Craig's alarm went off at noon, just barely giving him enough time to shower and eat before his shift at Taco Bell began. He groaned into his pillow. Waking up before 3 pm was hard enough as it is was without already having been woken up once because fucking Bebe decided to eradicate his dishes at nine in the fucking morning. What was even worse was that he could, technically, still have been asleep right now if he hadn't made the retarded choice of picking up extra hours of work during his winter break. Minimum wage was hardly worth spending hours of his free time on end assembling burritos and cooking french fries. But at least he'd found a job where he could work more or less alone and didn't have to smile at or be polite to anyone. It would take two hands to count the number of jobs he'd been fired from for being rude to people. He'd spent a lot of time in the principle's office as a kid, and his knack for getting in trouble had followed him into adulthood. But at Taco Bell he could at least scowl at the tortilla shells in peace and had worked there long enough that his fellow employees knew to steer clear of him unless the situation absolutely called for it. Even the ever friendly Butters, who worked as a cashier there had given up on trying to initiate conversation with him for the most part.

He grudgingly threw off his covers and grabbed his work uniform before stumbling out of his room towards the bathroom that he and Clyde shared. He locked the door behind him, even though Clyde had already left the apartment to go to his own job. Clyde worked at the concession stand of the movie theatre down the block and wouldn't be back for hours, but always locking the door was a habit of Craig's. He valued privacy above all else. He quickly undressed, giving his angular body a brief once over in the mirror. He looked like a praying mantis, he thought as he stepped in to the shower, long limbed and gawky. Why couldn't he be a praying mantis? No one bothered them. They could just kill smaller bugs and sit around on leaves all day. The American dream. Craig shook the bizzare thought from his head. This was what happened when he didn't get enough sleep. He ran a hand over the short stubble that was growing on his face, briefly considering shaving before he decided, fuck it. That was Craig's attitude towards most things: Fuck it.

The hot water felt good on his back, slowly waking him up and washing off the day old smell of fried food and mexican spices from last night's shift. He hadn't showered when he'd gotten home because why would he? He had no one to impress and that was the way he liked it. True, Craig needed cleanliness when it came to clutter in his room or Clyde's many spills in the kitchen but he bothered less with his own personal hygiene. If people were put off by the scent of tacos that often hung on him then they were more than welcome to remove themselves from his presence. In fact, he'd be thrilled if they did. It would save him the trouble of driving them away personally. All people did, Craig had learned, was make a mess of the meticulously planned out life he had spent so long trying to implement. He was in his second year of studying to be a mechanical engineer. When he graduated he would get a job where he could design machinery, appliances, computers, anything really. He liked numbers and mathematical theories and programming. They made sense and they were never muddled by bothersome things like emotions or interpretation. Craig would be happy so long as he had his own office and communication with his coworkers was not mandatory. He would buy his own place and maybe a guinea pig or two for company and enjoy solitude for the rest of his life.

Clyde on the other hand was in a kinesiology program, hoping to one day become a gym teacher. The very idea of such a career turned Craig's stomach: screaming children, physical activity, low income and small talk in the teachers lounge. Awful. It would be Craig's very own personal hell, but he knew it would suit Clyde well. Bebe wanted to be a geriatric nurse. Maybe that explained her willingness to put up with him. She was practicing her tolerance for grumpy assholes with bad tempers. He half smiled at that. Congratulations to Bebe for being the first, and this far only, female who had stood for Craig's ways this long. He supposed it made sense that the two only people who were charitable enough to like him were dating each other.

When he was done washing his hair, Craig glanced at the clock on the bathroom wall, wondering if he had time to jack off before work. It was only about 12:15, so he braced himself against the shower wall and allowed a hand to slip down south. Fuck. He hadn't had time to do this for a few days and it wasn't until just now that he realized how much he needed it. He stroked himself and thought of Scarlett Johansson in The Avengers and Lara Croft's boobs. His skin was warm and soft, reactive to every single movement of his hand. This was the only time he became completely unhinged, giving in to his carnal, human needs. Composed Craig was gone, and in his place was a foreign being, gasping and humping into his own hand. His breath caught when he sped up his pace, head falling back against the tiles. Soon he was panting and rolling his hips forward to meet his fist, strangled grunts barely escaping his parted lips with each thrust. "Aaaahhhhh!" He finally cried, eyes scrunching shut. "Fuck," He moaned, trying to calm his breathing. He splashed water against the mess he'd left until that last of it had washed down the drain before shutting off the shower head and drying himself.

