bebe? She's single right now."
Clyde the Perv attempted to snap into a persuasive tone, like a Kenny who hadn't quite gotten laid yet. "Token, it's just that porn makes everything seem a little more exciting." He winked, clicked his tongue, and snapped his fingers. Token winced, as though physically injured. "So what if you've got Heidi, and Tweek is sort of dependent on Mr. I-Don't-Give-A-Fuck?" Clyde jerked his head back to indicate Craig and Tweek. "You'll see. I'll get the chick that likes tacos just as much as me," he insisted heatedly. "'Sides, you have no idea what you're missing out on." He smiled convincingly through the bullshit.
Token only had enough time to roll his eyes before Heidi came by to snatch his hand and plant a wet kiss on his cheek. "I'll discuss this with you later," he promised.
"See ya, Token," muttered Clyde, sending evil glares to Heidi's back. Bitch stole his ride home (aka his best friend). Ugh. Now he'd have to walk.
Clyde and Heidi did not have a friendly relationship. He couldn't bring himself to like her, for some reason. Hint: Lamest boobs ever. Like, flatter than Wendy. Anyone flatter than Wendy was just sad. Clyde drew the line there because at least Wendy could still kick your ass, and dating her would be like having a qualified ninjapirate around, who also had nice legs and made out aggressively. Okay, so maybe he was kind of jealous of Cartman. Whatever.
He turned around to see Craig and Tweek walking hand in hand. After about a week, their relationship still didn't make sense to him. How did apathy mix so well with spastic ADD?
And when the hell did his best friends suddenly decide to make out? Weak. Still, they were his friends, and he wasn't supposed to be so shocked about it. The rest of the school didn't care anyway. But for the past few days, in practically every class Clyde had with them, he'd had to witness some sickening act of affection or other. Eeew, Craig is feeling Tweek up. My brain hurts, would be Clyde's natural response.
The transition from "Oh, we're best friends!" to "Oh, we're making out with each other in socials!" had been awkward for Clyde to witness. Maybe it was because he had to sit directly across from them or something. He just didn't see Craig and Tweek meshing together that well (in any respect, because yes, he would go there). But what was he supposed to know, anyway? He was Clyde.
So he didn't say anything out of the ordinary. He just waited for them to catch up, with the dorkiest smile plastered on his face. It was the thing Clyde was sort of good at: acting like everything was normal. Which was never the case, especially when his stomach was twisting unpleasantly and he didn't know how to explain it away. It helped that he was extremely unobservant, what with being lost in his own wonderfully perverted world and all. He just knew that he was confused about... things, like life in general.
Tweek was still overdramatizing the dangers of slacking off, much to his boyfriend's amusement. "Christ, you're insane," murmured Craig affectionately. Clyde pondered the depths of that 'affection,' then decided against delving too far.
"Seriously, the test can't be that bad." Way to sound convincing, Craig.
"I dunno," said Clyde, unable to fight the urge to be a total dick, "we could fail!" He grinned widely as Tweek went on another spazz tangent thing. Craig flipped him off – again. After sending an obnoxious peace sign Craig's way, Clyde turned the corner to get to his locker. "Oh hey, Kyle."
The tall, sticklike Kyle Broflovski waved at him while trying to balance an armful of books, and Clyde grinned back. Then, there was a very anticlimactic thudding noise.
"Shit." The redhead gritted his teeth as one of his textbooks tumbled to the floor, dangerously close to Clyde's feet.
Clyde bent down to retrieve the eight-hundred page monstrosity for his acquaintance. He disregarded the fact that he'd voluntarily touched a physics book and asked, "Why're you even taking this?"
"University," Kyle replied, taking the book back from Clyde. "Thanks. Well, I still haven't decided what I'm gonna be yet, but I like science and math." He laughed when Clyde eyed him doubtfully. "I have to get going. I'm meeting Stan at the bus. I'll see you in math tomorrow? Damn parabolas."
