Blackout

by Courtanie

When a fight turns violent, Kyle sends Craig out of his home and his life. However, when attacked at random, Craig appears to be the only one who can help him manage the mental breaks he can't seem to escape. Kyle wonders if he just misjudged his ex-boyfriend and should let him back into his life. Or maybe it's the drugs he's being slipped telling him that. N/C, violence; Cryle.

1. Chapter 1

The faucet still needed fixed, shifting between sputtering like a weakly functioning parotid gland and gushing to rebound off dishes hard enough to splash the unfortunate user's shirt. For now, it seemed to be the former, hardly doing the job well enough to clean a single set of cookware. The barely-wet Teflon in his skillet had lasted a good five years of precise, hand washed care, but from the look of the scrambled egg stuck to the bottom, its days were finally numbered. It was a shame, too, getting the set as a gift from his mother when he'd first moved into his own apartment, finally free from the underclassman college days of nothing but hidden hotplates and nonflammable bowls, trying to make due to avoid the overpriced, poorly prepared smorgasbord of mediocrity in the student cafeteria. She'd made sure every inch of his new, fairly modest kitchen was stocked properly, knowing she'd be losing a battle with him regarding home décor being 'essential' as she'd put it. On this, they could at least agree: A home with an underwhelming kitchen made for an underwhelming life.

Sponge doused with Dawn and elbow grease, Kyle bit his inner cheek as he scrubbed, fingers bending awkwardly as they tried to accommodate his force to save his pan. He knew he could leave it to soak, but he also knew if he did that, it wouldn't get cleaned until he was making dinner tomorrow and already stationed at the sink. The last thing he wanted to think about was floating residuals from the night prior waiting to greet him, more than ready to slimily stick to his knuckles and work him into a nice, long bout of disgust and regret for letting it get to that point. Craig called it having to micromanage everything in his life, plan it down to the smallest of details and getting overly frustrated when his agenda wasn't seen through to the letter. Kyle called it being a responsible adult, knowing how to balance a clean, happy home alongside his work schedule so he had free time now and again without the nagging knowledge of the pile of unfolded laundry atop the dryer.

How Kyle managed to live alongside someone so casual as to leave his unrinsed coffee thermos on the table and claim 'he'd deal with it later', he still hadn't been able to figure out.

That query seemed louder than ever as he felt those pumice-shaded eyes staring him down from the small table set in the corner of the kitchen. He could sense the frustration building within his boyfriend, knowing that he himself wasn't on much of a better path. Dinner had been tense and nothing but muttering at each other to pass salt and pepper, staring down at the plastic tabletop and bitterly gnashing their teeth through eggs and toast. Didn't matter, Kyle reasoned, because he was right, and letting Craig think otherwise was completely out of the question.

Craig shifted back into his vinyl-coated chair, the fabric groaning uneasily with his movements as he leaned his back against the wall, watching Kyle moving. He certainly wasn't hard to read, seeing the subtle bouncing of his foot, heel never coming into contact with the floor as he redirected his anger into a jittery tic. A year and a half of dating, five months of living together, and a lifetime of at least acknowledging one another's existence had made Craig more than aware of Kyle's telltale signs; like how he ran his fingers through his hair when nervous or self-conscious. How he would straighten up and his hands would wring and pat one another in an offbeat rhythm when he was excitable. How green eyes would darken and cinnamon lashes would obscure the color change as a deep blush overshadowed a sprinkle of freckles when he found himself craving Craig's complete attention.

And then, there was this irritating display. That damn foot bouncing, the way his shoulders and spine stiffened, head held high despite his dish work laying at stomach-height. There was no limber relief to getting his work accomplished so he could rest for the night; there was no casual, flirtatious banter that he'd become so accustomed to. No, he was instead met with resounding silence aside from a slavering sink and deep, counted breaths seeping through flaring nostrils.

Craig's arms crossed, finger tapping steadily against a forearm as he tried to figure out where to go from here. That was the problem with them, as it always had been: They were both so fucking stubborn. The difference was Kyle would eventually boil over; the silent treatment didn't work so well for one so proficient at screaming someone into submission. And at that point, it would be a tossup to see who won. Craig was always the variable. If he could keep his cool, he could possibly simmer down the feisty, temperamental man and get him to finally crack that Craig wasn't the main issue bogging him down, he'd just pushed him over the edge. Or, if he lost his own steady reserve, Kyle would win, because Craig didn't know how to handle himself when he finally lost that cooled demeanor. Words would stumble and he'd be lost in a flurry of emotion that he wasn't suited for dealing with, far less experienced with using acerbity as a weapon.

