Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

Holey Bejeebus! 8 reviews! O: Thanks everybody! :D

Oh, hey, its one of those chapters after which I have to write a fluffy one to make up for it. I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not, and I'd rather not lie to you all. X3

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Title: A Neapolitan Love Story

Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: General

May contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing

The fan hummed to life on the ceiling, blades beginning to rotate slowly, and Craig scowled into the still dark room. Someone had been inside it, again, and turned off the light with the hanging chain, again. He stalked into the middle of the room in the near dark, fumbled around blindly for a moment, and caught the thin chain. With a sharp jerk, the light bulbs flashed on, and the chain snapped, arcing down to slap him on the top of his head. It didn't hurt, but he tossed it at the floor angrily anyways.

"Craig, dinner's going to be ready in a few minutes, so…"

He cut his mother's words off with a sharp glance. She stood just outside his door, caught off guard, and looked at him curiously.

"You were in my room," he said, volume normal but tone slightly rising past calm and into annoyed. His mother exhaled softly, but he continued to glare at her.

"Craig, I had to come in to—"

"You were in my room, and you messed with my stuff. Again." His voice was raising now, his sentence ending with a sharp rise.

"Craig—"

"I told you to leave my room alone. Leave it alone." He growled, his words coming out chopped and harsh. His mother opened her mouth again, but he cut her off before she could speak. "What is this? Huh? Do you see this?"

He pointed at an old X-Men figure, Wolverine with his claws nearly chewed off, that was standing on the top of his desk among a collection of other random items, books and knickknacks and things he'd never gotten around to putting away. His mother didn't look at it, he noticed, but continued looking at him, and breathing that same way.

"This. Wasn't. Here." His voice had become a growl, and he felt the finger that was pointing at the figurine shake.

"Craig, listen to me…" Her voice was calm, controlled, and she had her hands out in front of her, palms out, angling towards the floor as her arms moved up and down slightly with each word.

He didn't want to be calmed down.

Turning away from her, he grabbed as many things on his desk as he could, and knocked as much as he could onto the floor in one swipe.

"If you were going to move it, you should have just tossed it on the floor!" He growled some more, turning back to her breathing heavily although the action hadn't required that much effort.

"Craig, stop. Stop this right now." She was aggravated, he could tell by the way her eyes were flaring and the red was rising on her cheekbones, but she was playing saint and keeping calm. He hated it when she did it, just like he hated it when she moved his stuff. And if she'd moved one thing, there's a good chance she'd moved others. She always did. Everyone did, if it wasn't her it was his dad, or his sister. Fuck. He couldn't even spend a Sunday out with his friends without worrying whether or not his things would be touched. Sometimes he felt as if he couldn't be safe just putting his things were he wanted them to be, as if it didn't matter how he arranged them, because they'd all be moved around anyway.

"I told you not to touch anything in my room, didn't I? Didn't I?!" He nearly screamed it, and the red in his mother's cheeks blossomed, traveling across her face as her arms dropped to her sides and her hands fisted. "I told you to leave my shit alone, and you couldn't fucking do it could you?"

"Don't you use that language in this house!" She yelled back at him, raising a hand to point viciously at him. He growled and turned back towards the desk. Once more he swiped things off the top of it, books thudding to the ground, followed by CD cases, empty and not so empty, and the twang of loose CD's as they bounced off the floor.

"Stop! Stop right now! Craig, you are going to stop and calm down right now! Do you hear me?! Stop!" She was screaming at him now, but he wasn't paying attention to it. Teeth clenched, he flipped her off before he realized he'd done it, and received another indignant shriek. Turning away from her he focused back on his desk, looking it over with a quick, critical eye. The books on the topmost shelf were out of order; he never, ever put his Forgotten Realms books before the Bradbury anthologies. It took two hard shoves to clear that shelf, and the resounding crashes effectively blocked out most of his mother's frantic monologue. By the time he began picking the CD cases out of the holder on the second shelf and tossing them over his shoulder his mother had fallen into repeating a few words over and over, words he could barely hear over the blood pounding through his ears.

