A/N: Fff no better time to start another story, amirite? Yeah.. go me.

Nghrrp.

Whatever, idk. This kind of came to me as a drabble idea originally, but then it kind of developed into a story. There will probably be more chapters.

I think I just needed to get a stalkerfiction out of my system.

I also surprisingly don't glorify Craig a lot in my literature, considering he's my favourite character. But whatever.

Hope you like it so far.

Enjoy~

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He doesn't have too many or too few freckles. There's just this perfect number. I count them in class, from behind him, where the smell of some fragrance of TAG bodyspray and Dove shampoo linger over my desk. On the left side of his neck, there's one hundred and ninety-four that go over the shoulder, that i've noticed from the few times he's worn a wife beater in class. Occasionally a few disappear here and there with the seasons I guess. On the right side there's two hundred-something. Usually class is over by the time I get to two hundred and seventy.

His hair is always clean. Everything about Kyle is clean - it's just something that he is. A clean person. Well kept - pampered, even. Overall an attractive person in the line of hygienics. Actually, I think that he's the cleanest person in the school. Even more than the girls.

I'm passing advanced English this year and it's all because of Kyle. Because he sits at the front of the class and I sit behind him. I have to - I wanted to, so I did. I think maybe it's unhealthy, how much I enjoy sitting behind the red head... but I love it.

I love Kyle Broflovski.

Maybe. Not in the, in-love sense, really. Not even in the 'oh, Kyle? I love that guy!' sense. No, it's maybe not love. Maybe just an infatuation. Whatever it is, it's lasted since the seventh grade, when I got partnered with him on a field trip to the zoo. We sat beside eachother on the school bus and it was like... I don't even know. He's just attractive. I'm sorry that all I can come up with but, dude, I'm not a man of big words. Just metaphors and boring shit. I like people who don't like to do anything too complex. Kyle is one of these people, his friends are just a minor distraction in my big plan. But I want him.

He entices me.

"Craig, are you sniffing my hair?"

"No. I'm copying your notes." I raise my middle finger for emphasis.

That was too fucking close.

He glances at my paper as though to double check that I'm not actually sniffing his hair like I totally was before shaking it off and turning away. Fuck, that was way too fucking close. I lean back and start to pretend to write. Shit, maybe I should just write down what I'm thinking. No, that's a terrible idea. If he actually tries to read my notes he'll know that I've been sniffing his hair. That I've been sniffing him generally since we were bus seat buddies on the way to the Centre of Animal Captivity (as I like to call it).

My pencil just broke. I think I'm writing this Shakespeare shit too hard.

What am I gonna do now?

I raise my eyes to the back of Kyle's head. His curls poke out from under his green ushanka and I run my tongue over my chapped lower lip back and forth for a few moments before hitting him in the back of the shoulder. Hard.

"What the fuck do you want, Craig?"

I hold up my pencil.

He glares, but digs into his case and hands me one reluctantly.

It has his name written across it.

That's so fucking hilarious I could almost laugh. Almost.

"Make sure you give it back, dude, it's one of my last ones."

I start to chew on the eraser as I raise my middle finger at him again with risen brows, and he rolls his eyes and turns away angrily, starting to write his notes even faster.

Oh my god, he's never getting this pencil back.