Chest expanding with a firm breath, tongue gliding over his hard palate, Craig braced himself, keeping his voice nice and chilled. "Do you need help?"

Kyle gave the subtlest of flinches at the sudden noise before falling back into his tensed state. "No. Thank you," he grumbled.

He figured. Kyle didn't usually accept his help even when they weren't caught in the midst of war, but that was something that Craig didn't want used against him in the impending argument. Didn't want Kyle to claim 'he only thought of himself' as he had time and again in the past. So long as he set that foundation of offering, then such a statement held no water.

Grey eyes flickered down to Kyle's coffee cup still resting on the table, half-full and lukewarm as it rested inside a mug circled with musical notes. A gift to high school senior band students that Kyle refused to let go of after so many years, knowing he fucking earned it with suffering through years of enduring torment from his peers from being a flautist at the insistence of his mother. Kyle had informed him the first time he'd seen his mug that the notes were laid out in a chromatic scale, regaling him with the story of how every time they played a C, Bebe would elbow him and smirk. After all, it was the equivalent of a B sharp, Bebe declaring that to be 'Kyle's note because it followed his philosophy'. Kyle had told him that story at least four times, but Craig never minded the repeat. He filled the silence that Craig so often left, and watching him get starry eyed and nostalgic or laughing quietly to himself was never a terrible thing. Kyle in a good mood meant good things for him as well, that calmed state usually resulting in Kyle crawling onto his lap and letting his mouth become preoccupied with other, far more interesting noises.

Craig was pretty sure those pleasant sounds weren't on the playbill for tonight, however.

His focus turned back to Kyle as he finally grabbed a dishtowel to dry off his defeated skillet opponent, letting out that trademarked frustrated sigh. "Kyle," he said thickly, seeing the bristle as he remained honed in on his work. "Why are you so pissed at me?"

Kyle shook his head subtly. He would ask this. He fucking knew why he was angry, but Craig had that far-too-annoying habit of wanting everything spelled out for him. Helped him look like the reasonable one if he could grasp at certain phrases to dismantle Kyle's argument and make him seem like he was just overreacting. "Why do you think?" he asked back, keeping his tone unyielding.

Craig's head fell back against the wall with a small thunk. "Because I'm going out of town?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, finally snapping down on the faucet handle and whirling around to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as he stared at his boyfriend. "No. Not because you're fucking leaving as a whole."

Lips twisted, Craig's finger picking up pace against his arm. "Then what?"

"Ugh," he groaned, teeth gnashing down against his tongue, foot bouncing a mile a minute. "Craig. What's happening next week?"

"I'm leaving."

He glared, "No. What were we supposed to do next week?" Craig shifted just enough for Kyle to see the uncomfortableness, knowing he had him in the guilty corner. "Gonna fuckin' answer me?" he demanded.

Craig straightened up, shoulders rolling back and forcing out a long sigh. "It's your mother. Not mine," he said plainly.

"Yes but she invited us both to go to dinner," he narrowed his gaze. "She's making the effort to get to know you, why won't you fucking take her up on it?"

He frowned, "Because she doesn't want to 'know me'," he quoted. "She's looking for more shit to use against me."

"Oh get over yourself," he drawled, temper beginning to rapidly spiral through his tense form and radiate throughout his limbs. "Maybe you wouldn't think that way if you ever made an effort. But no. You met them once and now every time I go to see them, you miraculously have a fucking trip to go on!"

"She fucking hated me, why would I deal with that again?" he asked, starting to catch a lick of fiery rebellion all his own.

"Because my family is important to me?!" he stressed. "And she didn't like you because you refused to say more than two things when she asked you shit!"

Craig watched him carefully, seeing the subtle heaving of his chest and the slight tremble of his jaw and shoulders. He was reaching his tipping point, and Craig knew there was no chance of avoiding it this time around. "Look, your mother hates me. I hate your mother. It fucking happens. Why start up a potential war when we can just avoid it?"

