A/N: Ever wanted a super angsty Cryle fanfic where Kyle bribes Craig to pretend to be Stan? No? Well, too bad, because this is a thing now.

With that said, I hope that you enjoy it! Your feedback is always appreciated.

It was almost dark out when Kyle finally heard the front door unlock and the sound of heavy, tired footsteps.

"Stan? Is that you?"

No answer, aside from the familiar noise of shoes being kicked off and into the usual pile near the door. From his place hunched over a magazine at the island counter of their cozy Manhattan kitchen, Kyle peeked over his shoulder to see Stan emerge from the narrow entryway, soaked from head to toe.

"It's nuts out there," Stan complained as he shucked off his coat and tossed it over a barstool. He shook his head, sprinkling everything around him with rainwater, including Kyle. He laughed. "I feel like a dog."

"It wouldn't surprise me if you actually were one," Kyle said with a huff, shielding his magazine. He sat up a bit more straight, preparing to give Stan a welcome-home kiss. "You're home late today. Is everything alright?"

"Oh. Yeah." Stan nodded, stealing a quick look at the magazine in Kyle's hand before making a beeline for the fridge. Kyle rolled his eyes and slumped back down in his seat. "Just had a lot of work to do. It's almost summer, so everyone wants to get their finances in order before going on vacation and everything, you know?"

"Ah, I understand," Kyle lied. He didn't have the slightest clue what Stan actually did as a junior investment banker for Goldman Sachs, but he pretended like he did because the last time Stan tried to explain his job to him, it sounded as if not even Stan had an idea what he did for a living in that towering forty four-story building twelve blocks from home.

"How about you? Good day at work?"

"Very good, considering I had the day off," Kyle said with a grin. "And since I had the day off, I've finally had some time to relax and go over some of the wedding plans. I think you'll want to hear about them." He waited for Stan to get the hint and turn around but Stan was far too occupied with shuffling through the contents of their almost-empty fridge. "Stan?"

"Huh?"

"Did you hear what I just said?"

Stan pulled his head out of the fridge and turned to Kyle with a beer in hand. "You were talking?"

"Yes—about the wedding." Kyle slapped the back of his hand to the magazine, trying to show it to his more-than-oblivious fiancé. Photos of extravagant wedding cakes and decorations littered the page while messy handwritten notes lined the edges. "Have you finally thought about what kind of cake we should have? Because I've got a few ideas if not."

"I dunno."

"You don't know?"

Stan shrugged. "Is it really that important to figure out right now? I'm just—I'm tired, Kyle. I'm not in the mood."

"You're never in the mood!" Kyle dropped the magazine on the counter. "The wedding's in less than two months and we still haven't decided on the color scheme, had invitations made, or even looked into catering! If we keep putting things off we're not going to have any time left!"

Kyle watched Stan as he cracked open his beer with the edge of their marble counter and nearly chugged the whole thing before lazily falling back against the fridge. Stan mussed up his hair, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes. "I know, Kyle," he said.

"Then why don't you help me with these things? I'm not going to plan our wedding alone!"

"Because, Kyle."

"I'm serious, Stan. If you're just going to get drunk again tonight and not help me, then—"

Stan guzzled the rest of his beer down and tossed the empty bottle into the trash, cutting Kyle off from his tangent before he could really get into it. "You know what? Maybe we should take a break," he suggested, throwing his hands up. He went to grab another beer, giving Kyle, who currently looked like a deer caught in headlights, ample time to soak in what had just came out of his mouth.

"Take a break?" Kyle asked, unsure whether or not he'd heard the man standing in front of him correctly. "Please tell me you've had a few drinks before coming home, because there's no way in hell you could possibly be serious right now."

"Dude, I'm totally sober. Well, for now at least," Stan said with a chuckle. He cleared his throat. "But, no, I'm serious. I think it'd be good for us."

Kyle wasn't quite sure what Stan was talking about, but he was certain that something was definitely wrong with Stan. Or was there something wrong with him? Or—

"Are you seeing someone else?" he suddenly blurted out. "Do they work with you? Do they know you're engaged?"

"What? No—!"

"They don't know?"

"I mean no, there's nobody else!"

