A/N: Yay, I finally have another chapter up here for this one! Go me and my skillz. So, yeah, I've been out and about for the last few days, and I finally finally sat down and wrote this for you all. Thanks go out to apelilly who reviewed my last chapter.

This one is Craig's POV.

PS: My French possibly sucks. There's translations at the bottom, though.

I'd been sitting in Kyle's living room for only about five minutes, and I was already going insane. I hadn't had a smoke since lunch at school yesterday—I'd stayed at Tweek's last night, and his parents, like everyone else's parents except for mine and maybe Kenny's, were real anti-smoking advocates. I could tell Tweek hated it too, but he never said anything to me. Most of the time I tried not to smoke when I was with him; when we were at my house or wherever, I'd wait until he was busy with something else and go outside for five or ten minutes, or until he was gone, just to be safe. I didn't want him going back home smelling like tobacco and his parents asking questions about it. My Tweeker had enough trouble with everyday stress without me adding to it. Besides, I'd put him through too much shit already. I owed it to him to try to cut back on my nicotine intake, when I was around him at least. And I was around him a lot, so that was a huge sacrifice. He was worth it, though; of course he was. He was Tweek. I'd do pretty much anything for him, and usually I could control my urge to smoke, no problem.

But right now, I could smell the familiar scent of cigarettes coming off of Christophe, who was sitting behind me, and it was fucking with my senses. I could practically taste tobacco every time I swallowed. And of course I didn't have my cigarettes with me tonight. I'd figured I'd be able to get through Kyle's party without them, but I'd completely fucking forgot about our resident Frenchy. Jesus Christ, I needed a smoke. Was this how Tweek felt whenever he didn't have coffee? I tightened my grip around his shoulders and promised myself that I would never let that happen.

It felt like forever before the song ended. As soon as I heard Christophe hit the last note on the drums, I turned around.

"Got a smoke?" I asked him. He rolled his eyes at me, but handed the drumsticks over to Token and stood up. After reassuring Tweek that I would be right back, I followed the only other smoker of our group (Kenny had quit a few months earlier, after dying of lung cancer. He said he'd gone to Hell and had to sit through hours of anti-smoking campaigns. I didn't blame him for quitting after that, and as much as I hated the idea of suffering the same fate, I just couldn't give it up.) out the Broflovski's front door, where we sat on the steps. He pulled out a carton of cigarettes and took one for himself, then held the box out for me. I resisted the temptation to take all of the remaining four—I was pretty sure Christophe would kill for his cigarettes. He was more addicted than I was. It wasn't until I had the stupid thing in my mouth that I realized I didn't have anything to light it with, either. I looked over at Christophe, and with another roll of his eyes, he tossed me his lighter. I lit the end of my cigarette and took a drag, savouring the taste.

"Fuck," I said, exhaling. "Thanks, man."

He ignored me, not that it mattered much to me. I hadn't come out here to talk. I just wanted to smoke my craving away in peace. I closed my eyes while I filled my lungs with nicotine, and felt myself relax almost instantly. This was why I couldn't quit smoking completely, not even for Tweek. Cigarettes were to me what coffee was to him (we each thought the other's addiction was the most disgusting thing in the world), and I would never ask him to give up coffee for me. As I tapped my cigarette against the concrete, knocking the ash off the end of it, I couldn't stop myself from smiling; thinking about Tweek always made me happy.

"What 'as you so 'appy?"

"Huh?' I blinked, facing Christophe again. He was smirking at me, his smoldering cigarette in his left hand.

"You are smiling like a bimbo beetch who 'as just discovered zat ze cast from 'igh School Musical is coming to 'er 'ometown," he said.

I glared at him, and raised my free hand to flip him off. With a hoarse laugh, he stuck his cigarette between his lips.

"Non, you did not seem like ze type," he said around the tobacco stick. "Zac Efron, 'e is too much of a pretty boy for you, oui?"

"Fucking Disney robot," I muttered, inhaling more so-bad-but-tastes-so-good tobacco just as Christophe blew little smoke rings into the air. He laughed again, and crushed his nearly-finished cigarette on the concrete step, only to have another one lit and in his mouth in less than a second. I glanced down at my own, only half-finished. Yeah, he was way more addicted than me.

"So why ze grin?"

"Just thinking," I said, my tone sharp enough to get the message of I don't want to talk across.