Kyle's teeth gritted, brow furrowing. "Craig. I have enough stress from her, I don't need you to kindle the fucking fire!"

"Then why go see her at all?"

"Because she's still my mother!" he shouted, finally bubbling over and slamming an open palm onto the counter behind him. "And I want to see my fucking dad and brother! Just because you don't care about your family doesn't mean all of us are like that!"

"Oh please," he scoffed. "All you do is bitch about them when you see them."

"Well yeah, because I deal with them asking where the fuck you are when I go see them!" he countered, Craig flinching in the slightest at the venom spewing from his tone. "I spend the entire time dealing with my mother asking why I put up with you and didn't stay with someone like Bebe who fucking loved seeing them!"

"Do you tell her it's because you're a slut for cock?" he asked flatly.

Kyle's fist clenched, rapidly beating against the countertop and trying to not lose his shit and start throwing things onto the floor. He closed his eyes, a growl escaping with a forced, tremoring exhale. "Why do you do this?" he asked, voice sinking into a low vibrato.

"Why do you act like a fucking bitch about all this shit?" he scoffed, getting up off his chair and moving to the front of the table, leaning back against it to look at him straight on. "So I don't like your family, it fucking happens."

"It's really important to me," he repeated, eyes still closed and fist still rapping with nervous energy. "I don't like fucking Clyde or football but I still go out with you when he wants to watch the game."

"And you spend the entire time sucking Marsh and McCormick's dicks, so don't act so victimized," Craig bit, Kyle's eyes snapping back open and taking on a dangerous blaze.

"Fucking excuse me?" he hissed.

"You heard me."

Kyle looked up at the ceiling, lips curling into an infuriated, twitching smile, unable to sort the influx of emotion coursing through him at once from such a juvenile statement. Craig watched him cautiously. He'd stepped over a line. Kyle didn't make that face unless he really fucked up. "They're my best friends," he said slowly, fingers changing course from their tapping tic to wrapping firmly around the edge of the counter to hold himself back. "I like seeing them. I'm not sucking their dicks," he spat. "But then again, how the fuck would you know the difference? You're so fucking antisocial you probably do think anyone I talk to with respect is an affair I'm having since you can't comprehend fucking talking to anyone you're not fucking!"

"So you think I'm fucking Clyde?" he quirked his brow at the stupidity of the notion.

"No, because I think he only speaks to you because he feels like he's obligated," he drawled. "You don't call him, he calls you."

Craig let out an angry sigh, rubbing his temple lightly and biting down hard on his lip as he looked towards the tiled floor. "So I don't like socializing. Neither do you."

"But I do anyway! And I do like going out and seeing people!" he bit. He finally broke from the counter and walked up in front of him, staring up the good half a foot separating them and cocking his hip, arms crossing firmly. "All I'm asking for is some fucking compromise."

He raised his eyes from the floor to meet that intense green glare, returning the expression. "That isn't compromise. I fucking let McCormick and Marsh come in and out of here, that's my level of compromise."

"Okay, fuck you," he spat. "Kenny is your fucking friend, too, and Stan's never done a goddamn thing to you!" He paused and blinked before his expression darkened further. "Oh, and you 'let them'? I'm sorry, I didn't realize that you dictate who I associate with. Do I need a fucking permission slip next time?"

He rolled his eyes, "Kyle, I didn't fucking mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

Craig groaned, running his hands down his face. He should've just went to bed. "They annoy the piss out of me, but I don't fucking say anything-"

"Bullshit!" he interjected. "You always tell them how much they piss you off! You don't have a fucking filter, Tucker!"

"Oh yeah, and you're one to judge someone for that, Broflovski."

A bony finger prodded against his chest, Craig looking from the appendage to the enraged owner. "I do filter myself, because trust me, there's a lot of shit you do that I let slip on by!"

"Like fucking what?!" he snapped, finally hitting his own edge, the concept of keeping his cool but a forgotten memory left to rot in the dust.

"Uh, how about talking to Stan and Ken like they're pieces of shit?" he stared at him. "How about you letting me handle every fucking problem by myself?!"

"You fucking yell at me if I try to help!" he shot back.

He snarled, "No. I yell if your solution is 'deal with it and stop being a pussy'!"

"Well? Maybe you should try it sometime," he said cruelly.