"Then why would you even suggest we take a break!" Kyle was practically shouting now. "Or was that supposed to be some sort of joke? Because let me tell you, Stan—that wasn't funny at all."

"I wasn't kidding," Stan said. Kyle crossed his arms over his chest expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. Stan sighed and palmed the back of his neck before dropping his shoulders in defeat and joining Kyle at the counter. "I'm being serious, Kyle. I've... I've actually been thinking about it for a little while now. Spending some time apart, I mean."

"Oh my God. You're actually serious!"

"Yeah? Like, I think we could both benefit from some much needed space, probably."

Kyle wanted to ask what Stan had meant exactly by "space," but all he could think about were the implications. As far as Kyle was aware, the two of them hardly spent any time together as it was with their hectic work schedules. While Stan's job kept him stuck at the office most of the day and often well into the evening, Kyle's had him holed up in his study at odd hours throughout the night, working on the stacks of civil case files that had once upon a time seemed to take over the spare corners of their tiny apartment until Kyle had managed to coax Stan to give up the spare bedroom turned exercise room in exchange for a Planet Fitness membership.

"Look, I understand if you're still nervous about everything, but we can't push the wedding back any further. We've already had to do it three times because you won't stop freaking out, and my mother is going to kill us if—"

"I'm not saying we have to reschedule!"

"Then what exactly do you suggest we do? Because if you haven't forgotten, Stan, we're leaving for South Park tomorrow!"

"Well, I kind of have an idea."

"Oh, lord."

"Wait, just hear me out!" Stan said, putting his hands up. "What if you go back home... while I stay here?"

Kyle had officially reached his limit. "How stupid can you possibly be?"

"Wow. Rude?"

"You think that's rude? Rude is suggesting that I go back home for our wedding alone, while you stay here doing what-the-hell-ever it is you do at work, getting drunk and watching The Price is Right!"

"Hey, it's Let's Make a Deal. And I've got a lot of work to do, Kyle—"

"I don't care! I'm not getting married by myself!"

"Wait, what?" Stan asked. "You wouldn't be getting married by yourself, dude. I'd totally be there."

"You just told me to go back home alone!"

"You wouldn't be alone the whole time, though! I just meant for like, the first week or something," Stan clarified, then laughed. "How could I not show up to my own wedding?"

Though Kyle was relieved to hear that Stan wasn't planning on standing him up at the altar, he still wasn't too happy about the fact that Stan felt like the two of them needed some time apart—and just seven weeks before the big day, no less. "You really think this would be a good idea?" he asked.

"I think it'd be a great idea. You'd get total control over the wedding like you've always wanted, I'll be able to get started on this crazy massive project for work, and we'll both get some much needed alone time!" Stan assured him, sounding a bit too enthusiastic for Kyle's taste. "Besides, you know what they say. 'Distance makes the heart get stronger,' or something like that."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," Kyle mumbled under his breath and shook his head in disbelief. He never wanted total control over the wedding like Stan seemed to believe, and he definitely didn't need any space, either. "What 'crazy massive project' for work do you have to do?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm not really sure. I don't know the details yet. All I know is that it's supposed to be for a really important client and that they specifically requested for me to work with them. I'll find out Monday."

"You don't even know what the big deal is and you're willing to put it ahead of our wedding?"

"It's my first assignment that I'll actually be taking the lead on!" Stan said. "You should be excited for me, Kyle!"

Kyle sighed. "I am happy for you, Stan."

"No, excited!"

"Is there a difference?"

"Uh, yeah? We should be celebrating." Stan went to the fridge once more, grabbing his third beer in the past fifteen minutes. Kyle hoped silently it'd be his last; he'd intervene if not. "How does Chinese for dinner sound? That and Street Fighter. I'll help you finish packing later."

Though Kyle wasn't too happy about the recent turn of events, he couldn't say no to two of his favorite things. Besides, who knew; maybe after a fun evening in together, Stan would change his mind and decide to head home to South Park together like they'd originally planned.

Kyle smirked.

Maybe.

Or not.

