South Park © Matt & Trey.

Hey, look. More Kenny and Craig! I promise this won't be as tragic as "Concrete Kenny" was. A couple similar themes, though, per usual.

All in Kenny's POV, yet again.

"What the hell is that?" I ask Craig sourly after I spot what's dangling from between his lips.

The lunch bell just rang and this is usually where he loiters – the cement stairway behind the school. I guess it's where most of the pot heads and jack asses loiter, but today it's just me and Craig here.

He greets me with a middle finger before answering the question. "A cigarette," he states in that nasally voice after removing it from his mouth. "I've taken up smoking," he explains, flicking ash onto the ground.

"Why?" I ask with distaste. To be honest, I don't want him to smoke. Unlike me, he only has one life. He should be careful with it.

"Jesus Christ, McCormick, fuck off," he deadpans. "I'm not in the mood for 20 questions today."

I just sit down beside him. "Did something happen?" I ask, but he just shakes his head. "Don't lie," I warn.

"I'm not fucking lying." He says it evenly, but somehow I can tell he's angry.

"You're going to destroy your body."

"I don't care."

Bingo. Something definitely happened… or is happening. However, I won't pry. I guess, in the end, it's not my place. We aren't really the closest of friends and I don't really want to get on his bad side. I have a feeling Craig's the type of guy who could make people feel like shit about themselves easily. I pat his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. He tosses the cigarette onto the ground and slumps forward slightly, letting out a soft sigh. We're eighteen now and there are only a few more months of grade twelve left. I hate thinking about it. It makes me feel like shit. What am I going to do once I'm out of school? What can I do?

"Craig?" I say his name. "Where do you think you'll be this time next year?"

"I don't know," he mumbles. "Never thought about it."

I'm not all that surprised. He never plans ahead. He's very much a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Well, as long as things stay boring and he doesn't have to overexert himself, that is. It's just as he always says – "Nice and boring, just the way I like it."

"Why not?" I ask. "Graduation is getting close."

"Fuck, stop pissing me off or I'll beat you up," he threatens. "Actually, knowing how depraved you are, you'd probably like it."

I just laugh. It wouldn't be the first time we fought. "Whatever," I say, standing up. "You coming to Clyde's tonight?"

He closes his eyes. "Maybe…"

And I know that maybe usually means yes. Clyde is Craig's best friend, and Clyde always makes him come to these kinds of events. He thinks it's good for Craig to be social, not that he makes an effort. He just ends up acting sour and constipated. Tonight probably won't be any different.

"Okay," I nod. "I'm going home."

"We still have two classes after lunch."

"I don't give a shit and neither do you," I snort, walking off.

It's strangely sunny outside today. I think the sun is reflecting off of the melting snow, making it seem even brighter. Summer will be here soon.

I'm still not sure how I feel about Craig Tucker. He's a pretty odd guy, but we've been cool since I gave him a tattoo a few months ago. It was funny. "Ugh, fuck…" Craig mumbled before letting out a pained groan.

"Dude, stop bitching," I laughed at him while trying to hold my concentration. Oh, man. I got a kick out of seeing Craig in pain. He's usually so stoic.

There isn't a tattoo shop in South Park. There's one in Denver, but even if it was closer, most kids don't have the money to spend on tattoos and travelling. This is how I make my pocket money. Stick and poke. DIY tattooing. It's probably not smart or safe, but this is South Park after all and no one here really gives a damn. Art is my best subject, though that doesn't mean I take it seriously. I don't take much seriously, especially when it comes to school.

"You should let me draw a dick on you," I snickered to Craig, who was lying on my mattress. I had his arm on my lap as I did my thing.

"No way," he mumbled, eyes closed.

"How do you know that's not what I'm doing right now?"

"If it is, I'll kill you," he asked, cracking open an eye and looking up at me.

"Then I'll come back. Killing me won't last long, unlike that tattoo."

He just snorted. "Whatever. You wouldn't do that."

And it's true. I wouldn't… But nonetheless I just smiled and asked, "How do you know that?"

"Because you're a little different than the shit heads you hang out with."

"Well, I'll take that as a form of flattery," I snickered.