"Craig, stop. Stop, please…" She was pleading with him now, her hands fisted at her sides again, and shaking slightly. "Stop… stop, Craig. Please…"

"All of my shit…. All of my shit moved around…" He muttered it, out of breath from emotion rather than physical exertion, and in a sudden moment of risen anger he grabbed the entire CD holder and tossed it aside. His mother winced as it struck the floor with a sharp crack, most of the cases inside of it scattering as it fell. A few CD's rolled and bounced across the floor, but he barely reacted, instead looking for any other inconsistencies in his things. Finally becoming fully aware of his mother's words, he turned to face her.

"What the fuck else did you touch?" He said, almost savagely, and she shuddered visibly.

"Nothing. Craig, I didn't move—"

"BULLSHIT. I know you did, what else did you move? What are you looking for, huh?" That had to be it, he thought. She had to be looking for something, they all were looking for something. What the fuck did they think, coming into his room. Moving his things. Putting them back all wrong. ALL. WRONG.

"Get out! Get the fuck out! And don't you ever, EVER, touch anything in my room again. EVER." He yelled, he could feel the words ripping out of him, and he saw his mother shake with the force of his words, as if hit by a physical force.

"We'll talk later…" She said, calmly although her hands were still fisted tightly and turned away, heading down the hallway.

Craig turned back to his desk, ignoring her exit as much as he'd ignored her words, and shoved a few stray items that had lingered on his desk onto the floor. He couldn't understand why she continued to do it, why they all did it. As if they thought he'd never catch on. As if they could ever hide it from him.

Moving further in his room, he kicked aside his desk chair. By the time it was stopped with a loud thwack by his bed frame he was by his dresser. One glance and he sent most of the items on top of it cascading to the floor. Another X-Men figurine, Gambit this time, bounced off a rug, the quarterstaff dislodging and rolling to a stop by the wall. A picture frame, with a picture filled with black, landed with the sharp crash of breaking glass, followed by a full collection of pens that Craig had never used because they'd been here, on his dresser, and not on his desk.

He was about to move back to his desk to start looking through the drawers when a low, drawn out whistle stopped him. Turning a glare in the direction of his doorway he found his sister staring at the mess in his room with wide eyes.

"Geez, Craig, didn't you go through this just last week?" She said, shaking her head sadly. He flipped her off, which didn't seem to do much. "You know, I thought you were going to that psych-chick to get your head fixed. Doesn't seem to be working too well, huh?"

He jolted with a growl, walking over sprawled books and CDs angrily, and she jumped slightly, squeaking, and backed to the far wall of the hallway.

"Fuck. Off." He said from behind gritted teeth, gripping the door edge tightly. She shrugged slightly.

"I'm just saying, bro…"

"FUCK OFF."

Slamming the door, he turned back to his room, but he'd barely taken two steps before her voice came again.

"I'm guessing you're not coming down for dinner then?"

He didn't realized he'd launched a book at the door until it had actually hit it, sounding with a thud almost louder than when the door was slammed, if possible. He was breathing hard, and he could still hear the pounding in his head, pounding that kept pace with the beat of his heart. His head hurt, hurt fucking bad, there was a pain shooting through it directly between his eyes, like a thousand needles sticking him at once. When he looked around his room he was struck by an awful feeling, like someone had taken an ice pick to his stomach, dug it in deep and jiggled the point around, turned and twisted it until his insides had casseroled into one lump. And then imploded. And were now sucking him into that big, empty space just below his rib cage. His breath came fast, almost wheezing, as if he were running uphill in ninety degree weather; his mouth felt dry.

Suddenly, the anger that had been blazing through him was gone, leaving him feeling weak and wobbly. The hole in his stomach was still there, but he didn't feel much like fighting its gravity any longer. He shuffled through the debris on his floor and tossed himself onto his bed, burying his face into his sheets and trying to ignore the fact that the ceiling fan was still humming happily above him.