Craig sighed contentedly. Nothing like starting the day off right with some good old fashioned self love. He slid into his work uniform and walked into the kitchen to get breakfast, ruffling his hair on the way to rid it of any excess water droplets. He opened the cupboard, reaching for the Froot Loops but when he peered inside the box, it was nearly empty with less than half a serving left in the inner plastic bag. Craig frowned. There had still been a decent amount left when he'd fed Bebe this morning which must mean that Clyde The Bottomless Pit finished it off before he left, the fucking pig, and then put the empty box back into the cupboard. Classic Clyde. He was the type of person who never changed the roll of toilet paper either. Craig grumbled, this time pulling down the box of Raisin Bran. Ugh. He fixed himself a bowl and ate standing up, sullenly sponging the bland cereal into his mouth like a disgruntled child.

...

The ride on the public bus to the mall where Craig worked was mercifully short, and he even managed to arrive a few minutes early for his shift, a true rarity. "Craig!" He heard his name called as he was punching in and his body tensed up. "Craig I'm so glad you're here!" He turned around to face Mrs. Allen, his manager, a large woman in her 40s. She looked flustered, short hair frizzed around her face and she was breathing heavily. "Kevin called in sick this morning and I couldn't find anyone to cover for him in time! I need you to take his place, we've been swamped all day and the lunch rush is coming!"

Craig stared. "But I work in the back. Kevin works in the front."

"Yes he does, and it's a very important job which is why I need someone to stand in for him today. The other boys in the back will manage without you, now go!" She urged hurriedly, as if made anxious by the time he was wasting talking to her. She ushered him towards the cash registers.

"I don't even know how to use one of these things," Craig protested lamely. No way in HELL was he going to work at the front where all the customers were. This was not what he signed up for.

"Leopold will help you figure it out. It's really not that hard Craig. Hurry up!" She demanded, her patience spent, giving him a final push towards the front counter which was crowded with people. Butters looked even more distressed than Mrs. Allen had and glanced over at Craig gratefully.

"Oh uh, hey Craig," he began nervously, "sorry that you gotta work up h-here today." The expression on Craig's features was blank but his eyes burned with irritation. "It's real easy, though, I swear!" Butters insisted, attempting to put on a smile in the presence of the ever intimidating Craig Tucker. "There's just ah, there are these buttons for each order number an' y-you just press 'em an' it all adds up f-f-for you," he finished, looking down at his feet.

"EY!" Cried an impatient voice. It sent an angry shiver up Craig's spine. No. There was no way his luck was this bad… he looked away from Butters to find Eric Cartman standing in front of his register, fat arms crossed over his beefy chest surrounded by Stan, Kyle and Kenny. This was the last fucking thing he needed.

"What's your problem fat-ass?" He glowered at Cartman, crossing his own arms.

"Hey you can't talk to me like that! I'm the customer!" He looked self-satisfied as he smirked down at Craig. "Don't make me get your manager you Goddamn butt-pirate!"

Actually, thought Craig, Cartman getting him in shit with his manager was the last thing he needed. He took a breath. "Butters was just showing me how to use the register." He was impressed with his own calmness and uncrossed his arms.

"Well Fag Tucker, if you're done sucking Butters balls over nyah then I'd like some GODDAMN TACOS!"

Craig rolled his eyes."Like you need them," he muttered under his breath, just quiet enough for Cartman not to hear. "And for your friends?" At least the rest of them had the decency to look embarrassed on behalf of Cartman, with Kyle even offering a "shut up, fat-ass." However, Craig still held a small grudge on them for that time they took all his birthday money and got him sent to Peru when they were kids.

They all (with the exception of Cartman) placed simple ordered and luckily Craig was able to work the machine properly. Butters had been right, it was pretty easy. What wouldn't be easy would be dealing with all the other brainless morons who were bound to come in, too lazy to make their own lunch and therefore resorting to eating at Taco Bell and purchasing the revolting slop that was being passed off as food.

...

Craig was relieved when business finally slowed down around three o'clock and he and Butters were left standing in silence, with the exception of the odd customer or two coming by.

"Loo loo loo I've got some apples, loo loo loo you've got some too," Butters began singing softly until Craig looked over, giving him a dirty look. Butters caught his eye and stopped mid sentence. Looking almost afraid, he cleared his throat and fiddled with his hands. The quiet only lasted for a few minutes before Butters began humming, this time even lower.

"Hmm hmm hmm I've got some app-"

"Stotch, shut the fuck up!" Craig barked, exasperated.

Butters looked like he was going to cry. "Oh hamburgers, I-I'm sorry C-C-Craig. I didn't m-mean to upset you," he wavered.