"Okay, see you later, Kyle!" And yes, fuck those parabolas to hell. That was why it was always good to keep connections with smart people.
After Kyle left, Clyde let the teen angst come back in waves, and he bit his lip and tried to blink back the tears. Sixteen year old guys with working dicks did not cry. At least, that's what Craig told him.
Goddamn, he was a lonely SOL.
Clyde hated opening his locker. It was extremely difficult to spin the numbers just right, especially when he was distracted. Currently he was wallowing in the pain of being single, and in a Tweek-worthy spasm of panic, Clyde began to fear perpetual single-dom. WTF NOOOOOO.
He was squinting and poking his tongue out of his mouth at this point, and he was still getting the combo wrong. He wasn't the smartest kid in the school – that was Kyle's job – but this shouldn't have been so fucking impossible.
"Damn, Clyde, that's the saddest thing I've seen all week."
The boy-without-a-cool-hat ignored Craig's sudden appearance and continued glaring at his lock. "Son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath, trying to stifle the redness creeping up his cheeks. It was embarrassing to have to struggle this much with a lock. It was worse still, when those familiar hands (not that they'd ever done anything to Clyde except flip him off, of course) snatched the lock from his fumbling fingertips, and slid the numbers into place.
A triumphant, almost mocking, click. Then: "Jesus Christ, you fail at life. How the hell is that hard?" It is to be noted here that Craig, unlike Clyde, had the lock combination memorized. Even though it was technically Clyde's responsibility and all that jazz. What a responsible guy, that Craig dude.
"Thanks," Clyde mumbled. He'd been working on the lock for a full five minutes, and Craig's coming by just to one-up him was annoying. Very [secretly] appreciated, but annoying. "So, where's Tweek?" he asked, clamping his mouth shut just in time when the words "you guys don't mesh" almost slipped through. He really needed to work on filtering his speech. And Thomas thought he had it bad...
He grabbed his jacket and slammed the locker closed with more violence than necessary. Clyde was still thinking about his impending future of being single and never getting laid. He was worried, and a little irritated. Why am I still single? and other such self sympathizing thoughts ensued. For example, Oh damn it, I forgot where I put the donuts. Fuck.
"Tweek had to go to work," said Craig flatly, snapping the lock back on. "He would've forgotten if I didn't remind him. I'm just gonna watch Red Racer today."
Clyde blinked. "Oh, wow, okay." Typical meaningless answers. For God's sake, he had more pressing issues to address, like learning how to pick up girls! He was sure he was smooth, though.
"So," Craig's eyes bored into Clyde's wussy soul ("Dude, stop it."), "you want to come over? My parents doesn't care, they're at Ruby's piano concert or something." He smiled, unconsciously baring two rows of braces that sparkled ominously in the fluorescent hallway. It was like a horror movie, except actually scary.
But Clyde liked to be unconventional with his answers. "Hey Craig, did you ever get to second base with Tweek? Didja break his taste buds?" It slipped out without a second thought; those stupid braces were kind of distracting. Clyde wondered how French-kissing would go, and internally shuddered when he imagined all the blood –
"Clyde, the fuck." Somehow that was a statement that Clyde understood pretty clearly. And if by chance Clyde didn't get it, Craig's middle finger was very indicative of his feelings.
"O-Oh, that's a shame. Well, I guess I can come over. We have to walk, Token left already... And I need to drop off my shit at home before we –" he stuck his tongue out at a very bored looking Craig, "watch Red Racer. Please. You're such a fanboy."
Craig nodded. "Hurry up, it starts at four."
The walk home wasn't as treacherously painful and shitty as he'd anticipated, which was nice. After all, November in South Park was cold. And lame. Still, he wasn't freezing to death. Clyde was beginning to think that the scarf was a pretty damn cool invention. But man, he seriously needed to get his driver's license. Depending on Token was starting to make him feel like a needy chick, and that did nothing for his libido.