Kyle inhaled sharply through his teeth, bringing his hands back towards himself and linking his fingers together, biting his knuckle and letting deep, red imprints settle nicely into ashen skin. "Craig," he forced out, entire body tremoring with fury. "All I want… is for you to stop thinking about just you. That's literally all I'm asking for."

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I do think about others, I just don't want forced into situations I don't like!"

"You don't like any situation unless it's me making you food or me helping you with work or me sucking your goddamn dick!"

"Oh, yeah, because those pain you, don't they? Thank you for your oh-so-noble sacrifice of whining for cock because I know how much you hate it."

His fingers unlinked, hands jerking a bit in front of him and another seething smile plastering on his slim face. "You are missing my point."

"No, I fucking get your point, Broflovski," he sneered. "You're a sensitive little bitch who wants to run off and cry because I don't want to talk to your mom or be as close of buttbuddies as you are to McCormick and Marsh. Because if things aren't fucking perfect for you then it's a disaster."

Kyle forced himself to take a small step back, hands raising and scratching roughly through plush, red curls. A classic move, redirect the fury, let the scalp nerves take the brunt of his frustration so he didn't lose himself entirely. "I just want things to be easier, why can't you just fucking accommodate the few things I ask you to do?!" he pleaded. "Jesus, I don't fucking nag you to do chores. I don't scream at you for putting your nasty-ass feet on the coffee table or something else fucking ridiculous! I just want some fucking peace in my life and you're so fucking adamant that I don't deserve even that!"

Craig scoffed, "Not my fault you invite trouble into your fucking life! It doesn't count as someone else's fault when all your problems stem from your whiny bullshit!"

Kyle paused, lip trembling and eye twitching. "You're right," he started, voice dripping with a toxicity that Craig wondered if he would suffocate from. "Because I invited your problematic ass into my life, didn't I?! Didn't fucking listen to anyone when they told me you're nothing but a piece of fucking shit who didn't deserve my time!" he screamed, emotion spiraling out of control and Craig building right along with him at the insinuation, baring his teeth a bit as they grated against one another. Kyle pressed on, not catching the shift in Craig's demeanor as he wandered through the haze of his own rushing psyche. "Didn't listen to Stan. Or Ken. Or my mother. Didn't fucking listen when they all told me you're an antisocial fucktard who'd do nothing but hold me back from living my fucking life!"

"Kyle. Shut up," he warned.

"Why? So you can fucking just go and walk away from the problem?" he huffed out a sarcastic laugh. "Because I mean that's the only way to solve an issue in your opinion, right? Just turn your sorry ass away and leave me to pick up the pieces like a weak-willed little bitch!"

"I'm serious," he seethed, vision beginning to blear with asperity, fists clenching and unable to cease their shaking.

He growled, "So am I. Why don't you just take your bullshit and shove it up your ass with the fucking stick stuck up there?! I don't know why I thought talking to you would accomplish fucking anything! All you care about is what you want," he poked him again jarringly against the chest. "That's all that ever matters. Well, guess what, Buddy, few people in the world give a flying shit about you and you're fucking up with one of the few who do, so drop the holier-than-thou-art bullshit!"

Another firm poke snapped something in Craig, rage flying off the handle faster than he could keep up with and guiding him through a reactionary flinch forward. Kyle blinked, staring up into glossed, empty gray eyes and a wrathful stare, poking hand curling back against his chest and taking a small step back. He'd never seen such an expression on Craig, lost in its trance and unable to find humanity in the look. Movement caught his peripheral, glancing and barely managing to gasp at a fist heading towards his face, arm trying to raise but too slow before knuckles slammed into his cheekbone. A loud yelp escaped him, too shocked to catch himself as he flew backwards, skull crashing against the floor and sending an instantaneous ripple of pain through the bone. He groaned, eyes scrunched and unable to open as the world seemed to come to a halt around him. He curled into himself, uninjured cheek resting against the cooled floor beneath him as he tried to find somewhat of a comprehension of what'd just happened.

Craig stared at him, frozen with his fist throbbing as he watched Kyle shaking and trying to find a stance again. The world slowly began to creep back into view around him, pupils shrinking at his boyfriend so shocked and vulnerable looking on the floor. "Shit… SHIT!" he spat. "Kyle? Kyle, fuck, are you all right?" he asked, bending down and grabbing his arm.