Because while he'd been hopeful that perhaps letting Stan have an extra two or three or five beers would get him to warm up to the idea of coming along, Kyle forgot to factor in Stan's definitive next morning hangover from hell, and how peeling him off the couch would be next to near impossible unless it involved an all you can eat pasta buffet and aspirin. Needless to say, Kyle's idealistic romantic theory had totally backfired and he was forced to board the midday flight out of NYC and into Denver alone.

"Kyle! My bubbelah!" his mother had shouted and pulled him in for a hug worthy of breaking at least six of his ribs as soon as he'd stepped off the plane. He prayed that his laptop screen wasn't cracked.

"Hey, Ma."

"I'm so glad you're finally home! My goodness, you're so thin—have you eaten yet, today? You know you've got to eat often because—"

"Where's Dad? And Ike?"

"Oh, they're at home. They're so excited to see you, we shouldn't be wasting time standing around here! Let's go and pick up your bags so we can get going. I've still got to put dinner on!" Sheila said, urgently tugging at the strap of Kyle's messenger bag.

Kyle wasn't sure whether to be happy that his mother was so gung-ho about getting the hell out of that moldy airport or to dread the hour and a half car ride back to his childhood home with her and her impending game of twenty-one questions. Speaking of which, it was only a matter of time before—

"Wait, where's Stan? Shouldn't he be with you?"

Goddammit.

He had to stay back. For work," Kyle said, feeding her the line he'd rehearsed the whole trip. Still, it didn't come out sounding nearly as nonchalant as he'd hoped it would, having a bit of a hostile kick to it. "He'll be here next week, though. He sends his love."

"How sweet!" She gushed, then continued to drag Kyle towards baggage claim. "It's a shame he couldn't come with you, Kyle. I was going to make a wonderful brisket, but maybe I should hold off until he gets here for that. Why, I haven't seen that boy in so long, I can hardly remember what he looks like!" The cackle that followed after made Kyle and a few other passing folks jolt.

The walk to the car was spent in much-appreciated silence, and Kyle used those precious few minutes to get himself ready for the next wave of nosey, unavoidable questions.

"What has he been up to, anyway? Still working for that bank?"

"Goldman Sachs."

"Right! Right, that's what it was. Oh, put your seat belt on, Kyle. I don't want us to get pulled over. You wouldn't believe how much the fines have gone up this past year!" Kyle nodded, not really caring. "But you're a lawyer! I'm sure you could get us out of a tight spot if need be. My handsome little man, just like his father."

"Ma, stop. Please." Kyle leaned away from Sheila's attempts at pinching his cheek. "I'm not a child anymore! You don't need to do that."

"You're right, you're right," Sheila said, and Kyle had to wonder if he'd actually just heard his mother agree with him on something for once in his life or if he was just having a very vivid fever dream. The latter seemed more likely. "You're a grown man now, who's gone off and started his new life in Vermont—"

"New York."

"And even though I'd rather you marry a nice Jewish girl and settle down here at home, I'm so proud that you've found yourself such a wonderful man to be with. And he makes a lot of money. What a catch!"

Kyle scoffed.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"He does make a lot, right?" Sheila pried.

"What does it even matter?"

"A mother needs to know that her son is well taken care of," she sang.

"I can take care of myself, Ma!" Kyle snapped. He seriously did not want to have this discussion. "I don't need Stan to do that!"

"Well. Someone's a little touchy." Sheila sniffed. "Must be because a certain fi-an-cé couldn't make it."

Kyle would have rather walked home. Or, actually, he would have rather walked back to South Park and got a hotel, because being back home again was turning out to be an absolute nightmare.

The house felt a lot more cramped than it had ever been. With Ike back home for the summer from art school, antagonizing his older brother seemed to be the only thing to keep him entertained. Then again, maybe Kyle could have started off their first conversation in nearly five months with something other than, "What do you mean you're back home for the summer? Why do you even get a summer break? What's so stressful about painting pictures?" Surely, Ike hadn't appreciated the condensation which he'd of had to have gotten from their parents enough already for even attending art school. Kyle really should've thought before opening his big mouth.