God, he needed a girlfriend.
"Sooooo, I haven't watched Red Racer since grade four," he confessed. He was more into downloading porn than watching crappily animated cartoons, after all. Sure, lesbian cheerleaders were getting a little vanilla, but they were in high-def – unlike Red Racer.
Craig gave him the ultimate fanboy death glare (yet another blank stare). "Yeah, I bet," he finally replied, without the faintest hint of an actual smile, "but there's gonna be a marathon running all day. I am soooo happy."
"Who watches it anyway? Like, five year olds?" Clyde smiled into his scarf.
"Five year olds, and me," Craig said pointedly. He poked Clyde in the shoulder. "And now you." Craig spoke with such conviction that Clyde was forced to believe it.
He sighed. "What, is Tweek too grown up to watch it with you?"
"Usually Tweek distracts me from watching Red Racer." Craig smirked, quirking his eyebrows suggestively.
"Dude." It came out in a disbelieving squeak. The shorter teen ran a hand through his messy bedhead and screwed his eyes shut. Niiiiiice imagery right there, Craig. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Hey, I wonder how it goes with the braces though?
Imagining his friends making out with each other was weird, and the sanctity of his and Token's BFFness was being threatened. He hoped he and Token didn't randomly start dating – it would be a scandal for poor Heidi and her nonexistent tits. "Oh God, my brain just melted."
Red Racer's biggest fan just grinned and flipped the bird to no one in particular. "Douche."
"Just sayin'," Clyde replied, in lieu of a snappy comeback.
They rounded a corner, and in a few moments they reached the Donovans' front door. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, ignoring the bright candy wrappers that spilled out onto the pavement. Craig didn't bother to hide his amusement as he watched the brunet twist the key in the wrong direction.
"You'd make the shittiest thief ever."
"Yeah, but what can you do about it?" Finally the lock clicked open, and Clyde shot the other boy an exultant glance. "Do you wanna come in for a sec? I just need to put my books away."
"Okay, whatever." Craig pulled his phone out to check the time. "Good thing I live like, two blocks away. Hurry your ass up, douchebag."
Craig had finally grown out of the nasal voice, as he'd decided it was a good idea to take Claritin before going to school. As Clyde would say, "Dude, imagine if you were like, 'Just wait, I need to blow my nose' in the middle of making out!" The obnoxious, commanding tone stayed, though. Clyde thought it was a good voice to use for some boring, meditative dictatorship. As for him... well, the pills didn't do shit. But he figured he was allergic to South Park, and that was as good an explanation as any, right?
He ran up the stairs to his room, and Craig followed silently. The backpack was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, the blow-up poster of Liane Cartman was gazed at lovingly for a millisecond – and Craig suddenly stated loudly that it was fifty seconds to the show.
Get back to reality, d00d. Seriously, like, please.
"Wait, I need to get some candy." His tone was beseeching and rather pathetic.
Craig's eyes narrowed; and Clyde could hear a voice in his head, amidst the swirling YAY PORN! thoughts of his consciousness.
I'm going to kill you.
"Dude, I'm in withdrawal," protested the brunet, throwing his hands up hopelessly. "I need that chocolate, damn it!" He flinched when the words came out in a whine, but stiiiillllllll.
"Um, Clyde, I didn't say anything," remarked Craig impassively. His eyebrows were raised in polite concern. "Just hurry up, please?"
Clyde saw his friend bite back a scowl, because he knew Craig hated being polite. The teen smiled apologetically, and padded into the kitchen to grab a handful of chocolate bars. "Sorry, I could've sworn I just heard you threatening to kill me." He cracked a sheepish grin. Must have been getting weird stuff caught up in his subconscious.
"Careful, you'll end up like Tweek," Craig said knowledgably.
"Yeah, don't I know it," Clyde assented, shoving the candy into his coat pocket. And then what, I'll be gay for Craig Tucker? Yeah, whatever.
He jumped down the stairs and leapt for the door. "'Kay, let's go."