"Zinking about?" Of course he didn't care if I wanted to talk or not. He met my glare with dark, unreadable eyes. I'd known him long enough to know that he didn't appreciate his tobacco breaks being interrupted by conversation either. If it weren't for the smirk, if I had to judge what Christophe felt by his eyes alone, there would be no way to tell that he was being a pain in the ass on purpose. This had to be payback for asking for a cigarette. I should have known there would be a price. Jesus, Christophe was a bigger asshole than I was, sometimes. I shrugged.

"Tweeker." I kept my eyes on his, silently daring him to make a crack about the fact that Tweek has the ability to make me smile just by being part of my thoughts. But he just nodded at me and looked away, down the empty street.

It didn't take me long to finish my cigarette after that. After inconspicuously tossing it in the bushes beside the steps, I was halfway to my feet when, without looking at me, Christophe held out his carton of cigarettes and his lighter. I looked from the three cigarettes left in the box to him and back again. He shook the box impatiently, but it was another few seconds before I took them and sat back down, lighting up a second time. Christophe's eyes were still focused on something down the road. I slid his cigarettes and lighter across the step to him; with barely a glance at them, he lit his third one, his second disappearing into the bushes on his side. It was another minute before he exhaled a cloud of smoke and turned back to me. His smirk was gone, his expression blank.

"You love 'im?" he asked, his tone serious.

I coughed, in the middle of sucking back another mouthful of tobacco. I hadn't been expecting him to ask me something like that. He waited silently while I tried to keep myself from dying on Kyle's doorstep. I finally caught my breath and, wiping my watering eyes, I said, "Yeah."

"And 'e loves you?" Christophe looked down at his boots and started flicking his silver lighter open and shut. I blinked at him. What kind of dumbass question was that?

"We've been together for a year and a half, Christophe. What do you think?" I tapped the ashes off the end of my cigarette again. Christophe slowly lifted his head and did the same. He mumbled something in French.

"Okay, I know you like speaking French around us because we can't understand a word you say, but if you're going to talk to me you need to speak English," I said irritably. There was obviously something on his mind and I just wanted him to spit it out so I could go back inside to Tweeker.

He stretched his legs out and leaned back on his elbows. "'Ow do you know you love 'im for sure?"

"You think I don't love him?" I half-growled the words. Anybody who thought I didn't love Tweek was blind, deaf, and a complete fucking retard. Hadn't I proven that last year? I was ready to punch Christophe, but he shook his head.

"Non, zat is not what I said. I want you to tell me 'ow you know it is love." One corner of his mouth turned up in an almost-smirk as he continued playing with his lighter, and he said quietly, "Je veux savoir quel amour est..."

Fucking French. I sighed, tossing my cigarette on the ground and crushing it underneath the heel of my shoe. "I don't know. He makes me happy."

"But 'ow? 'Ow can someone else control your 'appiness?" he demanded. He didn't sound angry or sarcastic like he normally did; there was some kind of urgency in his voice that made it clear that he wanted to know the answer now. He was staring at me, intently, like I would have that magic answer. It might have been intimidating if I'd had a fucking clue what he was talking about.

"Look, man," I said, shrugging. "I don't know. It's just, like, if Tweeker's happy, I'm happy. If he's upset, I'll get upset." I paused. "And go beat the shit out of whatever upset him."

"You want to make 'im 'appy, zen," Christophe said thoughtfully.

"I would kill to make him happy." Thinking of Cartman, I added, "It's come pretty close a few times."

"Would you die for 'im?"

Without hesitating, I nodded. "He's Tweeker, man," I said, as if that explained everything. Which, to me, it did. Apparently it explained something to Christophe too, because he stopped asking me questions and started muttering to himself in French again. I left him sitting on the steps and stood to go back inside. As I turned the doorknob of the Broflovski's front door, I heard him say, "Ce pourrait être...?"

Whatever the fuck that meant.

... ... ...

"Get it, get it!" Token yelled, jabbing at the buttons on the Wii controller he was holding.

"I'm trying!" I yelled back, trying to navigate my character's way around the goddamn moving level to get the floating ball. I had to keep jumping from platform to platform, going up, but I kept falling off and dying. Super Smash Brothers Brawl was not my game. But Clyde had brought his Wii all the way over to Kyle's to play, and it was him and Stan against me and Token. We were losing miserably, mostly because of me. Token was actually not that bad; it was just me that sucked.