Then there was his father who was hardly around, which was to be expected since he was South Park's only semi-competent lawyer; but there was definitely something up between his parents, because it seemed as if his father went out of his way to avoid his mother specifically. And what was up with all the cats? Kyle couldn't remember ever having cats growing up. Or the deadbolt on the basement door that locked from the inside.

The questions from his mother never seemed to end. From the moment they stepped foot into the house, all the way up until Kyle had excused himself early from dinner to go lie down, he was sure he'd managed to evade enough questions to fill an autobiography. Worst of all were the pity-filled comments that she seemed to feel were necessary to add in when Kyle wanted nothing more than for her to just shut up. Things like, "Oh, you'll be sleeping all alone without Stan! That's so sad," and, "Ike, don't be so mean to your brother right now! He's upset because Stan won't be here til next week. Have some sympathy!" She'd even told the waitress at the Waffle House the next afternoon, "We'd be ordering for three, but my poor son's fiancé can't be here right now. Shame, since their wedding is so soon! Why, Kyle, I hope he makes it on time!" That was when Kyle vowed to never leave the house again; at least not until Stan arrived and the two of them could get their own hotel room far, far away from his overbearing mother.

Kyle sighed and fell back onto his bed, eyeing the glow in the dark stick-on stars that still littered his ceiling in clusters from childhood. It was nearing day five, and cabin fever had set in long ago.

But that was alright, because it'd all be over soon. Just two more days and he'd be up in the nearest Holiday Inn, ordering room service and only having to subject himself to awkward family gatherings when it was absolutely necessary and with Stan there to keep him sane. There'd be no more of his mother's concerned glances fill with pity and worry that her son was actually forever alone.

Kyle felt his phone vibrate against his thigh.

Hey dude. U still awake? - STAN

Kyle grinned and rolled over to better situate himself so that he could respond back to his fiancé.

It's only 6:30, of course I'm still awake. What're you up to? - KYLE

I forgot the time difference wasnt that bad. Nothing. Relaxing after work. Lot of it to catch up on - STAN

Yeah? Hopefully you can. I can't wait til you get here. My mom is driving me insane! - KYLE

How'd that big project for work turn out, by the way? - KYLE

U always say that about ur mom lol. Sorry. But yeah about that - STAN

About what? My mom? - KYLE

No work - STAN

I dont think i can make it out on monday - STAN

What do you mean? Why? - KYLE

He waited to give Stan some time to type out the message that would surely say, 'Jk dude,' or, 'Ill be coming earlier than that,' but Kyle's resolve was beginning to crumble with every passing second. Before it had even been a full minute, he was calling Stan to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Hey—"

"What are you talking about? Why can't you come on Monday?"

"Um, hello to you too?"

Kyle rolled his eyes and pushed his hair back away from his forehead. "This isn't a joke, Stan! You said you'd be here on Monday—that was the agreement! You stay back for a week, then fly out to South Park to help plan the wedding and help me deal with my family!" He was shaking. The grip he had on his phone was so tight that it was a miracle it didn't shatter to pieces. "Hello? Stan?"

"I'm sorry, Kyle." Stan sighed. "But I just—I really can't."

"Why not?"

"It's that project I told you about. I haven't even met the client yet because they had to reschedule for next week, but I did at least get to learn a little about what I'll be working with. Actually, I've been working on it. It's… a church organization, I guess? But not really? The dude who I'm supposed to meet with is apparently crazy loaded. Wants me to look at his portfolio and find some good opportunities to invest in, mostly stocks, I think." Stan laughed. "Can you imagine that? Being so rich that you can't even manage your own money? I wish—"

"I don't care, Stan!" Kyle snapped. "Jesus—I feel like you care more about this dumb client than you do about us!"

"What? No way, that's not true," Stan said. "It's just that this is my first actual assignment where I'm like, kind of in charge, and it's important to me, dude!"

"We're important, dude!"

Stan paused. "Were you being sarcastic just then, because that definitely sounded like sarcasm. And, you know, it's kinda hard to tell when you're talking over the phone and there aren't any social cues, and—"

"So you seriously have to stay back for another week?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I'm sorry."

Kyle sighed and rolled over onto his back again. "It's whatever. It's not like I need you here right now, anyway. Dance rehearsals don't even start until three weeks from now."