He saw Craig's lips twist into an irrepressible smirk. "Give me the key. You can't handle locking the door."
Clyde attempted to do the Craig and flip him off, but he used his index finger by mistake.
They went two blocks down, turned left, and walked straight into South Park's awfully pun-tastic Hero Complex. Complete with a giant shiny sign. Most places named their co-ops after birds and shit, or inanimate objects like tinsel or – something. But the Mayor had wanted to be creative, and, well. Hot damn. As far as Clyde knew, however, Craig did not have a penchant for saving people in distress. What a disappointment.
"It's not that funny," hissed Craig. "It's not my fault I had to move here. Co-ops are easier to deal with. And Christ, you've been here before, it's not a surprise."
Clyde shook with silent laughter. The mental images of Craig randomly rescuing people were still enough to make him crack up. Craig, in a Red Racer spandex suit, methodically saving people from burning houses and muttering "meh" at useful intervals. Yes, thought Clyde triumphantly.
"I guess I should stop being such a dick about this sometime, huh?" Snicker. "But did they have to make it so stupid sounding? Hey, stop flipping me off!"
Without further ado, Craig yanked Clyde's arm and dragged his annoying little friend through the door. "I really don't care."
"Man, hanging out with you sucks."
With the utmost nonchalance, they kicked their shoes off. Brown slip-on loafers ("Apparently there was a sale at my Dad's store? I mean, I should probably know, I work there... Huh.") and hard to lace Converse knockoffs ("Well, these were four bucks.").
Shiny braces boy smiled in anticipation; Red Racer and Tweek Tweak were the only things that impassioned him so.
Hatless bedhead crybaby sighed and accepted his fate.
Red Racer was a horrible, horrible show. Clyde had no trouble discerning why his aptly ranked second best friend was so obsessed with it.
"I'm still not getting why you'd pick this over porn," Clyde repeated, for the fifth time. The credits for the twelfth episode were rolling, and he didn't even know what the show was about. Okay, maybe he knew one thing. "Dude, Pink Racer is such a flat-chest, swear to God."
Craig chucked a pillow into his face.
"Shut up and sing the theme song with me." The brunet glared at his friend mulishly – but sucked in a breath and stumbled through the words.
One, two, three. "Red Raaacer, he's the fastest in the league – shit wait, there's a guitar solo here... wait, Clyde!" Between Clyde's voice cracks on all the high notes, and Craig's monotone but enthusiastic grooooving, the theme song was irreparably slaughtered. It was the opposite of awesome. :(
After a moment of recuperation Clyde spoke up blearily, as though Red Racer had gotten him wasted. "I shouldn't have tried headbanging to that." He hugged the pillow to his chest and yawned.
"Fuck, that was bad." Craig rested his chin on his knees and gazed at the screen attentively. He pulled the Red Racer comforter up so that it settled nicely around his shoulders. The first bit of dialogue opened the scene, and a dreamy smile stretched across his face. "Oh sweet, this is my favourite episode. You have to watch this."
Clyde thought he tried too hard to humour Craig sometimes, but he nodded amiably and fixed his eyes on the unfolding drama. "Does Pink Racer go topless? Yeah, it'd be my favourite episode too." Judging from the megadeath glare he received, he decided to wait for a commercial break before venturing to open his mouth again.
-REDRACERREDRACERREDRACER-
"No," said Red Racer, sliding his visor on, "I won't let you sabotage the tournament!"
Dragster laughed sinisterly, and the screen went dark. "You're no match for me, Red Racer," was the malevolent reply.
-REDRACERREDRACERREDRACER-
"Uh, dude, that was totally cheesy. And Dragster sucks. Oh, and there's gonna be another transformation scene, isn't there?"
Craig gave him a patented 'And your opinion means what to me?' look and flipped him off with both hands in a manner that somehow suggested he was about to wax philosophical. "One day, you'll develop this thing called 'good taste,' Clyde. I know it'll be confusing at first, but once you look past that," he shrugged, "you'll realize just how great Red Racer is. And I won't forget to say that I told you so."