"Just-" Craig sighed, almost feeling bad. Butters was pretty harmless, and of course he hadn't meant to upset Craig. He was just being himself, cheerful fucking Butters. "Just don't sing, okay?"

Butters nodded.

More silence, then a few more customers.

Then, "Hey Craig?"

"What."

"Why're you so a-angry all the time?" Butters asked, huge childlike eyes fixed on him questioningly.

"I'm not angry," Craig answered. This was a lie.

"But then why're you always yellin' an' frownin' all the time an' stuff?"

Craig searched Butters' face, and as was frustratingly often the case with him, found nothing other than kindness and well intentioned curiosity. Nothing to attack. It was hard to be mean to Butters, it was like kicking a puppy or stepping on a delicate flower or some shit. Did I really just compare Butters to a delicate flower? Craig inwardly shook his head. He would have to start going to bed earlier. His over-tiredness was making him think of strange things. He fought the reflex to lash out, and instead attempted what was probably a very feeble and unconvincing smile.

"I'm not." A lie.

"It's okay if you d-don't wanna talk about it or nothin'," Butters stammered quickly, careful not to offend Craig again. "I just know that when I'm sad it helps to t-t-talk."

"I'm not sad, Butters," Craig said testily. A therapy session, he decided, was also not something that he had signed up for today. Butters looked at him dubiously, with what appeared to be pity in his eyes. Craig hated pity. "I'm not sad and I'm not angry. I just like being alone," he justified, sharper than he'd intended. "I like peace and quiet and solitude and not having to talk to snivelling little dicks like you who feel like they have the right to pester me about my perceived unhappiness!" Craig's voice had risen to a yell by the time he finished his rant, and unfortunately, this factor probably somewhat undermined the point he was trying to make.

Butters looked stunned, whether by the harshness of the words directed at him or just that fact that Craig had said so many words to him at once, Craig could not tell. Then Butters spoke up, sounding surprisingly sure of himself. "Are you alone 'cause you like bein' alone or 'cause you feel like you gotta be alone?"

Craig whirled around so abruptly that Butters jumped back with fright. Craig's face could be scarily expressive when he wanted it to be, and this was one of those rare times. He stared Butters dead in the eye, aware that his look was radiating animosity. "Listen here Butters-" He began, in a low growl before being interrupted by the sound of someone timidly clearing their throat from behind him.

He turned around to see a small elderly man worriedly standing in front of the counter. "Is everything alright here, boys?"

Craig grinned, if you could call it that. A nasty, sarcastic grin that resembled a snarl more than anything else. "Everything," he stated, heading away from the counter, "is fucking GREAT!" He slammed the door at the back of the establishment behind him, realizing he had left behind his coat but was now too worked up to care about the snowflakes that were falling on his bare arms. Who the fuck did Butters think he was? Craig knew himself. He enjoyed being alone, he didn't like people, and that was that. His conversation with Butters just served as further proof. People were nosy and annoying and thought they had the right to know Craig. They thought he owed them his words, his time, his feelings. He didn't owe anything to anyone.

He stormed down the street towards the bus stop even though his shift still didn't end for a few more hours. Screw work. He might get fired, but whatever. He hated it there anyway. Besides, getting fired was a commonplace occurrence for Craig and one more time would make no difference. It probably would have been only a matter of time before he shot his mouth off at a customer and got himself in trouble anyway.

...

Wendy was on the couch reading a book when Bebe stepped into their apartment the morning after her night with Clyde. The dark haired girl quickly set down the book and eyed her friend with teasing suspicion. "Did someone have a good night? I was expecting you back yesterday."

Bebe groaned. "Shit, sorry. I forgot to text you. I stayed at Clyde's."

"I gather you two have been reunited once again, then?" Wendy asked knowingly. Wendy was the only one who knew the extent of the private struggles she faced in her relationship.

"Yeah," Bebe sighed simply, sinking into the couch beside her best friend.

Wendy became serious, putting a comforting arm around Bebe and stroking her hair. She looked worried. "It's not good for you, this thing you have with Clyde. Every time you get back together with him you look a little worse."

"You think I don't know that? I don't just look worse. I am worse. I feel awful and there's nothing I can do about it." Bebe seemed to deflate as the words left her mouth.

"You know what you have to do, Bebe."

"I can't," Bebe said, staring at the blank wall in front of her with tired eyes. "He needs me."

"You need you," Wendy argued, brimming with businesslike tough love as always. "I know that Clyde is going through some things but you have to take care of yourself once in a while. His problems aren't going to go away no matter how much effort you put into supporting him. Is this really how you want to spend the rest of your life? You're miserable and things aren't just going to get better. You need to realize that."

Bebe remained silent because Wendy was right. She often was.