"You're actually gonna go through with our first dance?"

Kyle could practically hear the grin in Stan's voice; it made him blush. "Only because you want to do it."

"It's tradition, dude! Who has a wedding without a first dance?"

"I'd be quite happy to be the first if that's the case. You know I hate dancing."

"Only because you can't." Stan laughed. "But hey! Who cares, right? It'll be fun!"

"Whatever." Kyle had to fight hard to keep from smiling like a love-struck idiot. He glanced over at his door, which he'd been sure to lock for obvious reasons. Five days was a long time to be alone, and it'd been even longer since the two of them had actually been intimate. Kyle gave his best attempt at sounding sultry. "So hey, what're you… you know."

"Huh? What am I what?"

"What are you doing."

What sounded like someone chewing gravel caught Kyle off guard. "Oh, just winding down for the day. Eating pretzels. Playing Battlefield. You?"

Stan was an idiot. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, dude. But I'll see you soon. Don't—shit, fuck!" There was a muted thump on Stan's end, then a few more curses and some rustling. "Sorry, this jackass who's supposed to be on my team just shot me! Totally ruined my killstreak and made me drop my phone. But anyway, like I was saying—don't worry about it so much, okay?"

Kyle sighed, staring up at those glow in the dark stars. He made a half-hearted wish on one that Stan would take a damn hint. "No, I mean I miss you," he said.

"Yeah, and I miss you too. Right now I especially miss how awesome of a team we make in Battlefield. Hey, actually, you still have an Xbox there, right?"

"But I really miss you." Kyle was starting to feel exasperated. "Seriously, Stan. Do I have to spell it out for you or something?"

"What—Oh. Ohhhh."

"It's been tough having to be here all alone without you. And we didn't even get to say goodbye properly…" Kyle let his free hand wander down to his belt, toying with the buckle, waiting. "Knowing that I'll have to wait a whole extra week to see you sucks. But I mean, maybe since we're both free right now, we can make up for lost time?" Kyle cringed in embarrassment. He was never good at initiating phone sex, or just phone sex in general; but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Yeah, but—fuck, again!?—right now isn't really a good time. I'm just not in the mood, and like, you're back home and all I can think about is how Ike is totally in the next room over and how weird your mom is and this douchebag is seriously grinding my gears oh my god who let him have a controller!"

"Fucking incredible," Kyle mumbled as he rolled onto his side, officially having had it with Stan. No amount of phone sex was worth putting up with that. "Do you hear yourself right now? Are you even aware of the fact that I'm hundreds of miles away and in need?"

Stan snorted.

"What?" Kyle snapped.

"Dude, Kyle. That sounded so gay."

"I hate you so much right now."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I was just kidding, jeez. You know I love you."

"You're gay."

"Shit, I walked right into that one," Stan groaned as Kyle laughed. "Hey, I'm gonna go, alright? I'll call you tomorrow when I'm at the laundromat. Maybe uh, then we can. You know. Talk."

Kyle frowned at the fact that Stan was urging him off the phone so soon when they'd hardly talked that past week, though he felt a bit of nervous excitement bubble in the pit of his stomach at the proposal. However, while his dick had sort of been doing a lot of the thinking the past few minutes, Kyle wasn't completely blind to the hilarious image of Stan having whispered phone sex in a laundromat bathroom while wild, unattended children ran around screaming and college students utilized the free wifi just on the other side of the door.

"You're probably going to regret that suggestion. You know that, right?" Kyle asked with a devilish smirk.

"Probably. Definitely." Stan hesitated. "Actually, can we maybe—"

"Nope. You owe me."

"Dammit."

Ike pounded his fist against the shared wall between their bedrooms. "Can you keep it down? Nobody wants to hear you phone fuck your boyfriend!" Ike shouted, sounding like a disgruntled, angst-ridden sixteen year old. What was his problem? Kyle thought art school had really turned his little brother into a total dick.

"He's not my boyfriend, he's my fiancé!" Kyle shouted back. "And we're not phone fucking!"

"Ike?" Stan asked.

"Yeah." Kyle sighed. "He's just pissed at me all the time and I don't even know why. See, this is why I was totally against him going to the Art Institute—they're all a bunch of stuck up snobs there!"