I ended up writing "FUCK YOU" on his forearm in small, tidy print. I think he thought that was funny, not that he expressed any such amusement. I was the one who propositioned him and he wasn't picky. All he told me is that he wanted something small. I decided the rest. I'm still surprised he trusted me enough to decide something that would stay on his body forever.

The next time, he pulled the neck of his sweatshirt down and I drew a little bird on his right shoulder. It was his choice. I asked him if it symbolized anything, but he ignored me. I guess I'll never know.

Yeah, Craig is an interesting guy, that's for sure.

Once I arrive home, I spot my mother on the sofa smoking pot. I kick off my sneakers and settle down on the sofa, putting my arm around her.

"How's my boy today?" she asks hoarsely.

"Fine, Ma," I say. She hands me the joint and I take a long drag, holding it in before blowing it out. "Where's Dad?" I wonder, passing the joint back to her.

"Who the hell cares," she sighs. I do, but I don't say that. "Why aren't you still at school?" she asks.

"Didn't feel like staying," I admit.

"You should," she continues. "School is important."

"No, it's not. I hate that fucking place. We don't learn anything useful in the real world. All they teach us is that humanity is expendable. All we're taught is how to live in a crap society that will treat us like shit. We're born, we go to elementary school, middle school, high school, and then we graduate. Once it feels like we're finally done, oh wait! There is more school. That is, if you want to make something of yourself. If not, then you can flip burgers all your damn life. I hate it… I don't want to be a part of it. People say this is the land of the free… it makes me fucking laugh. We're not free. We're brainwashed."

"I know, baby…" she says, "but if you don't go to school, you'll just end up like me and your father."

I don't respond. I know it's true, yet I don't want to admit it because I want so desperately to believe I can find my own freedom in this shitty world. It puts me in a pretty damn sour mood.

"So, how's your love life?" she asks, changing the subject when I don't answer.

"Shitty," I snort.

"You'll find someone nice soon enough," she says surely.

"Maybe," I shrug, feigning an expression that shows ultimate apathy.

"How are your friends?" she asks.

"They're all right. Stan and Wendy are still happy together. She likes to drag him into all her theater shit. He was in the school play with her, which was hilarious. He was so not into it. He can't say no to her, though. That probably won't change. Eric is still manipulating girls into sleeping with him because he's an asshole… and Kyle has been taking college level courses which means he gets college level action."

Kyle takes classes at the local university, even though he's still only in year twelve. It's because he's smart. I find the whole thing funny because Kyle used to be so reserved. Well, he still is. He just keeps the things he does in bed a secret. Or, he tries. Eric has a big mouth. That's the only reason I know about it. I guess university really does change people. While Kyle is off at frat parties, the rest of us are still screwing around at Clyde's when his Dad goes away. Which, might I add, is quite often since his wife died. It's like he can't spend time around Clyde because of it. Poor fucker.

There have been too many times where we knew we were all going to end up puking but we thought we may as well enjoy the night until we did. None of us are smart drinkers. Hangovers really suck. I once got hung over for three days. I couldn't bring myself to touch alcohol for a few months after that. I puked all over Clyde's house and Eric had to drag my stupid ass outside.

"Any plans tonight?" Ma asks.

"Probably heading out to a party," I tell her.

Weekends always mean parties. If you don't go, you'll be left out on Monday when everyone is talking about what went down. Kyle doesn't care about that sort of thing because he always has better stories to tell.

"Be careful," she says.

"I will." I kiss her cheek before standing and wandering upstairs to my bedroom.

People would probably think it's weird if they knew, but I'm really close to my mom. Yeah, she does some bad things and she has some issues, but it's the same for everyone. No one has the right to tell her she's a bad mother.

I'm drunk before I even get to Clyde's house and I'll probably end up getting my dick out at some point in the night. When I arrive at the party, I see Red trying to get Craig to dance with her. "Craaaaig," I slur his name.

"What?" he asks, turning to face me. His pupils are gigantic.

"Hey, what're you on?" I ask, squinting as I stare at him.

"Ecstasy," he reveals flatly.

I chuckle in disbelief, turning to Red. "And he still won't dance?"

