I put a spell on you
Because you're mine
You know I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you anyhow
And I don't care if you don't want me
I'm yours right now

-I Put a Spell on You, Annie Lennox

10 Years Prior

The fucking cafeteria was too big, too loud, too everything; he couldn't stand being trapped in a crowd of restless, clamoring bodies. Craig just wanted to escape, but he maintained his facade, cool and calm; absolutely collected and unruffled. Really, it was his only defense when it came to trying situations.

He sat down at the table before everyone else, having brought his lunch in a sad, brown paper bag. Opening it, he pulled out a red apple, a sandwich, and some chips. The only thing that was missing was -

"Here, I got you a coke," Kyle said, sitting down across from him and plunking a can in front of Craig; the red sides frosted and slicked with moisture. "It's what you usually drink, right?"

Craig stared at the can, one eyebrow cocked. Kyle had barely given him a chance to get acclimated to being back at school before he started in with his cloying, weird shit.

"Why do you know that?" He asked. "There's seriously no reason for you to know what soda I drink with my lunch."

Kyle shrugged. "I asked around; sue me." He set down a can of diet coke and a bag of pretzels, but that was all.

Craig took a careful bite of his apple and grimaced, the mealy texture kind of grossing him out. He watched as Kyle dug into his pretzels, taking delicate, little bites. A sudden feeling of curiosity surged through him that irritated his already stressed out frame of mind. Annoyed, he tried to shove it away but with every bite Kyle took it grew until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

"Why are you just eating fucking pretzels?" He asked, slamming the apple down. Fucking Red Delicious apple with its disgusting, soft texture; his mom should know by now that he hated them with a passion.

Kyle stared at him, another pretzel poised in his spindly fingers.

"I'm sorry, is my lunch bothering you or something?"

Craig reached out and grabbed the coke, opening it with a solid snap.

"You call that lunch?" He asked, an edge in his voice that he hated. "No wonder you're so fucking skinny."

"You're one to talk," Kyle scoffed, his green eyes floating over Craig. "You're almost as skinny as I am, you know."

For a moment, Craig couldn't help but feel just a little bit warmer, knowing that gaze was settled on him; studying him. He took a sip of soda, overlooking the surge of heat crawling up his neck.

"I've got like half a foot on you," he replied, tilting his head snootily. "Besides, I'm thin, not skinny."

"I'm not going to argue semantics with you, beanpole," Kyle replied, rolling his eyes. With a defiant grin, he bit into another pretzel, making sure to chew as loudly as possible; the crunching noise grating on Craig's last, frazzled nerve.

"You're impossible," he snapped, picking up his sandwich.

Kyle was getting ready to snap back when a wave of people appeared; Clyde and Token taking the seats on either side of Craig, and Jimmy and Stan sitting next to Kyle. Craig's stomach clenched with anxiety at suddenly being surrounded by so many people, and for a moment he yearned desperately for his quiet room and his piano. He drifted for a moment, his fingers tapping out the rhythm to the song he'd been obsessively playing since the night before; the song book for Les Miserables flashing through his mind.

"Hey, are you okay?" Clyde suddenly asked, his voice soft. He looked at Craig with an expression that he was starting to despise beyond all reason: the look of abject pity and concern; like he was going to fucking fly apart at any second.

"I'm fine," he said, his tone clipped. God, he was so tired of saying that. People didn't want to hear the truth, anyway; how often did perfect strangers ask each other how they were, just to say they were fine even though it was a goddamn lie? Craig was so sick and tired of the farce.

Glancing up, Craig saw that Kyle was watching him, his eyes steady and devoid of that look that he hated so much. They were clear and smooth as sea water, lacking pretense or sympathy; if anything, they almost had the power to tear him to shreds because they were so damn honest. He looked away quickly, suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortable and just so overwhelmed he could barely breathe. Craig's eyes met Stan's instead, and their summer sky blueness disarmed him, too; they were so kind when they had no reason to be. He shifted his gaze swiftly and for whatever reason he noticed that Kyle and Stan were sitting so close that their shoulders were brushing; this tiny detail making his heart rate increase even though he couldn't possibly care less about them, about anything.