"I heard that!"

"Good!"

"You sure you didn't, uh. Say something to upset him, maybe?" Stan asked cautiously.

"Are you kidding me? The wind can blow the wrong way and he'd be in a shitty mood."

"I'm serious," Stan laughed. "Alright, for real this time. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Fine. I guess I'll let you go. I've—got a lot of stuff to work on, anyway," Kyle lied. Sure, there was an abundance of preparations for the wedding to finish, but not anything that he could really work on alone at this point. "Love you, Stan."

"Love you, too. Goodnight."

"Good—"

Stan disconnected before he had a chance to finish.

Kyle pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. He dropped his head into his hands, letting out a long, frustrated breath. Now he was forced to stay hidden in his childhood bedroom for another week when he was already losing his mind and not even through with the first one. Not to mention—what would his mother say when she heard about this? Kyle couldn't handle any more pitiful comments. He didn't want to think about it.

He stood up and grabbed his boots.

He needed to get out of that house for a little while.

On the other side of town outside of an old, outdated movie theater, Craig Tucker sighed.

"The next one will be playing at seven-thirty," he repeated for what had to be the fourteenth time that hour, despite the show times being clearly listed on the board behind him. He felt like he was sixteen all over again, manning the ticket booth and having to deal with people's stupidity upfront and first-hand like he did for so many years before being rightfully promoted to his current title of theater manager.

Craig had thought that being in charge would mean never having to deal with dumb questions like those ever again, but apparently that wasn't the case. It actually just meant the added responsibility of having to pick up the slack when other employees called out sick, like tonight; and having to put up with customer complaints, all for a measly salary of just under thirty grand. Not nearly as much as he felt he deserved for having to put up with so much bullshit.

"Will there be anymore after the seven-thirty one?"

"Maybe. I dunno. Let me check." He made a show of turning around and looking up at the board. "Yup. Two more."

"What times?"

"Nine and eleven-thirty," Craig squeezed out between gritted teeth. After a few more grating questions about the current films that could've easily been answered if one were able and willing to just read, the man eventually bought a ticket and went inside, finally leaving Craig alone to his own devices.

Almost twenty minutes passed without another movie-goer to bother him, and Craig silently thanked the heavens for the peace and solitude. He took the time to drop to his knees and replace the ticket paper in the printer since it'd been running low for the past hour.

"Stupid printer," he grumbled to himself as he tore out the last of the remaining paper that had managed to get jammed. The last time he had to fix a jammed ticket printer was almost four years ago when he was twenty-two and actually worked the ticket booth before being promoted to assistant manager. Craig jerked the printer around a little harder upon the realization that he'd been doing this shitty job for four years. He ripped out the pieces of shredded paper that jammed the mechanisms inside and reloaded it with a fresh roll.

No, not four years. Longer than that. After all, he'd been working there since he was sixteen.

Ten years.

"Dammit!" He pounded the printer with his fist and it whirred back to life, printing out a couple of test tickets. He sighed and hung his head, trying to calm down from the unwelcome memories.

This was only supposed to be a temporary job until he finished college; his life wasn't supposed to turn out like this. By now he should have been in California, producing some of the biggest films of his time while sharing a comfortable apartment with his dog, Charlie; not a twenty-six year old film school dropout and still stuck in South Park. All he had going for him was this stupid job-turned-career that he didn't want in the least.

While Craig mulled over his poor life decisions on the floor of the ticket booth, he was completely unaware of another person's looming presence waiting at the window above him. "Hey, is anyone in there?"

Startled, Craig slammed his head against the underside of the counter when he stood up a little too fast.

"Fuck! God dammit, I swear." He squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed his hand to his head, the pressure helping to mask the ache. He probably should've watched what came out of his mouth in front of customers, but at that particular moment in time, he couldn't give a—

"Craig?"

A chill ran up his spine. He forced himself to open his eyes, only to find the last person he'd ever expect to see standing on the other side of the glass, a few inches under six foot with flaming red curls and tired, dark green eyes. "What do you want, Broflovski," he snapped.