"I know! That's what I'm saying!" she chuckles. She playfully nudges him in the side before wandering off, probably to find someone who will dance with her.

"Who'd you get it from?" I ask once she's gone.

"Bill," he mumbles.

"Did he make you pay?"

"Five."

"That's good," I say.

"Don't bother going to him and asking for any," Craig says, "by the looks of things, you're fucked up enough."

"Oh, Craig," I simper dramatically as I put a hand to my chest. "You care? I'm so touched." He makes a face at me, wrinkling his nose. "I wasn't going to anyway, I was just curious," I tell him. For the most part, I like to avoid the hard stuff. "So, what's up?" I ask.

"I need to find Clyde," he announces.

"Why?" I pry.

"Because I want to fix something," he mumbles vaguely before leaving me standing alone.

I wonder what he wants to fix… I shrug it off for now and I begin to wander around, looking for a friendly face.

"Kenny!" I soon hear.

I turn around, spotting Bebe. "Hello, princess," I grin.

"You look like you're feeling good," she chuckles. "Have you seen Clyde?"

I shake my head. "Craig was looking for him, too."

"Do you know why?" she asks, tilting her head to the side before scanning the crowd.

"Nope," I shrug. "He wouldn't tell me. He was being vague and weird."

"Oh, hey," she points to the corner of the room. "There they are!"

I turn, following her gaze. Craig has his arms wrapped around himself and looks thoroughly uncomfortable, which I find strange. Usually it's hard to read Craig. He keeps his expression and his body language completely neutral. Clyde looks uncharacteristically serious before he pulls Craig into a big hug, slapping him on the back multiple times.

"I wonder what that's about," Bebe says, voicing my own thoughts.

"Same," I mumble, raising an eyebrow at the scene.

Bebe links arms with me and drags me towards them. "Everything okay, you guys?" she asks.

"Yep," Clyde smiles while Craig just looks apathetic, per usual.

"Come on," Bebe says, shaking Craig by the shoulders. "Smile, for once in your life! This is a party!"

He removes her hands and walks away without another word.

Bebe gives me a sour look. "He's such an asshole."

"That's just part of his personality," I snort, in a light attempt to stick up for him.

Later on in the night, I leave the house to gets some fresh air only to find Craig sitting on the front porch. "You okay?" I ask, sitting beside him. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he holds up his middle finger. "I see," I snort, sarcastically remarking, "Everything makes sense now." He lets his hand fall. "Jeez… you're dull even when you're on ecstasy," I tell him. "When I pop E I want to touch everyone and everything."

"You're like that even when you're sober," he says, breaking his silence.

"Guess that's true," I admit. "So, what was going on with Clyde?"

"Nothing."

"Clearly it wasn't nothing," I say pointedly.

"Okay, let me rephrase that," he starts, "It's none of your business."

"So?" I ask.

"I don't want to talk about it," he mutters.

"Why not?" I ask. "I prolly won't remember it tomorrow anyway…" That's a lie. I'm hardly that kind of drunk. I'm just curious.

"It was hard enough to get out the first time," he says quietly. "I don't want to say it again."

"You're lame," I say, closing my eyes. "Lame, lame, laaame."

We're both quiet for a long time until Craig finally opens his mouth again – "I'm gay." Wait… what? Wow! I don't say anything for a couple minutes. I can't quite bring myself to. I mean… what am I supposed to tell him? "Fucking say something," he mumbles.

"Well…" I pause, glancing at him. "It's good to know you're still capable of feeling things," I say insensitively. "Namely romance."

"Fuck you, McCormick," he whispers. "Fuck you."

"Sorry," I chuckle. That was probably the wrong thing to say. Now is not the time for jokes.

"I told Clyde I was into him." his cheeks are pink and I'm not sure whether it's because he's embarrassed or whether he's just feeling warm because of the drugs he took. I'm going to go ahead and say it's the drugs. Craig blushing? That would be rich. "I mean…" he starts again, "he's straight… and I knew it, but still… it's like, I had to say it… I had to try. He drove me home from school earlier… so I dropped the bomb before getting out of the car. I think he was at a loss for words, so I left before he said anything." I'm surprised Craig could be that bold. He doesn't strike me as the type to take any risks.

