I don't own south park.

If Firkle liked anything about certain Canadian it would be pancakes he always makes whenever he somehow gets to drag Goth to his house.

Each time despite her dislike toward her sons friend Sheila would ask him if he wants anything to drink, he'd say 'no' and Ike would just bring him black coffee in his own mug with maple leaf painted on it. And as always, short goth would drink it just to be nice or something. And then pancakes.

Usually Firkle didn't like pancakes. They were to conformist for his liking and pancakes his mother was making never really tasted him. Yet Ikes pancakes were always good. And as always he'd ate at least few. Out of courtesy as he tells himself.

Yet he knew something was making Canadians pancakes different from any other pancakes. And today he decided to check what it was. Yes. He was aware that problems like this aren't goth and putting work into it was even less goth. But, damn, it was constantly on his mind. Pancakes were slowly driving him nuts. And Ike, it was all this darn Canadians fault.

"Huh?" Ike asked Firkle who was carefully studying his movements. "What? Can't I look?" goth asked slowly drinking his coffee.

"Of course you can." Ike replies with wide smile. Goth just mutters something angrily with frown.

"Are you planning to make me fat?" Firkle asked looking at giant – for him, pile of pancakes.

"Why would I?" Ike asked smiling.

"Because." Firkle just said. 'Very mature' he thought sighing with resignation. At least Ike makes good coffee. Again. Ike. Why won't Canadian leave his mind. Well they are in the same room. But even if they weren't goth was still catching himself thinking about Ike pretty often. Far to often for his own liking. It was so not goth. He was starting to feel like conformist high school girl, and it wasn't fun...