Kyle looked taken aback. "You're still here?"

Craig wasn't sure whether Kyle meant here as in South Park or here as in the movie theater. Either way, he didn't give him an answer since both would have been equally embarrassing. "What do you want, Broflovski," he repeated.

"You always were a charmer," Kyle muttered and scanned Craig up and down, as if he were judging him. Though Craig was doing his best to play it cool, his skin prickled all over out of sheer nervous anxiety, because seriously—what the hell was Kyle Broflovski doing back there? "I want to get the hell out of this shithole town, but that's not going to happen for a while. So I figured I'd at least go see a movie or something. I'm bored out of my mind."

Craig wanted to ask. He wanted to know what the point of Kyle coming back to South Park was if it was such a shithole, especially when he actually managed to leave. And from what he'd heard through the grapevine, AKA Kenny's loud ass mouth, Kyle was doing pretty well for himself. Instead though, Craig just stared at him, feigning disinterest; which was sort of hard to do when he hadn't seen Kyle in a little over eight years. It was crazy to see just how much—and how little, in some cases—he'd changed.

"So, any movie suggestions?"

"I can suggest that you go away," Craig said without missing a beat. He was certain those three idiots would be out of his life for good eight years ago, and he had no intentions of dealing with any of them ever again; especially not this one.

"What the hell, Craig? What's your problem? I thought we were on good terms the last time we hung out," Kyle snapped defensively. "It's not my fault you're still stuck working here, so don't take it out on me. I've got enough shit to put up with."

The last time they 'hung out' was the summer road trip to Disney World that their two groups had taken together after high school, and even then the two of them hardly spoke one-on-one because Kyle always had his head up Stan's ass.

Craig's stomach suddenly dropped at the thought of that fumbling idiot, because if Kyle was here, that had to mean that Stan was, too.

"Wow. Must be tough. Now buy a ticket or leave."

"I know you're just being an asshole, but yeah, things are tough right now. Especially since I have nobody to talk to. I'm stuck at my parent's house for two weeks with nobody else but my obnoxious family because fucking Stan decided to bail on me last minute and—"

"I don't care."

"You should care!"

"Well I don't. I don't care, and I don't want to be roped into your brand of crazy ever again. Things have been nice and quiet without you guys to stir up shit around here, and I'd prefer to keep it that way." It's the most he's ever said to him in nearly a decade, and they're nothing close to the words he'd rehearsed over and over in the hotel bathroom before heading out to Magic Kingdom for the fireworks show.

He'd sort of expected for Kyle to either (a) continue his shit fit, or (b) storm off in the opposite direction after that, but Kyle wasn't angry. Or at least, it didn't seem like he was. Kyle was looking at him with knitted brows and curious green eyes, as if he were deep in thought.

"What."

Kyle ran a hand through his hair, the other on his hip.

"Holy shit." He scoffed. "You look just like him."

"What."

"Okay, so not exactly like him, but like—I think this could maybe work."

"What."

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

Craig hesitated. He didn't know how to answer that, because he was 99.6% certain that this wasn't about making dinner reservations and definitely about tricking him into some crazy ass scheme that Kyle had just came up with on the spot.

"That depends."

"On?"

"How much you're paying me."

"How much would it cost for you to come have dinner at my parent's house?"

Craig wasn't actually being serious about the whole paying him thing, but apparently Kyle thought otherwise.

"What."

"I'll pay you to come have dinner tomorrow night at my place," Kyle explained. "I… I need you to pretend to be Stan."

Oh, hell no.

"Fuck off, Broflovski." It was Craig's turn to snap that time, his usual cold and unamused demeanor cracking to show hints of actual disgust and anger. And to think, a small part of him actually thought Kyle wanted to hang out.

"Wait, listen. Just hear me out." Kyle put his hands up, as if that'd help make Craig feel more amiable towards the idea of being a stand in for that moron. It didn't. But because Craig didn't hate Kyle nearly as much as he hated Stan, he at least decided to listen to his plea.