Clyde wanted to whine. He really, really did.
"Well, just so you know, you – um, suck." Clyde's eyes flicked toward the kitchen's microwave clock. It was already ten – he'd spent six hours watching Red Racer reruns. It was time to do something. "I should probably go soon. My Mom will kill me, I totally forgot to call. You know, Red Racer's just that interesting –"
Unfortunately for Clyde, he had the worst timing in the history of ever.
"Heeey, Tweek." Craig was trying to be suave or something. So Clyde figured he'd just been ignored. And what was up with Craig's sex voice anyway? It was pathetic. Totally not convincing at all. "How was your shift? Really, you saw gnomes at work?" The dark-haired teen shook his head and pressed the cellphone closer to his ear. "Yeah, you can come over if you want to – okay, see you in a bit!"
In a failing sort of attempt to be witty, Clyde quipped, "Wow, your two favourite things ever, in one day." Should I just go now? he wondered. Red Racer was bad enough, but Red Racer while Craig and Tweek did couple-y things and made out? He wasn't too old to be immature. Dude, ew –
Craig turned to face him. "Tweek's coming over. So what were you saying?"
"Uh, I was just gonna tell you I have to go home in a bit." The brunet stuck his thumb into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully on a much gnawed-at fingernail.
"Oh, that's fine," Craig waved it off, "Tweek can keep me company."
Clyde nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but Craig was on the phone again. Geez.
"Hey, Tweeker?"
Clyde raised his eyebrows at the nickname but didn't disrupt Craig's phone conversation, opting to eavesdrop. He was always amazed by how patient Craig was with Tweek. Then again, Token always made ridiculous exceptions for him. Like that time Red broke up with him and he cried for six days straight...
"What about Kevin Stoley? Huh? No, he doesn't live with me, Tweek. Mine is three-five-nine-one. I think you have the wrong complex."
Wordless screams and several frantic outbursts on the other end, as per usual.
Craig rubbed his eyes. "I'm gonna go outside and find you, okay?" he reassured his hysterical boyfriend. "Nuh-uh, Clyde, you stay here and finish the episode."
The brunet flicked a petulant wrist in Craig's direction, only to be accused of being a fag. "Wha – But – Not cool! Fine." He was trying to think of a way to describe the irony of Craig's totally uncool insult, but words failed him. Clyde sat down again in defeat.
Well, maybe Pink Racer would forget to wear her bra in the next scene.
Surprisingly, it only took Craig five minutes to find Tweek.
Clyde figured this out by looking at the microwave clock, whose friendly green numbers were glowing in a very mathy way. Then he paused to live vicariously through the painfully awkward couple making out in the doorway. It might've been hot, if Tweek wasn't making such strangled noises, and if he wasn't taller than Craig. The proportions would probably be better for someone Clyde'sheight anyway...
His brown eyes widened and he snapped his head back when he realized just what the fuck he'd been thinking.
"Yeah, so, uh, I'm going!" he announced loudly. He stood up rigidly, trying not to bite his lip.
It takes a manly man man man man to carefully walk around two of his best friends, who are meshed together in a totally not-platonic way, open the door, and close it without choking too hazardously on his own chocolatey saliva. Just FYI. (Yes, Clyde choked quite hazardously.)
As he tried to burn the memories from his brain's vulnerable scar tissues, Clyde put on his super serial face. His eyes narrowed in a really meaningful way; and his lips formed a thin, determined line. He walked out of the complex with one thought, and only one thought, on his mind.
Time to get a girlfriend.
Exeunt; EPIC SIGH.
Oh, Clyde. /heart. I hope you like how I've made Red Racer into a Power Rangers ripoff. I just have a soft spot in my heart for low budget spandex costumes.
Thanks for reading! I hope I remember to update.