A few hours earlier found him walking over to Clyde's house, having made himself a promise that he would, indeed, no longer neglect his friends just because he wasn't feeling up to meeting with them. If it had been a once-a-month sort of thing, it wouldn't have mattered, but lately he just didn't want to meet up with anyone, anytime, at all. Honestly, although he'd noticed it, a little, in the back of his mind, he wasn't really made aware of the fact until Clyde had mentioned it the day before. And it bothered him. He knew he wasn't the most likeable person around, and he had been in more arguments with his friends than he could count, but they were still his friends. They still stuck by him when he needed them to. He depended on them, really, because it was thanks to them that he could relax a little and stop thinking about the things that bothered him so much.

Token and Tweek had been there already, and even Jason managed to make it before things really got started. Most of the five hours were spent playing video games, eating pizza, and generally wreaking havoc in Clyde's living room. Clyde had managed to wheedle his parents into getting him every game system on the planet, and they had more than enough games to pick from.

Still, Craig couldn't relax completely. He wanted to, he wanted to be all there and pay attention when they were talking to him, but he couldn't. Instead of listening to the banter, joking along with the guys, he found himself fighting off sudden bouts of anxiety. More than once he was hit by a sudden sense of weightlessness, his eyes unfocused and his ears humming. His heart would start pounding and he'd have a hard time taking breaths. He'd had to fake his way through them, a few times actually leaving the room, going to the kitchen or bathroom to try and clear his head and get back before the guys noticed something was wrong. He wasn't being too good at it, it seemed, or maybe his closest friend was just a mind reader or something, because Clyde had begun following him out the last couple times with stupid excuses.

Now, halfway through a round of SSBB, he felt another attack coming on. His head suddenly felt hollow, his throat got tight, the controller felt shaky in his hands, or maybe it was his hands feeling shaky around the controller. He couldn't see straight, but the guys were all focused on the game, so he tried to make Link run around with some semblance of control. He tried to focus on the feel of the controller, but his fingers kept slipping off of the buttons, and the colors on the screen were getting distant; he felt as if he were slipping backwards, as if he were looking at everything through a long, long telescope. Forcing himself, he thought he'd make it, until Kirby got nailed by Bowser, and Tweek jerked next to him, squeaking straight in his ear.

"GAH Not again I can't believe it –ergh- I'm horrible at this game," Tweek grabbed his hair, twisting his fingers in the uneven blond lengths and wailed, "I'm always losing…"

Craig felt his hands spasm at the sudden outburst; the controller dropped to the floor with a clatter. Everything around him faded into the distance, and he dropped his head to his knees, pressing his hands against his ears. They weren't humming anymore, they were buzzing viciously, and they were blocking out almost all the noise around him. He held his breath – as if that would help – but that only made him more aware of how hard his heart was pounding at the moment. He tried not to focus on what was causing these attacks – he knew damn well what it was – and tried to blank out on everything. Everything. Everything was white and fuzzy, everything was blocked out, he wasn't thinking, wasn't thinking…

"Craig? Craig, dude, you okay?"

There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He didn't want to respond yet, but it was breaking through the fuzzy white around him. He clenched his hands around his ears, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to keep the words out, keep everything out.

It wasn't working.

"Craig! Snap out of it!"

He jerked up and away from the hand on his shoulder, out of habit raising his hand to flip off whomever it was bothering him.

Clyde stared at him, half-amused, half-concerned.

"Alright, so you're not a total goner…" He sighed, then patted Craig's shoulder again. "Relax, will you? You scared the fuck out of us."

Craig blinked, the humming in his ears fading to a near-silent buzz. Looking around, he saw they were alone, the TV was off, and the controllers put away.

"What the… where is everybody?" He turned around the other way, checking behind them, but still no one was there.

"I told them to go ahead and leave," Clyde said, shrugging. "You were out for a while, dude. Fucked up shit. Couldn't get you to react to anything. Tweek was twitching like a ferret hopped up on sugar pills, so Token got him outta here, and Jason left with them…"

He eyed Craig from his seat on the sofa arm for a long moment, long enough that he became uncomfortable, twisting slightly so he wouldn't be facing him head on.

"What's wrong, Craig?" Clyde asked, calmly but resolutely. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Craig grumbled, slouching back into the couch. Clyde frowned.