"I know it's completely out of left field, and I know it's awkward as fuck, but I really need you to come over for dinner tomorrow and just pretend to be Stan. Seriously, I wouldn't be asking you of all people to do something like this if it wasn't absolutely necessary, but it is." Kyle paused. Craig lifted a brow, growing impatient. "You see, Stan and I are getting married in a few weeks, and he was supposed to come back here with me to get things set up for the wedding, but his job sort of ended up needing him to stay, and my mom won't stop looking at me like some wounded fucking puppy because Stan can't be here right now, and he won't be for another week, and—"

Craig cut him off before he'd go blue in the face.

"So you want me to pretend to be your stupid fiancé because you hate people feeling sorry for you."

"Hey, that's not—!" Kyle stopped. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly heated, but nothing came out. Craig knew he must've hit a nerve. After a second or two spent chewing his lip, Kyle finally sighed in resignation. "Sort of," he admitted. "But was all that really necessary?"

"That's stupid," Craig said, but still mulled over the idea for a few moments in his head. Here Kyle was, practically begging him to play out his sick sixteen year old self's fantasy, except it most likely wasn't going to end the way it did back in his daydreams during history class; and sure, Kyle just popping up out of nowhere really threw him off guard in the absolute worst way; but maybe if he were to actually get something out of it, standing in as Stan wouldn't be so bad. After all, Kenny did say that Kyle had been doing pretty well for himself.

"What do you do?"

"Excuse me?"

"For a job. What do you do."

"Oh. Um, I'm a civil attorney. Why?"

"Give me five-thousand dollars and I'll do it."

"What!" Kyle gaped. "No way, that's ridiculous!"

Craig shrugged. "Bye."

"Like, a couple hundred dollars, sure… but five-thousand? C'mon, dude. That's just insane."

"I said bye."

"What the hell would you even need that kind of money for, anyway? The cost of living here isn't that high!"

"It is in California."

"Is that what you're planning to do with it? Go to California?"

Craig didn't answer. He'd been trying to get out to California since he'd graduated high school, but the cards just never seemed to be in his favor. Even Kenny had managed to make his way out to the west coast before him, leaving him to suffer in South Park alone with only Clyde and Tweek to share his misery. Except not really, because Clyde couldn't care less as long as his best friend was around, and Tweek would be a neurotic mess no matter where he lived. But with an extra five-thousand dollars added on top of what he'd already had saved up, Craig could finally ditch that shitty town for good.

"Like I said, Broflovski. Take it or leave it."

"Fine," Kyle grumbled. "But for five-grand, you're gonna help me out for the next week until Stan gets here. There's no way I'm paying you that much just so you can come over, stuff your face, and leave."

Craig didn't argue. He could manage to deal with Kyle and his bullshit for a week if it meant that he'd finally have a one way ticket to Pacific Beach by the end of the summer.

"Deal."

"Good. Great." Kyle sighed in relief. "Okay, you know where I live, right?"

Craig nodded.

"Be there at six o'clock sharp, alright? In the evening. Don't try to be a smartass and show up before the sun's even out," Kyle said.

"Whatever, I got it. Now leave."

"You're going to actually have to be nice to me around my family. Stan doesn't tell me to leave."

"You're lucky if I even show up at this point."

"And for Christ's sake, please dress at least semi-decent, alright? I usually help Stan pick out his clothes so he always looks nice, but…" He nodded at the theater uniform Craig was wearing. Craig wondered if Kyle was seriously dumb enough to think that he'd chosen to wear that cheesy getup willingly.

Beyond through with their conversation, Craig ripped a random ticket from the reel and thrust it out the window at Kyle.

"Enjoy your movie. Now go away."

Kyle began to say something, but Craig's piercing blue eyes must've made him second guess his decision. Instead, he took the ticket and made his way for the theater doors, where he lingered around for a bit, stealing one last hesitant glance back at the ticket counter, before finally disappearing inside.

Craig wondered if Kyle had suddenly realized just how terrible of an idea this half-baked plan of his actually was and just how easily it could backfire; because it was terrible, and it could backfire. Badly. Hell, it probably would. Craig already knew this wasn't going to end well, but he would have never expected for Kyle to willingly play along with, let alone orchestrate, such an idiotic scheme.

Craig shook his head and scoffed.

And he'd always thought that Kyle was the smart one.