"Yeah," I say softly and I know if Craig wasn't high on hard drugs he wouldn't dare tell me any of this shit. "But you're both cool now?"

"Yeah…" he admits, sounding dull. "It sucks," he continues, rubbing his hands down his face. "This always fucking happens to me… Of course I had to be born a fucking fag."

"Come on, dude, don't call yourself that…" I try to reason.

"I'm always falling for people who are the wrong sexuality. Tweek is asexual," he explains. "He didn't want a relationship. I confessed to him when we were younger and it kind of drove us apart… Clyde promised that wouldn't happen this time."

"It probably won't," I offer. "Clyde's a pretty easy going guy."

"I know…" He grinds his teeth together.

"Don't do that," I tell him.

"I can't help it."

"That's why you shouldn't do pills," I suggest.

"Advice from a drunk means nothing," he says.

I just laugh. "Really, though… Are you okay? Be honest, for once in your fucking life."

"I feel like shit," he says, closing his eyes.

I put my arm around him and pull him towards me. He doesn't protest. Instead, he leans his head on my shoulder. It's probably the fact that he's high and I'm drunk, but I don't mind the contact. It's the least I can do for him. If I were in his position, I'd probably be crying by now… but I've learned there are a few things that Craig Tucker does not do and those things are laughing, crying, and saying he's sorry.

"Want to leave?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, moving away from me and standing up.

"Okay, let's go. You can crash at my place," I offer, following him to his feet. It'd probably be a good idea for us both to get out of here. He's probably suppressing emotions and I'm just trying hard not to make a dumbass of myself like always.

"You okay?" I ask once we're walking up my driveway. He just nods lazily. "I don't mean like… emotionally," I decide to specify. "I mean, physically… You're sweating a bit."

He brings his hand up and places it on his sticky forehead. "Oh."

My mother greets us once we're inside, asking us how the party went. "It was okay," I shrug. "Craig had a little too much fun, though." But that's a bit of a lie. I doubt Craig Tucker knows what fun is.

"Oh?" she asks, glancing at him. "He looks a little sick."

"Yeah," I snort before dragging him upstairs.

"I feel really warm," he announces, pressing his hands to his cheeks.

"I'll run a cold bath," I tell him as we enter the small washroom. "You can sit in it for a bit." He flops onto the toilet seat lid and immediately shrugs out of his sweater and peels off his t-shirt, letting out a sound of relief. "Heh… it's funny. Usually I'm the one in your position. I guess the roles have been reversed tonight," I say, turning the tap on and filling the tub.

"Stop talking," he deadpans, unbuttoning his jeans.

"Gonna get naked for me?" I ask, spotting him from the corner of my eye.

"Shut up."

I just chuckle, running back downstairs to get a glass of water for him to sip on. Once I return, he's already naked and sitting in the bath. This is the first time I've seen him without clothing on and honestly, as much as I like a sweet pair of tits, I can appreciate a good looking guy. Craig Tucker is definitely a good looking guy. Black hair, pale skin, and always tired looking. Somehow, it works for him.

"I feel like a fucking baby," he states flatly as I try not to check him out.

"It's not that big of a deal," I say, handing him the glass of water. "In the few months we've been friends, you've seen me in a way worse state than this."

"I know," he murmurs, taking a sip of the water before setting the cup on the ledge of the tub.

"I'm going to go ahead and assume you didn't stay hydrated today," I guess. "The long walk probably made it worse."

"I forgot," he admits, splashing water on his face.

"Understandable," I shrug. "Oh, well. This kinda shit happens all the time."

"Not to me," he mutters.

"There's a first for everything." Plus, I have a feeling he was a little emotionally preoccupied.

"Clearly," he says dryly before standing up.

This time, I can't help but check him out, but as soon as I do I wish I didn't. "Dude… Craig…" I frown, spotting the cuts on his stomach. "What the effing fuck?"

"What?" he asks, staring down at himself. "Oh…" He lightly touches his hand to his abdomen. He doesn't look embarrassed or shy. He looks the way he always does, but for some reason, I feel like I can read his thoughts.