"Craig, what the hell is going on? Tell me. I'm not letting you leave this fucking house until you do," Clyde caught Craig by the shoulder as he tried to stand and sat him back down. "And no, you can't leave until I tell you you can."

"Clyde. Fuck off." Craig dropped his head back into his hands. It was starting to hurt bad, just around his eyes and forehead.

"Craig, I want to help you, but I can't do that if you don't tell me anything," Clyde said with barely restrained aggravation. Craig restrained a sigh and groaned instead.

"Shut up Clyde. You sound like a fucking after-school special." Craig ground the heels of his hands into his eyes in the hope that that pain would block out the headache. No luck.

"Craig-"

"Shit is fucked up, all right? That enough?" Craig picked his head up to glare at him, but it didn't seem to work as he wanted it to. Actually, he didn't feel as if he was glaring at all, no matter how hard he tried. He felt the tell-tale eyebrow-tremble, the way his throat tightened, and returned to his head-in-hands position, attempting to ignore the dampness on his face.

"…home?" Clyde said softly, reluctantly, as if the word had a hard time leaving his tongue.

Craig winced, but he knew that Clyde knew about that situation at least… Clyde just probably didn't know about all the other things that were adding to the problem. He heard the other boy sigh, and he imagined him nodding his head slightly.

"Dunno… you gotta buck up, dude, keep your head… I mean, it can't last forever, right?" Clyde's words made sense, and Craig knew he was trying to give him some hope…

"Doesn't help," Craig admitted after a moment, shaking his head slightly. There was a shift on the couch cushions; Clyde had moved off of the sofa arm and sat down next to him, but remained silent. "You know, just 'cause it has to end, doesn't… doesn't mean it'll end good, right?"

There was a long silence then, long and tense.

"I… dunno… I mean…" Clyde struggled with the words, but Craig shook his head, still held in his hands.

"Nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do…" He frowned, at himself mostly, struggling to keep it in still, all in.

"That's not the only thing bothering you…" Clyde said, switching topics to what he probably hoped was a safer one.

"You're not going to leave me the fuck alone, are you?" Craig mumbled, moving his hands to his hair and wincing at the growing headache.

"No, I'm not…" Clyde gave him a small grin, then patted him on the back. "Come on, talk to me."

Craig stayed silent, and Clyde sighed again.

"All right, look, I met Kenny out on Main today…" Clyde started.

"Kenny? What was he doing there so early?" Craig said, not quite paying exact attention to Clyde's words.

"He's got soccer practice on Sundays, he catches the northbound bus to North Park out there," Clyde explained shortly, "But that's not the point…"

Suddenly Craig jerked upright, Clyde's words finally getting through to him.

"You talked to Kenny?" He asked, his hands still frozen a few inches above his knees, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I talked to Kenny." Clyde said, looking at Craig closely, watching for his reaction. Craig didn't know what to do; fuck, Clyde knew then. He knew.

"…he told you…" Craig said, voice dropping. Clyde looked puzzled, raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, not exactly the reaction I was expecting. Maybe the one I should have expected, but not the one I expected." Clyde frowned, "Something go wrong?"

Craig wasn't entirely listening. He was trying to think. Trying. Clyde knew. If Kenny told Clyde, who else had he told? If he told Clyde, then he'd tell anyone, right? Right?

"Fuck! Who else knows?" Craig grabbed at Clyde's shirt, twisting his fingers into it and leaning into the other boys face.

"Jesus, Craig, I don't know!" Clyde leaned back, looking slightly frightened at the situation. "I don't think he went around telling people about it, it's not exactly that kind of situation here…"

"He told you."

"Yeah, but dude, we're BF's, and I know all about this little 'thing', right?" Clyde tried to pry Craig's hand off of his shirt, but wasn't getting far. "He was giddy as hell, thought you'd be a little more upbeat too…"

"He told them," Craig said, no longer looking at Clyde but at some distant point over his shoulder. "Shit, SHIT, he told them…"

"Them?" Clyde asked, confused for a moment, then: "Oh, them, yeah, well, I guess he'd tell them, they are his BF's, right? ...though he probably didn't tell Cartman."

