"W-want me to gecha somethin'?"

"No."

"...want me to turn the TV off to talk?"

"God, no."

"Well then, um, whyd'ya invite me over, Eric?..."

"Oh Sweet Jesus, Butters..." I slant my head to the side to look at him, dumbfounded, "Haven't you ever just 'hung out'?"

He fumbles with his knuckles, an old childish habit from when I can first remember, "N-no, my old man told me that-that if you hung out, well, you'd get s-super AIDS..."

"..." I let my mouth hang open before snapping it shut, "No, ugh Butters..." I try to form the right words in my head so that someone with the innocence of Leopold could understand, "I don't mean..." my cat jumps off the couch I currently occupy, "What your dad means is..."

The blonde cocks his head tot he side, waiting, God that bright blue sweatshirt is bothering me...

"OK. You know strip bars?" he nods and sits down next to me, "Well... if you go there too much and, um... yeah, I think that's what your Father means..." I take a sip of my Pepsi,

"You mean if you get laid a lot?"

And promptly spit it out, "Wh-Wha-? I.."

"Yes, Eric, I-I know what sex is, I'm n-not a baby any mo-more..." well, he's right... Butters is 16 now, I guess he knows the whole secret to making babies... "And I'd never go to one of those places anyways..."

"I can understand after what happened to you at Raisins..."

"Nah." He shakes his head, giving me a view of his right eye, which was covered by a silky, platinum bang and blue eye shadow, matching the other,

"...?" I become interested and lean backwards, putting my arms around the back of the couch, ultimatly, around his shoulder,

"I think they're degrading, not only to the women. I see descent men go inside there and they come out bad people." he shakes his head again., "Can't they all see that they have wives at home that love them? And...and kids? What about them? Does it mean anything to them that they had kids with someone who loves them!?" he brings his palms to his eyes and digs them deep, trying to clear out any tears, I frown,

"...You can tell me, you know...it's better to get these things off of your chest..." In all truth, I've never seen Butters cry before, not like this, not angry-crying.

"I think you get the gist of it, Eric..." he buries himself deeper into the couch, turning his head into the crook in my neck,

"...Your dad's an asshole."

"Mhmm..." we sit there for a little while, I feel a bit awkward, but when he starts to lightly breathe through his mouth I know he's asleep, I can relax and watch TV. Maybe 2 hours into him rolling over and sleeping in my lap he opens an eye, "Hey, Eric?"

"Hmm?" I don't look away from the TV, but I tug lightly on his dangling star earrings,

"Do you think I'll be like my dad when I get older?" His voice is distant, and fragile, Butters straightens out his blue zip up jacket, I think it looks girly on him, but maybe he likes that. I glance down at him,

"No, Butters, not one bit."