"Well, maybe if you weren't playing as Peach you'd actually be able to help me win!" Token waved his controller at the TV screen. I stuck my middle finger in the air, and then refocused my attention on the game. Yes, I was playing the game as the princess from the Mario games, but I hadn't picked her. Kenny had insisted on choosing everyone's character. Peach and Kirby versus Falco from Star Fox and Sonic the hedgehog.

...No wonder Token and I were losing.

Finally, the word GAME! flashed on the screen. Token glared at me, but I just shrugged, and handed my controller over to Kenny, who jumped up from where he'd been sitting on the floor and looked around the room eagerly for a partner. Cartman and Butters had traded places, so he was on the recliner with Butters on the floor beside him. Clyde, Kyle, Tweek, and I were all sitting on the couch, and Stan and Token were on the floor in front of us. Christophe had separated himself from everyone else; he was sitting against the far wall.

"Someone play with me," Kenny whined. "Cartman?"

"Fuck that, dude, I'm getting more pizza," said Cartman, getting up.

"Like you need more pizza, fatass," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Shut up, Craig!" he said, glaring at me. I flipped him off. Tweek shivered beside me.

"You okay, Tweeker?" I asked, sliding an arm around him.

He smiled at me, one of those rare smiles of his, uninterrupted by twitching, that made his whole face light up. Fuck, I loved when he smiled like that. "Ngh! Yeah, I'm – I'm okay. I just need some more – more coffee."

"I'll get it," I said, ruffling his hair. I headed into the kitchen and grabbed a mug from one of the cupboards. Cartman was piling pizza slices onto a plate. I rolled my eyes at his back while I poured Tweek's coffee. It was amazing that he hadn't had a heart attack yet, it really was.

I'd just handed my blond the mug of coffee and sat back down on the couch when Kyle's mom appeared and announced that it was time for presents and then cake. Kyle jumped up excitedly and exclaimed, "Sweet!"

I snickered. Was Kyle turning eighteen or eight?

"Sit down, bubbe," said Mrs. Broflovski, pointing to the floor in the middle of the living room. Kyle sat while Stan and Kenny helped Mrs. Broflovski carry all the presents over to him. Christophe slowly made his way over to the couch and sat down in between Tweek and Clyde. Token turned off the video game and sat on the floor in front of us. Butters had a big smile on his face, and even Cartman stopped shoving pizza in his mouth. This was important.

Once Kyle had gotten through all the family presents—which mostly consisted of clothes and books, of course—Stan said, "'Kay, Kyle, your presents from us are all connected, so you have to open them in order."

I grinned at Tweek beside me. He gulped a mouthful of coffee. His green eyes were sparkling with the same excitement I felt. Stan passed Kyle the first present, the one from Butters. Kyle looked at it for a second, and then ripped it open. He lifted the lid off the box and peered inside. He looked confused, and I couldn't help laughing. He looked up at me and I just shrugged.

"A newspaper?" Kyle picked up a second item. "And a...recipe for Yorkshire pudding?" He looked from it to Stan, who just smiled and handed him Token's gift. Kyle tore off the paper with a little less enthusiasm.

"A soundtrack of Broadway musicals?" He looked at Token now. "Dude, come on."

"Don't you like Broadway?" Token asked innocently. Kyle sighed, and turned to his mom, who was watching us from the doorway. "Mom?"

"Now, now, bubbe, your friends put a lot of thought into these presents for you," she said.

"But—"

"Come on, Kyle, open Tweek's now," Stan said, holding out the gift bag.

"Oh, Jesus!" Tweek hid his face in my shoulder. I took his mug from him before he spilled coffee all over the couch and put it on the table beside me.

"A stuffed beaver..." Kyle pulled out the animal from the bag and blinked at it. "You guys, what's going on?"

Tweek whimpered. I leaned down so my mouth was right beside his ear and whispered, "It's okay, Tweeker. This is what's supposed to happen. We're supposed to confuse him. Don't worry. Okay?"