Kyle's eyes shot open, his own fist curling and launching straight up against Craig's mouth. He dropped him back to the floor, clutching over the impact point and yelling through his fingers, tasting blood oozing from his bottom lip. Kyle scrambled onto his knees, backing against the counter and staring at him in a chaotic expression of pain, fright, and animosity. "Leave," he spat.

Craig looked at him with a wince, "What?" he asked, muffled by his palms.

"I want you to leave. I want you out of my fucking apartment!" he screamed, blindly reaching up and snagging the edge of the counter, struggling to stand himself back up against the horrid pounding of his temples.

"Look, I'm sorry!" he insisted, dropping his hands and unable to control his glaring at him. "You pissed me off!"

"And you piss me off all the time and I never hit you, so I want you gone!" he snapped. "You can get your shit next week when I'm at my parents', but I want you out!"

"You can't fucking kick me out!" he snapped, taking a step forward.

Kyle's eyes widened and his breath hitched, reaching across the sink and grabbing his freshly scrubbed skillet. "Come near me and I'll bash your fucking head in," he warned. "Get a bag. Get clothes. And get. Out."

"Kyle-"

"You have two minutes or I'm calling the cops, Tucker!" he demanded.

Craig stopped, staring at the panic circulating Kyle's eyes, the skillet quivering in his hold. His expression dropped again, Kyle flinching at the same blank fury taking hold over his irises yet again. "Fine," he said sharply, holding up his hands. "Be the little bitch you always are. This is why no one but me can stand you, Broflovski."

"Get out," he repeated, teeth clattering at the nothingness staring him down.

Craig hesitated before snarling and pivoting on his heel. Kyle watched after him with a gulp as he stormed through the apartment and ripped open the front door, slamming it behind him and shaking the light fixture above Kyle's head. The room fell into an eerie silence, filled with nothing but Kyle's pained, panicked air seeping over the echo of screams fading off and away.

Kyle took a shaking breath, keeping the pan held tightly in his grasp as he made way to the door himself, quickly bolting it shut and backing away from it, staring at the wooden surface and running a hand through his hair. The skillet dropped from his quaking fingers onto the carpet with a dull thud, Kyle hardly taking notice as he continued his way backwards, finding the couch and slowly lowering himself onto it, eyes not leaving the door. He couldn't wrap his brain around what'd just occurred, couldn't seem to believe the throbbing of his entire head, the pain jolting through his cheek.

He gulped again, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his phone, letting instinct lead him through as he tried to figure out where the fuck to go from here. Blankly, he looked down as he opened his messages.

To: Group chat; Stan M, Kenny M
'Can you guys come over? Possibly stay over just for tonight?'

He sent it off with a small sniff, curling his legs up to the side on the couch beside him and staring at the floor. He certainly hadn't thought this was where the night would lead, was more than prepared for the yelling but not to that extent. And he never thought Craig would have the stones to actually hit him. Kyle wasn't one for cowering at the first sign of a raised fist, but it was just different coming from someone he was dating.

Green narrowed dangerously. No. No more was. Had been. He wasn't dealing with that, wasn't about to provoke whatever temper he'd never seen until now and let Craig think it was fine and dandy. Too much pride on the line, too much self-respect to tie himself down to someone so willing to hit him just because Kyle trounced on his feelings or whatever. His phone buzzed briefly.

Stan M
'sure bro. or at least i can. everything aight?'

Kyle shook his head at Stan's word choice, annoyed by the lack of eloquence but gladdened to let some of that normalcy creep back in so soon.

Kyle B
'Not really. Craig and I really got into it and I kind of don't want to be alone right now.'

He watched the shifting bubble pop back up right away as one of them typed, Kyle knowing them well enough to know they were already on edge about him dating Craig of all people. Hearing about their fights definitely didn't help shape their opinions in a positive light any, regardless of how much Kyle had previously tried to convince them he was a good guy. Silly him; apparently this is what he deserved for just once giving into the temptation of something not quite so vanilla as previous flings.

Stan M
'wait how big a fight we talking?'

Kyle hesitated, letting his thumbs hover above the touchscreen. How much was he willing to tell them? Given, it probably wouldn't matter. If the way his face was pulsing was any indication, he was probably going to have a bruise before long, didn't exactly take much to coax one out of his damn skin. He chewed lightly on his lip, seeing that row of bubbles pop back up again.