I must be losing my fucking mind, Craig thought, his usually rational thoughts becoming loud and screeching at him to retreat and hide. He willed himself to calm down, his hands clenched on his sandwich until the bread was pressed flat between his fingertips. Honestly, he had no idea why he was losing his shit the way he was; it wasn't like Tweek hadn't been out of school for months before he died. Craig had eventually gotten used to sitting at the lunch table without him and walking the halls they'd once meandered together completely alone. But still, before he passed, Craig could at least cling to the idea that there was still hope that he'd be okay, but now...now...

"'Sup, fags?" Cartman said, throwing his fully-stocked tray down on the table next to Jimmy; his voice cutting through Craig's internal freak-out with a savage efficiency. He fell into a chair and sighed, his cruel eyes coming to settle on Craig before a smirk tore across his face. "So, you're finally back, huh?"

Craig gritted his teeth, the bite of sandwich in his mouth turning to sawdust as he listlessly chewed. Slowly, he set the tattered bread and salami down, his appetite completely gone. Trying to maintain some sort of dignity, he stared back at Cartman but refused to show any emotion; keeping his face completely unperturbed. He'd never liked this raging, fat asshole and everyone knew it; he wasn't going to start playing nice now.

"No, I'm still at home, dickhead," he replied, his voice flat and emotionless, the way it was supposed to be. Everyone at the table seemed to take a deep breath at the same time, waiting for the shitstorm to begin.

Cartman picked up a slice of pizza and took a big, sloppy bite; wayward strings of cheese dangling off of his chin and making Craig feel nauseous. He narrowed his eyes and chewed slowly, continuing to study Craig.

"I'm not surprised you milked Tweek dying for all it was worth," he said, taking another bite, tomato sauce clinging to his lips. "I can't say I wouldn't have done the same. Good for you, Tucker."

Craig continued to stare at Cartman, the anger pooling deep in his belly and rising with every second that passed; his entire being aching to wipe that smug, disgusting look off of his face. Placing his hands on his knees under the table, he clenched his fingers into shaking fists.

Control, he chanted to himself. Must maintain control.

"Don't get any weird ideas, though," Cartman continued, polishing off the piece of pizza with one nauseating gulp. "Just because you're single now doesn't mean you can put the moves on me. I seriously do not swing that way." He looked around the table at the others, who were becoming progressively more uncomfortable; fidgeting in their seats and refusing to look one another in the eye. "Watch your asses, you guys."

"That's enough, Cartman!" Kyle yelled, slamming his fist down on the table and making everyone jump; his angry voice a hot lance slicing through the tension that had gathered. "Why don't you shut the fuck up and leave Craig alone?! Nobody wanted you to sit here anyway!"

Cartman just laughed derisively and looked at Craig; his brown eyes full of malice.

"Oh, so now you have the Jew fighting your battles for you, Craig? What a fucking pussy...what, did Tweek take your backbone with him when he croaked?"

Everyone gasped when Cartman said that, knowing that he had gone too far; just like always. Kyle stood and strode over to him, grabbing onto his shoulder and whirling him around.

"Kyle, what the -"

Kyle cut him off with a right cross, his small fist sliding through the air and connecting with Cartman's cheekbone; the sound of skin on skin reverberating all around the table. After a moment, Cartman started howling and cursing Kyle out, his fat hand coming to rest on his quickly swelling face.

"I can't believe you just fucking hit me, you goddamn -"

"Shut the fuck up," Kyle seethed, taking hold of the front of Cartman's coat and pulling him up toward his face. "If you don't, I swear to god, I will fucking end you. Do you understand?" He shook him like a rag doll, a streak of blood snaking its way out of the corner of Cartman's mouth. "Don't you have any fucking decency at all? Huh?" He seethed as he continued to shake Cartman viciously; his head snapping around every which way.