Clyde looked thoughtful for a moment, "You know, if he told anyone, he probably told Stan. He always talks about Stan being the most trustworthy out of all of them…"

Craig let go of Clyde's shirt, suddenly being flooded by nausea and assaulted by a sudden black hole in the pit of his stomach.

"Shit!" He moaned, dropping back against the back of the sofa and slouching down, eyes directed towards the ceiling.

"Okay, dude, totally lost here." Clyde raised his hands in surrender, "Totally."

"If Stan knows then Kyle knows…" Craig covered his face with his hands; maybe if his eyes were closed he wouldn't feel like he was getting twisted inside out. Maybe not.

"Yeah… Makes sense, I guess…" Clyde admitted, "Why does it matter if he knows or not?"

Why does it matter? Why does it matter? It matters, Craig thought, it matters because after being an ass and embarrassing him in front of half the guys in our class, I got piss drunk and kissed him on Stan's porch. That's why it matters.

Craig dropped his hands to his knees and turned his head to face Clyde, fully prepared to give some other explanation, only to find the brown-haired boy staring at him, utter shock on his face.

Oh.

Shit.

He didn't.

"You did what?!" Clyde's voice just barely managed to rise above a whisper, but it sounded strained.

"I didn't say anything," Craig shot back, flipping him off for good measure. Not what he wanted to say. NOT.

"So… Kyle…" Clyde struggled for words for a moment, finally shooting out, "But why Kyle?"

"No." Craig said simply, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

"No. NO. Fuck you, you tell me that, and then you expect me not to want to know more?!" Clyde shouted, "What the fuck, dude?"

"Really don't want to talk about…" Craig muttered, the twisting in his stomach was getting worse.

"Craig-"

"I have to go home," He jolted off of the sofa before Clyde could react, hurrying over to the front door. Clyde followed him, and although Craig was moving as fast as he could the other boy caught him by the arm just before the door.

"Craig, look at me," Clyde said, and although he didn't want to he did, turning around to face his friend. Clyde looked worried, and eyed him closely, as though the secret to taking care of all the things that bothered Craig was written on his face. "Craig, you don't have to do all of this alone, all right? Remember that."

Craig just nodded, wanting nothing more than to get out, out, right then and right away. He hadn't wanted to let that much out, just great, just another thing for Clyde to worry over when he thought of him. Shit, as if he hadn't given the guy enough to worry about over the years.

He left with Clyde watching him go from the doorway. He didn't look back, and he tried not to think about how things were going to go on from now. From this point. Tried to just not think about things at all.

He wished he didn't have to worry about things like this. Wished he'd inherited the I-Don't-Give-A-Fuck gene everyone else in his family seemed to have, wished he hadn't had to pretend to have it all these years and get so used to being an apathetic bastard that he couldn't turn it off anymore. Wished he actually had it so he wouldn't care where he went, and with who. Wished he didn't have morals, and wished those morals didn't go against everything he felt inside.

Wished he would learn to pay attention where he was going while his head was in those dark clouds.

"Kyle."

He said it more as a reflex than anything else. For a moment he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him, but the redhead stopped a few steps away, having been ready to walk past him but caught by his voice.

Kyle looked in his direction, towards him but not at him, said nothing. Craig looked at him, wanting to say… something. Anything. Kyle knew. He could see that, could see how rigidly he stood. His hands fidgeted at the edges of his pants pockets, he swallowed thickly, knowing he didn't have much time before Kyle got fed up with the situation and walked away.

"Kyle, listen…" He started, but didn't get far past that. A spasm crossed the redhead's face, his eyes flickered off to the side.

"It's fine. I understand." Kyle said sharply, jerked a half-step as if he was going to walk off. Craig reached out, grabbed him by the arm before he could move anymore. The redhead lost his cool at his touch, tried to jerk his arm away from Craig's hold. He glared down at Craig's hand, then straight at him. His eyes burned, and Craig felt as if he was standing in front of an open oven at full blast.