He twitched again and I held him closer to me. I raised my head and caught Christophe's eye. His eyes went from me to Tweek, and then without saying a word he looked back at Kyle, who had just opened Cartman's present—an apple. My present to him was next, and then Clyde's. We'd each gotten him a framed picture, one of Theodore Roosevelt, and one of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Kyle looked about ready to either cry or kick us all out of his house by that point.

"Okay, second-last one," Stan said, holding out Christophe's newspaper-wrapped gift. Kyle hesitated before taking it, and I almost didn't blame him. He held it in both hands for a few seconds, and then ripped off the paper with a sigh. Something shiny and red fell out and his eyes got big. He held up a ring, with a dark red stone, and stared at Christophe with his mouth slightly open. Everyone's eyes, including mine, followed his gaze. Christophe shifted his weight and looked uncomfortable with all the attention.

"What?" he said finally. "It is not zat impressive, just a ring. A garnet ring," he said, putting emphasis on the word and raising an eyebrow at Stan, who blinked.

"Uh," he said. "Right. Yeah. Okay, so." He picked up the last present, and gave it to Kyle, who shook his head a few times and then slipped the ring onto his finger. He looked around at all of us one more time, and then ripped the paper off of a cardboard box. He took out a piece of paper and I could see his eyes move across it.

"Read it out loud," Stan suggested. Kyle glanced at him before doing just that.

"'Happy eighteenth birthday, Kyle.'" he started. "'Did you know that South Park, Colorado is only about eighteen hundred miles away from New York City? That's a hundred miles for every year of your life! In honour of this little-known fact, all of your eighteenth birthday presents are New York-themed. Did you know the state mammal is a beaver? Now you do. And now you have your own beaver to play with!'" Kyle looked down at the stuffed beaver, and then continued reading. "'And the state fruit is an apple. Did you know states got an official fruit? Weird, hey? Wanna know something else weird? Theodore Roosevelt, our 26th president, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt, our 32nd president, were both born in New York—and they were only distant cousins! Insert Twilight Zone music here.'"

Kenny started humming the theme to the Twilight Zone. Clyde and Token tried to join in about halfway through, but they were both laughing too hard.

"'New York gets a special state gem too—the garnet.'" Kyle glanced at the ring on his finger and up at Christophe for a split-second. "'And of course you know all about Broadway, right? Good. Oh, and newspapers and Yorkshire pudding aren't associated with New York, it's just in their names. Get it? Newspapers? Yorkshire pudding? Shut up, Kyle, we're funny.'" He laughed. "'But in case you're wondering, no, this isn't it. Look in the envelope, Kyle. You know you want to.'" He finished reading and put down the piece of paper. He pulled a big brown envelope out of the box and once again looked around at everyone in the room.

"Am I going to regret this?" he asked with a small smile.

"Oh, for Christ's sake just open it, you pussy!" Cartman said impatiently. Mrs. Broflovski coughed from the doorway and Cartman gave her an innocent smile. She just sighed. Even Kyle's mom had gotten used to the fact that there was no way Cartman would ever change.

Kyle ripped open the envelope and dumped the contents on the floor. He picked up one of the items and looked at it for two seconds before his eyes widened and he looked at Stan, then at his mom. "Oh, my God, are you serious?!"

"Happy birthday, bubbe," Mrs. Broflovski said with a smile. "You're going to New York!"

Kyle leapt to his feet, but there was nowhere for him to go. He sat back down on the floor and started laughing hysterically. I rolled my eyes, but I was happy too. Stan had come up with the idea after the epic failure of Kyle's birthday party last year. Nobody liked to think about last year; it had been that awful. A couple weeks after the disaster, Stan had gotten everyone—except Kyle, of course—to go over to his place. He'd said he wanted to make Kyle's eighteenth birthday extra-awesome, since his seventeenth had sucked so hard, and had outlined the plan. We would all chip in for plane tickets and hotel reservations and have a month in New York, with just us. Of course we were all for it; we'd get to go to fucking New York for an entire month. (Clyde and Token were especially excited, because they'd get to have their birthdays there.) I'd had practically no social life at all for a year, since I'd had to actually get a job (at Harbucks, of all places. How ironic is that?) and had to work so much over there to get the money—I'd had time for Tweek, and not much else, but it was so going to be worth it. A month. In New York. With no parents, with just friends, with Tweeker.

Fuck, I was excited.

Je veux savoir quel amour est. - I want to know what love is.

Ce pourrait être...? - Could it be...?