"Want a drink?" Wendy offered, mercifully letting the subject drop. She'd said her piece, and now it was up to Bebe to decide what to do.

"It's like... 10:30 am," Bebe said, scrunching her facial features.

"Come on, we used to get day drunk all the time last year! Don't tell me you've gone soft. You used to be able to drink me under the table, day or night!" Wendy exclaimed, very aware she was directly appealing to Bebe's competitive spirit.

Bebe laughed, taking the bait. "Oh alright," she gave in, "I guess I could use it right now."

But by the time she finished speaking, Wendy was already up off the couch and halfway to the kitchen. She soon returned with a bottle of white wine and two glasses. She filled them to the top and handed one to Bebe who took it gratefully, immediately drinking it in large gulps. Wendy smiled, sipping her own and playing with one of Bebe's curls.

"You know what I was thinking about yesterday?" She laughed, releasing the curl.

"What?" Asked Bebe curiously.

"That time Butters dressed up like a girl to get into our sleepover when we were kids."

"Oh my god!" Bebe cried, the memory coming back to her. "He started crying because we were mean to him so we gave him a makeover to cheer him up."

Wendy grinned. "He had some of the longest eyelashes I've ever seen, the lucky bastard. I'd kill for a set like those."

Bebe nodded her agreement. "Remember when my boobs started to grow in the fourth grade, way before anyone else's? You were so jealous!" She giggled, nudging her friend in the arm playfully. Wendy turned red at how silly she'd acted, shaking her head with embarrassment.

The girls spent almost an hour trading "do you remember" stories from their childhood and drinking. Soon, the bottle was empty and they reclined on the couch with satisfied smiles.

"Craig Tucker made me breakfast this morning," Bebe said out of the blue, wrinkling her face in confusion at the memory.

Wendy sat up straight. "Craig?" She sounded equally perplexed. "That's so weird."

"Well I mean I broke a bowl so I guess he didn't trust me to do it myself," she said rolling her eyes. "I guess he wanted to protect his stuff or something or maybe he noticed I had a hangover and was trying be helpful. I don't know, though, that doesn't seem too likely. But still, it's so fucking strange when he does anything remotely nice. I don't understand it."

Wendy raised her eyebrows. "What's really weird is how hung up you are on it. You're not usually one to over analyze stuff like this."

"What? No!" Bebe countered defensively. "It was just uncharacteristic of him. That's all."

"Admit it, you've always had a little crush on Craig." Wendy argued. Her tone was teasing but persistent.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago." Bebe brushed off the comment, trying to sound nonchalant but her voice didn't even sound convincing to herself. "I just... He's interesting. And strange," she tacked on, realizing that calling him interesting implied something she certainly didn't want to imply. She was dating Clyde, after all.

"You're hot for him," Wendy said bluntly. "I mean it's not like I blame you or anything. After dealing with Clyde's emotions for so long I bet that Craig-the-emotionally-devoid-robot is looking pretty good right about now."

Bebe tried to protest but Wendy cut her off, continuing, "He is kinda hot, in a weird, shut-in losery way," she laughed.

"Don't call him a loser," Bebe muttered almost inaudibly.

Wendy grinned at her like a Cheshire Cat. "Shit, you're really into him, aren't you!? And you don't even realize it," she gasped.

Bebe moaned into a pillow. "Did you get me drunk just so you could interrogate me about Craig?" She accused, frowning.

"You're the one who brought him up, oh intoxicated one. And I use that title lightly because you didn't even drink that much. You started talking about him by your own volition so don't even try to put that on me." She stuck her tongue out, adding, "And I didn't get you drunk so I could badger you about who you may or may not be secretly in love with. I got you drunk so I could have my way with you!" With that, Wendy giggled deviously and pounced on Bebe, tickling her friend unrelentingly until she shrieked with laughter.

The girls finally fell back, exhausted on the couch. "Thank you," Bebe said softly, looking up at the ceiling

"What for?"

"For being wise and perceptive and making me laugh when I feel like shit."

"That's why I'm here," Wendy replied, giving her friend's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. Then her voice turned serious. "But I mean it about the Clyde/Craig situation. There's no way this is gonna end well. Be careful, okay?"

"I'm not going to leave Clyde for Craig," Bebe reassured her. "I don't even have feelings for him," she maintained, insistent on her stance. However, an unsettling feeling was settling in her gut and she worried that in spite of her good intentions, she might be lying, at least a little bit.

A/N

I know the plot is progressing slowly, bear with me. I think that the set-up/build-up is an extremely important part of any story. But shit's gonna get real pretty soon so hang in there.