Clearly uneasy, Stan rose from his chair and went over to Kyle, where he laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke to him, his voice soft and placating.

"Kyle, dude, let him go, okay? Come on, he's not worth it."

Reluctantly, Kyle let go of Cartman who fell to the floor, his head banging against his chair on the way, making him screech again. Kyle just stood over him, breathing heavily and giving Cartman the coldest, most savage look Craig had ever seen on his face. For a moment, he seemed an absolute stranger; a tangle of fury and relentless enmity. All of a sudden though, to everyone's utter consternation, a lone tear slid down Kyle's face as he flicked his attention to Craig; his large, green eyes bright with additional moisture. Kyle's face broke then as he regarded Craig, a sob tearing from his mouth, and for a moment Craig's heart came to a complete standstill as the whole world stopped short; the moment between them infinite and silent.

Craig was about to say something when Stan enfolded Kyle in his arms, gathering the crying boy to his chest and holding him close; the gesture sudden and destroying the stillness. Kyle didn't fight against him, and instead allowed himself to be hugged tight, wayward tears slipping down his cheeks. Somehow, even though it made absolutely no sense, this was the thing that finally tipped Craig over the edge, and he pushed himself away from the table. Standing up, he left his barely eaten lunch where it lay and stalked out of the cafeteria, the noise and activity of so many other people crashing back around him as he pushed through the doors and out into the empty hallway.

"What are you doing out here?"

Craig looked up to see Kyle watching him, his arms wrapped around himself against the gathering chill; snowflakes falling in droves all around them. The sky above was iron grey and heavy with clouds; saturated and dirty from the snowstorm passing through. After Craig had run out of the school during lunch he'd gone straight home and sat in his room until the afternoon started to die, ignoring his mother's pleas to tell her what was wrong; why had he come home so early?

He shrugged, glancing away as a shiver coursed through his bones. Craig's eyes trailed over his backyard, which was quickly being enveloped in snow; the white settling over everything and muffling all the little sounds of the world until they almost disappeared.

"I just didn't want to be inside anymore," he replied, kicking at a clump of snow and making it collapse. "My mom wouldn't get off my ass about coming home early."

"Did you tell her what happened?"

Craig snorted.

"Fuck no," he said. "I wouldn't waste a single breath on that fat piece of shit." Craig glanced at Kyle's right hand, now encased in a green glove. "I can't believe you hit him," he commented, smirking suddenly. "That was fucking crazy."

"He had it coming," Kyle replied, darkly. "Besides, I didn't want you to, well..." he trailed off and Craig felt a stab of irritation. Kyle seemed to have a tendency to start thoughts he had no intention of finishing without being prodded.

"You didn't want me to what?" Craig asked, curtly. "Spit it out, Broflovski."

Kyle shrugged, his face coloring a little.

"I didn't want you to lose your shit and punch him, okay? Then you wouldn't be able to play the piano."

Craig rolled his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by such a melodramatic statement while simultaneously being reluctantly touched by Kyle's concern. He always seemed to be capable of disarming him; cutting through his defenses and brushing against his core. It was fucking infuriating.

"Will you knock that bullshit off, please?" He snapped, standing up. "We're not acting out a scene from Golden Boy in my backyard."

"Golden Boy?" Kyle asked, clearly confused.

Craig sighed and brushed a mittened hand across his face, exasperation blooming in his gut.

"It's an old movie," he said, regretting opening his mouth in the first place. "About a dude who could play the violin but he became a boxer, and he was constantly worried about injuring his hands." Craig blushed and looked away, suddenly feeling ridiculous and awkward.

"I didn't know you liked old movies," Kyle said, obvious interest creeping into his voice. "What's your favorite?"