"It's fine." Kyle spat, "I wouldn't pick me either."

Craig, caught off guard, loosened his hold, and Kyle ripped his arm away from him, turning to walk off. After a moment Craig headed after him, catching up and grabbing him by the arm again. The redhead spun around viciously, eyes blazing.

"What do you want?" He growled, trying to get out of Craig's hold again.

"It's not like you think, Kyle, it… it isn't…" Craig started, but Kyle just shook his head, trying to get his arm loose again.

"Just forget about it," Kyle growled, glaring at him some more. Craig struggled to keep a grip on him still.

"I can't," The words shot out before he could stop them. Kyle still struggled, but not as strongly as before.

"What do you mean you can't?!" Kyle grumbled this time instead of growling, avoiding Craig's eyes once again. Craig dropped his hand from Kyle's arm suddenly, and the redhead stumbled as he tried to jerk his arm out of thin air. He stopped himself after a step, finally looking into Craig's eyes, and said again, softer this time, "What do you mean?"

Craig couldn't look away, his eyes caught with Kyle's, unable to break that hold. When he spoke, the words came out as if he were speaking in a trance, unbidden.

"I like you." Followed that with a wince, because he didn't really like talking about things like that, they made him feel vulnerable. Open. Too open.

"What?" Kyle said, with the kind of bewilderment usually reserved for people speaking foreign languages.

"I like you." Craig repeated, firmly. Kyle pulled his arm close, the one Craig had been holding a minute earlier, as if it burned.

They probably would have stood there for a while longer, for quite a while longer, but whatever fates there were had decided that things weren't fucked up enough yet.

Their little stare-fest was interrupted by a sound, something somewhere between a squeak and a groan.

Craig didn't want to turn. Didn't. He knew what he'd see.

But he turned anyway.

Kenny stood a few feet away from them, having turned off of Main St – that was Main St, why hadn't he noticed? – with the intention of getting home. His soccer cleats were tossed over one shoulder by the shoelaces, and his orange parka was open at the front, revealing a green and white soccer jersey shirt.

He was staring at Craig, blue eyes darkened and burning. Craig didn't know what was worse; the fact that that glare was directed at him, or the fact that that look of total and utter betrayal became even darker when the blond turned his gaze on Kyle. Though his mouth was closed, his jaw moved, clenched and unclenched. Having nailed both of them with his look, he pushed past between them, head down and walking fast. Craig looked after him, feeling utterly helpless, looked at Kyle to see the redhead with a similar expression. Kyle gave him a quick, uncertain look, then hurried wordlessly after Kenny.

Craig found himself alone, fully and totally alone, really, and free to do whatever he wanted, whether that was go home or throw himself in front of a speeding vehicle.

Some would argue whether there was any difference.

He could still see them, their forms growing smaller in the distance. Kyle still hadn't caught up with Kenny, it seemed. Or maybe he was just giving him some distance.

And Craig still couldn't decide. The afternoon with Kenny had been… well, more than he'd expected. He'd never been quite as oblivious to the blonde's advances as Clyde might have thought, he'd just been… scared, he could admit it. Scared, because his attention wasn't the only one Craig was noticing, and not the only one Craig wanted to respond to. But he'd thought he knew what Kenny could be capable of, thought he knew what to expect when hooking up with him. But the Kenny he'd experienced the day before just wasn't that Kenny, wasn't the one everyone talked about or heard about.

And he hadn't wanted to think about that today, hadn't wanted to think about it at all today, but now he was. He groaned inwardly, putting a hand to his head as he turned and started down the street.

That was just Kenny, just Kenny. And Kyle? God, Kyle. Kyle was a geek, a total nerd. He aced his classes and wore thick rimmed emo glasses even though he wasn't emo. He was so insanely totally not Craig's type but Craig liked him anyway, liked the way he moved, the way he talked during presentations to the class, as if he was some bigwig exec and this was the most important speech he would be giving in his career.

Sure there were things about both of them he rather didn't like, but right now he couldn't think of any.

All he could think of right then was just how amazingly fucked up things had gotten.