"I won't ask," I whisper, handing him a towel. I guess Craig is a little more fucked up than I thought. I now understand why he always changes in the bathroom stall after gym class. He takes the towel without a word and begins to dry himself off. "You can borrow some of my clothes," I offer as we walk out into the hallway and into my room. I give him a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. We're the same height, so they'll fit him fine. "Am I getting the silent treatment?" I ask, crossing my arms as he slips them on.

He doesn't answer me until he's fully dressed. "No," he says, sitting down on my mattress. I flop down next to him. I've never had a bed. I've only ever had this damn mattress. I won't complain, though. It's more than some people have, right?

Craig doesn't say anything else, but he's awake. I can practically hear him thinking. The digital clock on the floor next to the mattress reads 11:27 PM and the night is still young. I'd like to know what it is Craig is thinking about, but I know he wouldn't tell me even if I asked. No one gets to know what Craig Tucker thinks about. The only person allowed in Craig's head is Craig himself.

"This is boring," I say, feeling restless as I stick my hand down my pants. "We should do something."

"Like?" he asks.

"Let's have sex," I suggest bluntly.

"What," he mumbles, and it isn't quite a question.

"Y'knooow," I shrug nonchalantly.

"Your family is home, you drunk, horny bastard," he mutters.

"Only my mom and it's not like she gives two shits what we do."

Honestly, my father is the one we'd have to worry about. He insists he isn't homophobic, yet he'd still bust a nut if he knew one of his sons was screwing a dude. Then again, as long as I'm on top, maybe it doesn't matter. God, I hate that kind of mentality.

"Why would you want to?" Craig asks quietly.

"It'll give us something to do to pass the time," I answer. "It's still pretty early."

"I'm not a girl… I'm a guy, and a fucking ugly one."

"I don't care… and no you're not," I say.

"You just want somewhere to stick your dick," he turns to look at me.

"Yeah," I snort. "So, what?"

"Just because I'm gay, it doesn't mean I'm desperate," he adds and I just smile. After a brief pause, Craig murmurs, "Fine."

God, I'm so terrible. It makes me sick, but this is how I get what I want… and maybe it's wrong of me. No, I know it's wrong of me. Craig is high and even though he'd never admit it, I think he's a little lonely, too. That's the only reason he's saying yes.

"What the fuck does it matter anymore?" he asks rhetorically, sounding mentally exhausted. "You already saw what I keep hidden… Not even Clyde knows about that."

"Doesn't it suck to keep secrets?" I ask. "I could never keep secrets. Why do you do it to yourself?"

"I thought you said you weren't going to ask," he says.

"Sorry," I shrug. "Curiosity. This is the first time I've seen that kind of thing."

"It's one or the other," he decides. "We can talk, or we can fuck, but we can't do both."

"Why not?" I whine.

"Because I said so."

"Fine," I pout.

"So, what will it be?"

"What do you want to do?" I ask.

"I don't want to talk," he states in that monotone voice.

"Then we don't have to," I tell him. He begins taking off the clothing he put on mere minutes ago, and I follow. "You popped pills tonight, gonna be able to get it up?" I ask with a little smirk.

"Yes," he states tersely. "Are you?"

"Of course," I insist. "I'm immune to alcohol's negative effects."

"That's fucking funny," he states, settling on his knees and resting his cheek on the mattress, "and not true at all."

I'd like to do missionary so I can look at him the whole time. I think it'd be fun to see how he looks when he cums, but that probably isn't going to fly with Mr. I'm Ugly. Nonetheless, face down ass up is good, too. He's got a pretty sweet hole. I can't help but wonder who else has seen him like this.

He's quiet at first. His body is rigid and I'm trying hard to get him to relax. "You okay?" I ask, pausing and placing a hand on the small of his back.

"Yeah," he says evenly. So I begin to move, but slowly. Still, he's quiet, only allowing soft panting noises to escape. Either way, it's music to my fucking ears. It's always encouraging to get a response from the person beneath you.

I guess I'm not surprised, though. It isn't like I expected him to be a screamer. Wouldn't that have been something completely unexpected? It's unimaginable.

Ah, I'm an asshole. I'll probably regret this once I'm sober.