It's time to post some more shit-infused fuck-nuggets of fluff. Because this pairing needs more love.

That boy. He came in every afternoon and bought a lemon iced tea. He'd approach the counter, and I'd ask him if he'd found everything alright. He'd say yes, as was routine, and then he'd pay the one dollar and eight cents for the tea. Then he'd smile and walk out. That was how it went every single day.

Over time, we began to become familiar with each other. After the initial, 'Did you find everything alright?' (to which he always answered 'yes, I did' no matter what), we began to chat about little things as I rang him up.

"It looks like it's gonna rain today."

"Yeah, I hope I get home before it does."

After a while, we began to get a little more comfortable with each other, and we'd always greet each other as he walked in.

"Hey, you guys don't carry Femme Fatale anymore."

"That album sucked, we didn't keep it around for it to get dusty."

"I happen to like that album, thank you very much."

"Do you? Along with lemon tea, huh?"

"Be quiet! I'm a customer!"

After a couple of months, I was given the privilege of learning his name. I told him mine, reluctant as I was. It's not that I didn't want him knowing my name, but I wasn't very proud of it. It sounded pretty dull to me. But when he said it, it seemed to roll off his tongue in waves. It made me sooo happy.

"I'm Kyle, by the way."

"Kyle? Yeah, that suits ya. I'm Craig."

"Well, it's not like I didn't know that, Craig. You are wearing a name tag."

My stomach twisted as he vocalized the single-syllable word. Craig. Still, I hid my delight.

"I felt obliged to introduce myself."

"Did you really?"

"Yes, Kyle. After all, you're a customer."

After that, we got to know each other. We talked throughout his shopping. When he came in the double doors, he went straight to the refrigerator where his tea was kept. Then he glanced at some magazines and CDs before heading to the counter.

"Hey, did you hear about Britney's head?"

"Yeah, didn't they say it was filled with nothing but shit?"

"No, they actually said it was filled with naked photographs of your mother. No, douche bag, she like, shaved it or something."

"That was years ago, dude."

"I'm still a customer."

Over time, we eventually came to be something like friends. Often times he'd come in carrying a heavy bag over his shoulder, and he'd be carrying a book. Some times it was a novel, and some times it was a big textbook. So, he was a university student?

"Hey, how's Britney?"

"Hideous, just like your mother."

"My mother hates you."

"Yeah? Not as much as I hate Latin."

"You take Latin? Why the hell do you take Latin? It does nothing."

"It does too! It...increases my understanding of...Latin."

"Really, no shit."

"Yeah, no shit! Seriously!"

"I took Latin in high school."

"How'd you do?"

"I got an A minus, thank you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'm not stupid, bro."

"Well, Craig, to be honest, you don't look exactly smart."

"I look like a dumbass?"

"No, but you definitely don't look smart."

"I got invited to Yale."

"No shit?"

"Yeah, no shit. I told them I didn't need their stupid crayon embroidered underwear and thick as shit staff."

"You turned down Yale?"

"Yeah."

"I got invited to Harvard. I told them I'd get a doctorate in being better than them at Denver."

He went to Denver.

"No shit?"

"Yeah. My mom threw a bitch fest."

"Yeah, your mom's a bitch."

"I'm still a customer."

Sometimes, when he came in, he was in a dark mood. When he was angry, a cloud seemed to hang above his head, threatening to pour down upon anyone who dared cross him further. When he was in a mood, I'd usually complement him on something, or make a joke. He'd usually say nothing, but the fury in his eyes lessened considerably. His eyes, green eyes, were the most amazing things I'd ever seen. From the first time he walked in the store, they had always been the first thing I noticed. They screamed at you every single emotion he felt, so I read him like an open book. I was always entranced by his soulful emerald orbs. The different shades of grass and forest greens were spread out in front of me in a spectrum of up and down moods. He offered readily to me his every reaction, his every feeling for me to gauge. It made me feel special.

"Hey, something bothering you?"

"It's my neighbors, the stupid little shits, can't keep their retarded ghetto freak kids under control. I woke up this morning and on my front door was a note with the word 'faggot' on it. Motherfuckers."

"I have a feeling that isn't the only thing to get you worked up?"

"Some generic outcast in form today said my hat was stupid."

I glanced at his green ushanka. He'd always worn it. It seemed so...natural. It complemented his eyes so nicely. I could never think of it as stupid.

"Which generic outcast?"

"Some butt-fucker named Marsh or something."

"I hate Marsh. With a fiery passion."

"Ooh, big words. What'd he do?"

"He called your hat stupid. I fucking love that hat."

I fiddled with my usual blue chullo. I loved the thing, I'd had it since the third grade. It was old, yeah, but I took care of it. I really did like hats. Specifically Kyle's. His face turned a rosy shade of pink, and he looked shocked.

"You like my hat?"

"Yeah, it's the best hat I've ever seen."

He stared at me some more, before he grinned. I had lightened his mood, and I was sooo happy.

"I really like your hat, too. Suits you really well."

He tugged at one of my yellow pom poms (Well, they were more brownish than yellow now). I could feel my face heat up, but I smiled a little. I never could crack a grin like other people could. I could snicker and smirk, and I could smile lightly, but I couldn't full out grin. I hadn't yet discovered anything that could make me smile like that.

I had gotten so used to his visits, and he always came alone. The store was always empty when he came in, so we had the place to ourselves. One day, though, he brought a friend. And his friend. He looked poor as shit.

"Hey, this is Kenny."

"Hey, I'm Kenny."

"Fantastic, he needs a fucking medal. I'm Craig."

"Yeah, now you need a fuckin' medal. Yer wearin' a name tag, dipshit."

"That's what Kyle said when I told him my name."

"Nice ta meetcha, Craig."

"Yeah, you too, Kenny."

Kenny McCormick, as it turned out, actually was poor as shit. We became friends, to a degree, but he only came with Kyle when his parents (who he still lived with) were having sex on his couch or something. At first I was weary of him. I didn't know how close he and Kyle were, and if he would end up hurting him or not. I learned that the two were childhood friends, and while I now felt that I could trust the McCormick child, I couldn't help the envy that clouded around my head whenever I saw them together. I felt like I was second to him. He didn't tag along often, though.

I could never read Kenny's emotions as I could Kyle's. This was mostly due to the fact that his eyes were always partially obscured by either his orange parka hood (which he always kept up) or his shaggy blonde hair. His eyes, once I got a proper glimpse, were a shade of sky blue sapphire, and they seemed to gleam at you from under his matted locks. Another reason he was difficult to read was because he didn't seem to have any emotions to read other than cheeky blissfulness and indignation. He always had this sly look about him, though, as if he could see through absolutely everyone and anyone he wished, as if he was completely omniscient. I often felt a chill run down my spine at the thought of the boy knowing my every thought as if he were some super-being. But I knew it couldn't be true. Could it?

Every evening, long after Kyle's daily purchases, I'd go home, still pondering the afternoon's conversation. Fiery blood red curls protruded my thoughts as I went through my nightly routine. Clyde would make us dinner (or order it, to be more precise) and then we would pig out on Chinese food and watch terrible movies, which we criticized for the fun of it. At eleven thirty, we'd go to bed, and in the morning, I'd sleep in while Clyde left for school and then I'd start my shift at around two. I'd arrive behind the counter at my lovely hick town gas station and anticipate the moment those intense emerald eyes greeted me for the day.

Wow, that was intense. Well, go on. Hit the button! Yes, hit it, say something, speak up!