"Oh, my god, that isn't the point I was trying to make," Craig said, covering his face with both hands now. Pulling them away, he glanced at Kyle and saw that he was still watching him; clearly waiting for an answer. "Ugh, fine. Sunset Boulevard, goddammit. That's my favorite old movie, okay?"

"We should watch it together," Kyle suggested, brightening a little now.

Now Craig was really starting to lose his patience; with Kyle, with school, with society, with death - with fucking everything that had occurred over the last few months. A fleeting memory of Stan holding Kyle in the middle of the cafeteria tore through him as he walked toward Kyle; who regarded him with wide, suddenly fearful eyes. Ignoring them, Craig took a hold of his shoulders and shook him the way Kyle had shaken Cartman earlier that day.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" He asked, his emotions whirling inside of him and breaking him apart; his heart pounding violently in his chest as the snow continued to fall. Every horrible thing seemed to converge on Craig all at once as he felt Kyle's delicate bones crumple under his fingers: Tweek in his coffin, his skin ashy and looking like it was made of wax, the endless, empty nights filled with painful, burning memories, the loud cafeteria and his friends with their faces filled with so much emotion and yet all of their gestures and overtures feeling so fucking pointless and fake. Suddenly, he felt like everything was collapsing inward and he was shaking Kyle so hard and he just couldn't stop; his fear and rage and sadness reaching a fever pitch and breaking over him like fire, burning him alive.

All at once, Craig stopped shaking Kyle as he leaned forward, broken sobs bursting from his mouth and tearing his throat to shreds; hateful teardrops flooding from his eyes and turning everything to a smudged, watercolor mess. Every jagged, soul-rending emotion was pouring out of him all at once, and somewhere in his cornered, frightened-animal brain Craig realized that he hadn't really cried since the funeral; that he'd been existing in an all-consuming isolating stasis for weeks on end as he stumbled hopelessly in the dark.

"Why did he fucking have to die?!" He screamed and his voice filled the frigid air and cracked among the trees, the clouds, the uncaring sky filled with ice particles and so much emptiness. "Why do useless sacks of shit like Eric Cartman get to walk around without a care in the world and people like Tweek-"

He broke off, howling in misery as he fell to his knees and wept openly for the first time in so long; every savage tear coursing down his face and falling like acid into the snowdrift beneath him. Vaguely, Craig was aware that Kyle was kneeling beside him and taking him into his arms as he cried and ranted about how unjust the world was; how the universe was profoundly broken and cruel.

Craig cried until he was a trembling heap in the swiftly descending darkness, the snow serving to insulate the world as he finally let go of some of the agony. Distantly, he could hear Kyle crying softly too, but he held Craig until the very end, there in his backyard; the two of them lost among the swirling snowflakes on a chilly November night.

"Do you really feel up to playing?" Kyle asked, sitting in the golden lamplight and wrapped in a blanket; a mug of hot chocolate clutched in his hands. "You really don't have to if you don't want to, you know."

"I know," Craig replied, softly; his voice rough from crying and carrying on like a damn fool. He could barely look at Kyle without blushing, deep shame flooding through him. He glanced at Kyle and his mouth became dry, the light in the living room bouncing off of his pale skin and setting his hair on fire. His eyes fell on Kyle's bare hands, clutched around the mug; at the way his right hand was swollen and bruised.

Coming over, Craig took the mug from Kyle's hands and set it on the coffee table; the redhead looking up at him with a face full of confusion. Reaching down, he delicately took a hold of Kyle's injured hand and studied it in the glow of the lamp. He sucked in his breath, looking at it from every angle.

"You don't have to fight my battles for me, Kyle," he murmured.

"I know," Kyle replied, a flush breaking across his cheeks. "But I want to."

"I still don't understand your motivations here," Craig commented, gently letting go of Kyle's hand.

"You don't have to," he said, grinning. "The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing."

Craig cocked an eyebrow at him, his face impassive.

"Pascal," Kyle shrugged. "Sometimes things don't have to have a reason, right?"