Kenny M
'what'd that dickhead do now? Ky u ok?'

He couldn't help but smile sadly. They cared. At least he had them. If they punched him, he knew he damn well deserved it, it was a staple throughout a lifetime of friendship. But those rules changed once the prospect of building a life together was put on the table. Once the boundary between friends and something more was crossed, everything had to change, regardless of how much one may not want it to. Kyle sighed. They'd figure it out one way or the other, trying to tiptoe around it wouldn't result in anything but them yelling at him to his face about hiding this information. And apparently he really needed them, considering getting them over to his place was the first thing he thought of doing.

Kyle B
'No, Craig hit me. I told him to leave and if he comes back I don't want to deal with him by myself.'

Pride be damned for now. He needed them to rant to, to figure out if he'd overreacted and just not realized it. He needed them to talk him down, as they'd grown so accustomed to doing for one another. Given, they weren't exactly unbiased in this scenario, but their perspectives helped him work through a lot of his issues over the years. They could be his make or break point to putting his absolute final foot down. Another vibration caught his attention, glancing down and sighing through his nose.

Stan M
'holy fuck i'll kill him
where is he
i need to kill him'

Kyle B
'Look, don't bother with that I don't want this to get worse can you please just come over here?'

Stan M
'Yea i'm omw be there in 10. lock the door'

Kyle couldn't help a small huff of a laugh. That was Stan, his overprotective 'big brother' 'till the end. He knew he was in for some doting from the both of them, and they'd get on his nerves in a matter of minutes, but he'd appreciate it nonetheless.

Kenny M
'holy shit. ok i'm on my shift rn i'm off in bout an hour i'll head straight there. u need anything? what'd he hit? r u dizzy or anything?'

Kyle B
'He punched my face and I fell onto the floor. Not dizzy, my head just hurts. And thanks, but I don't think I need anything honestly.'

He leaned back, watching the dots pick up their dance again and letting out a sad sigh. Maybe that was a lie. He needed a pillow to scream into. He needed alcohol to drink away the misery beginning to slowly and firmly settle over him like mist. He needed something to sort out how he was starting to feel, both anger and sorrow duking it out for control. Kyle grimaced. He knew he should just be furious for being treated like that, not overwhelmingly upset that it'd all ended so abruptly. Maybe Craig had the right idea acting like a fucking robot half the time, emotions were stupid.

Kenny M
'ice wherever he hit, take some advil or somethin' for ur head. i'll get a pizza n beer or somethin when i leave. like stan said, keep the door locked we'll both stay the nite.'

Kyle snorted a bit. Sometimes he forgot he had two overprotective big brothers. Stan was there to threaten anyone down and Kenny was always on standby with a first aid kit and a redneck temper to boot. But that was appreciated, knowing that they wouldn't call him a fucking pussy for being a little on edge and just needing company. There would be no comments on his size lending to not being able to defend himself at such a sudden attack or telling him to drop his balls on the matter. No. Those kinds of comments came from Craig instead.

Kyle B
'Thanks, Ken. Will do.'

He closed out of his app and tossed the phone down beside him, glancing back at the door and heaving a deep, miserable sigh. Well. Everyone said they'd never make it past a month. They'd definitely beaten that estimation by a good, long while. But now Kyle was just left to wonder whether or not he should have just taken everyone's advice and cut it off sooner, if Craig was really worth all the arguments and building up to this point.

His hands clasped around his arms, slowly rubbing his skin as his sight drifted onto the floor. Okay, that was ridiculous. Of course it was worth it right up until that breaking point, he wasn't with him just because he didn't want to be lonely or something. Kyle groaned, leaning his aching head back and closing his eyes. Stan and Ken would help him figure this out. Maybe Craig would come swooping in with apologies out the ass and talk it out with him like an adult once they were both in a better frame of mind. And maybe Kyle would listen, should he find himself uncharacteristically forgiving of being treated like dirt.

But for now, he just didn't know. Apparently fate was just destined to swerve without his knowledge and he needed to merely buckle up and fight his way through it. All he wanted for now was his friends, a cup of coffee, and to forget that Craig fucking Tucker was ever involved in his goddamn life.