"We'll have to agree to disagree on that one," Craig said, walking out of the room. After a moment, he came back with a bundle in his hands and handed it to Kyle.

"What's this?"

"Ice," he said, simply. "Put it on your hand; it looks like shit."

"Oh, right." Kyle draped the towel filled with ice on his hand, smiling a little while Craig went back to the piano.

Feeling lighter than he had in ages, Craig opened up the familiar song book and immediately went to a specific song; the page number emblazoned in his memory. Taking a deep breath, he cracked his fingers and placed them on the smooth keys, his heart already picking up its pace in anticipation of Kyle's reaction. In a moment, he started to play, enjoying the throb in his chest and the ache in his eyes from crying out so many painful tears.

It wasn't too long before he heard Kyle getting up from his place on the couch and making his way over, his hand coming to rest on Craig's shoulder tentatively.

"On My Own," he murmured, his voice filled with pure pleasure. "But you said you were working on another piece."

Craig shrugged while continuing to play.

"I can work on more than one song at a time, Kyle," he replied, his deft fingers flowing over the keys. "Now sit your ass down, okay? Your hovering is throwing me off."

Present Day

It was on a chilly Monday morning that Craig first had the pleasure of awakening with Kyle in his arms, held closely to his chest. Upon opening his eyes, he could barely believe his good fortune, and for a moment he just lay there while trying to wrap his head around his beloved being the first thing he saw; his lovely, red curls giving off their spicy scent. Apples and musk surrounded him as he watched Kyle sleep, every breath a tiny, fragile movement. Before too long, Kyle was stirring though, and he blinked awake; his eyes limpid pools of bewitching jade.

For a moment, he woozily contemplated Craig, his face flushed from sleep and his warmth seeping through his t-shirt into the skin of the boy beneath him. He smiled slowly but then his eyes shot wide open, and they were filled with a wild animal alertness. Rearing back, he sat up abruptly and looked down at Craig, his face burning a bright red as his hands worried and pulled at the blankets still wound around his body.

"W-what the hell is going on?" He asked, his voice trembling. "Why am I in your bed, Craig? Wh-"

He stopped as Craig's calm eyes studied him, Kyle's shoulders slumping a little as he came back to himself and remembered.

"I did it again, didn't I?" He whispered, his voice faint. "I couldn't sleep and I just barged in on you." Kyle brought a hand to his mouth and a pained expression flooded his features. "I'm sorry, Craig. I can't believe I keep putting you in these weird, uncomfortable situations."

A bizarre memory surfaced in Craig's mind at his words; of Pip pawing at Damien's leg like a dog in heat. Pushing it down, he couldn't help but grin.

"You don't have to apologize, Kyle," he said, sitting up too. "If anything, I should be thanking you." Stopping himself, he looked away before he stupidly said too much. Spending a night with Kyle was making him too cocky.

"What do you mean?" Kyle asked, his voice suspicious. "Craig?" He prodded, when the silence continued.

"I just," Craig started, daring to look into Kyle's eyes for a moment; unnerved to see traces of red lancing their way through the green irises suddenly. He blinked but the color faded, and he couldn't be absolutely sure that he'd seen it in the first place. "Uh, I just like being able to help when I can," he finished, the sudden flash of color startling him; whether it was real or not.

Kyle still looked at him suspiciously, his whole body seemingly tensed and anxious. Reluctantly, it would seem, he pulled his focus away and looked at the clock on Craig's nightstand.

"Shit, it's only 6 am, and I don't feel like I could go back to sleep," he murmured, brushing a hand across his forehead. Looking back at Craig, he shrugged, suddenly appearing small and helpless. "What should we do? If you want to go back to sleep, I'll get out of your hair."

"No, no," Craig said, throwing the covers back. "Here, I'll make some coffee. How does that sound?"

"Okay," Kyle said, smiling. He crawled off the bed and stumbled a little when he stood, catching himself on the bedside table.

"Hey, are you okay?" Craig asked, watching him with concern.

"Yeah, of course," Kyle replied, looking sheepish. "I'm still waking up." He shivered a little and wrapped his arms around himself; wearing only his standard t-shirt and boxer shorts. The apartment was deluged in a sudden chill that hadn't been present the night before.

"Here, put on my robe." Craig went and grabbed it from the back of the door and gently helped Kyle into it.

"What about you? Won't you be cold?" Kyle asked, snuggling into it and getting lost among the blue terrycloth.

Craig shook his head.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Promise. Come on." He led the way out of his room to the kitchen, where he busily began to prepare Kyle's coffee the same way he did every morning while Kyle wandered off into the living room.

"Craig, come here," he called after a moment, his voice soft.

Craig pressed the button on the coffee maker and waited to hear it start clicking before following the sound of Kyle's voice. When he walked into the living room, he saw that the sun hadn't risen yet; it's golden glow barely illuminating the horizon's edge. The sky was a dusky periwinkle blue with heavy clouds hanging low; faint snowflakes swirling down in sugary drifts.

"It's a little early in the year for snow," he commented, frowning.

"I guess that's what we get for living in the mountains," Kyle replied, hugging the oversized robe around himself. He walked around the piano and drew closer to the large windows, gazing out at the snow as it continued to sift down. "There's just something about the first snowfall of the year, huh?" He glanced over his shoulder at Craig, grinning.

"I suppose," Craig said, not as prone to flights of romanticism as his whimsical counterpart. "I'm more concerned with your drive to work."

Kyle was quiet for a moment, watching the snow as the eerie glow fell through the windows and over his slight frame.

"I don't know," he suddenly said, breaking the silence; particles of ice skittering against the panes of glass. "Maybe I won't go to work today."

"What?" Craig asked, completely floored. "Dude, you never miss work. What's going on?"

Kyle turned back to him, stumbling a little like he had in the bedroom, and managing to catch himself on the piano. Slowly, he sat on the bench and rested his head against the closed lid.

"I don't feel right," he said, his voice weak and watery. "My body feels so off, Craig."

A painful knife of pure guilt tore into Craig's heart at these words, and he couldn't help but think of spiking Kyle's coffee; the elixir no doubt working its way deep into the caverns of Kyle's body, and he was none the wiser. Craig hated himself in that moment; never having stopped to consider that something like this could happen. Which was fucking stupid, honestly; what'd he expect making a deal with someone like Damien? Fleeting regret tore at his gut as he walked over to Kyle, his hand coming to rest on his forehead.

Recoiling, Craig pulled his hand away quickly.

"Jesus Christ, Kyle! You're fucking burning up!"

"Hmm," Kyle replied listlessly, giving him a sleepy sideways glance. "I do feel a little warm, I guess."

"You're more than a little warm," Craig replied, rubbing his mouth as worry flooded his brain. "You have a fever." Sighing, he looked around, the aroma of cinnamon coffee wafting into the living room as the maker continued to work. "Where's your phone? I'm calling your work and telling them you aren't coming in today. In fact," he said, studying Kyle's slumped form, "I'm calling out too, so I can take care of you."

"You don't have to do that," Kyle said, holding up a hand, the robe falling down and revealing his slender arm in the frail light of the chilled morning; snow coming down thicker beyond the panes. "Really, Craig. I don't want you to go to any trouble."

Craig rolled his eyes and reached out to take a hold of Kyle's hand. Gently, he helped him to his feet and led him to the couch.

"Quit being ridiculous," he said in his most no-nonsense tone of voice. "Now tell me where your phone is so I can call your work; you aren't going anywhere today."

"Can I get you anything?" Craig asked anxiously, watching Kyle as he lay on the couch, his body lost under a mound of blankets.

Kyle groaned in response, having just woken up from a long nap as the snow continued to fall and pile up outside. Gusts of wind snapped against the windows, the pine trees rattling and scraping the glass like sharp, icy fingers. Craig had turned on the fireplace, glad that it's warmth was helping to break the raw nip in the apartment; the central heating running softly in the background and making the air dry. The TV was on but playing softly, the end of Sunset Boulevard flashing across the screen; William Holden's dead body floating in the pool listlessly.

"I feel too warm and I'm sweaty," Kyle complained, kicking the blankets off and sitting up; his cheeks candy apple red and his green eyes fever-bright and almost appearing toxic. "I want to take a shower." He stood shakily, one hand resting on the couch.

"Are you sure about that?" Craig asked, coming over to him. "You don't seem very steady."

"I'm fine," Kyle snapped, waving him away. Illness had a tendency to make him short-tempered and petulant, so Craig rolled his eyes and stepped back; still feeling uncertain but not wanting to annoy Kyle further. Besides, if his guess was right, he was the reason that Kyle felt like shit in the first place.

"Well, okay, but let me know if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle replied. "Quit hovering, Craig. I'm not a child."

"Whatever you say," Craig sighed, watching Kyle disappear down the hallway to his room. After a moment, he heard the shower turning on and he managed to relax a little; settling down on the sofa to watch TV for awhile.

It wasn't too long before Craig heard a loud crash and he was rushing to Kyle's room, his heart in his mouth as panic made sweat break out over his body. He threw open the bathroom door to see Kyle collapsed on the floor, gasping as he leaned against the wall; the shower continuing to run and billowing steam filling the small room.

"Kyle, what the fuck?" Craig asked, coming over to him and kneeling on the tile at his side.

Kyle looked up at him and his eyes were filled with tears, while desperation distorted his features.

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" He cried, reaching out a hand and clutching at Craig's shirt. "I feel like I'm burning up and I feel so tired and, and..." A sob broke through. "Craig, please..." he begged, "please help me."

That savage guilt was tearing at him again even as elation flowed through Craig's veins. Kyle needed him, just him, and here he was, naked and trembling on the floor, completely vulnerable. Craig fought back a sudden shudder as he lifted Kyle into his arms, the redhead's hands clasping around his neck and holding him tightly.

"Here," Craig said, soothingly, arousal stirring in him at the sight of Kyle's bare flesh. "How about you take a bath instead? What do you think?"

Kyle nodded and lay his head on Craig's shoulder, nuzzling close. Craig had to stop himself from hugging him too tightly, reveling in Kyle's curls brushing the skin of his neck. How many times had he seen him hug Stan just like this, and now it was his turn. The thought filled him with such unbridled joy it was almost painful.

It's just the poison you gave him, working through his blood and warping him. Wake the fuck up, his mind screeched at him, bringing him back to reality temporarily. Craig brushed the thoughts aside though, deciding to give in to his baser desires as his eyes lingered over Kyle's body as he lay him in the bathtub after turning off the shower. Slowly, the warm water started to fill the tub, sloshing against his beautiful, smooth skin.

Knowing just where to look, Craig plucked a bag of Epsom salts from under the counter, and poured a little into the water; the smell of lavender wafting into the air and surrounding everything.

"This will help if you're feeling achy," he murmured, reaching a hand into the tub and swirling the salts around; daring to allow a finger to caress Kyle's thigh but only for a moment before he could notice. "Is this helping? Taking a bath?"

"Yes, thank you," Kyle said, the water drenching his hair and turning it from scarlet to wine red; the strands saturated and heavy against his neck. He smiled and looked up at Craig, his expression tired but serene. "Tell me something weird about yourself, Craig; something you've never told me before."

Craig thought a moment, slightly surprised at the request. He could think of something monumental he could reveal to Kyle, but given the circumstances, he didn't think it was such a great idea. He was pretty sure that if Kyle knew he was desperately in love with him to the point where he'd sought out the devil's services, that might put a damper on the moment. Instead, he groped for something else, but it was hard; Kyle knew almost everything about him at this point, within reason, of course. He still had so much to hide.

"Um, I have trypophobia," he said, just wincing at the sound of the word.

Kyle sat up, his eyebrows raised in question.

"It's an aversion, or fear, of, well," Craig said, rubbing his neck and feeling embarrassed, "tiny clusters of holes, or irregular patterns. Mostly holes, in my case. Just the thought of them makes my skin crawl."

"How strange," Kyle said, studying him. "Why do you suppose that is?"

Craig shrugged, not liking the prospect of giving the subject a lot of thought.

"I guess it makes me think of things nesting, like insects or -" he broke off, not wanting to continue; thoughts of Tweek in his coffin stealing his voice. Craig hated to think of him down deep in the earth, where the hungry insects collected and feasted among the brown dirt.

"Wow, that's pretty weird," Kyle said. "How did you even figure out you had that?"

"I honestly don't know," Craig replied. "Trust me, though, you'll know you have it once you see the wrong thing; something will just trigger you." He thought a moment. "Besides, you're one to talk, mister "I hate urine and bananas". You have just as many hang-ups as I do, if not more."

"Let's not talk about that," Kyle snipped, looking away haughtily. "I know you pee in the shower, by the way, and frankly, it sickens me."

"Quit being a brat," Craig said, fondly, his eyes tracing over Kyle's body again. The arousal was still simmering deep inside of him and igniting his blood, but he was trying to behave; although, Kyle made it so, so hard with his freckles on his shoulders. The little pinpoints of cinnamon were like constellations meant for Craig's eyes alone. "Are you going to wash?" He finally asked, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"I feel too weak," Kyle said, sheepishly. He covered his face with his hands and moaned. "God, I'm so fucking pathetic when I'm sick."

"Give it a rest," Craig said, reaching for a washcloth. "Stay still."

"What are you -"

"I'm washing you, so pipe down." In a moment, Craig poured spicy body wash onto the cloth and was creating a lather, his heart pounding as he finally began to caress the body he adored so much.

Kyle, for his part, just sat back obediently; his cheeks burning an even deeper shade of red. He leaned forward slowly so Craig could wash his back, never knowing that the slope of his back was being admired so ardently; Craig's eyes resting on his firm backside and practically devouring him whole.

As Craig washed him, he couldn't help but think of Damien's words from the day before:

"The potion will follow what's in your heart, Craig. I already told you that. Whatever you want, will happen; you have complete control of this situation."

On the heels of the memory were visions of Pip's lax, deadened eyes; he had appeared to be no more than a doll for Damien to do with what he wanted. Craig shuddered a little as he stroked Kyle's shoulder, bubbles frothing over the creamy skin. He was pretty sure he didn't want that to be the outcome of all of this, not his feisty, hot-blooded Kyle; reduced to nothing but a subservient plaything.

But what do I want? Craig asked himself, the question scaring him a little. What if there are things in my heart that could hurt Kyle? Desires I'm not even aware of? Just what the fuck is going to happen at the end of all of this?

Later on that night, as the snow started to finally taper off and the fire raged in the fireplace, Craig sat at the piano and played as Kyle dozed on the couch; his soft breaths stealing across the room and caressing his ears. He'd opted not to play his usual heartsick fair, deciding instead to play happy love songs that reflected the tranquility in his heart. It had been a lovely day, and he couldn't remember being happier; finally having some time to dote on and care for his Kyle. He continued to play while humming softly:

My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day

Sure, he was still deeply ashamed that he'd no doubt contributed to Kyle's suffering, but all was fair in love and war, right? At least, that's what Craig kept telling himself as he continued to play one love song after another; the notes filling the room and burning as brightly as the flames in the hearth. Night was falling beyond the windows now, and the stars were winking into life; glittering gems strung on a necklace across the slowly darkening sky.

A small sound at his side drew Craig's attention away from the music and suddenly Kyle was there, standing close and watching him with strange eyes; the light in them predatory and woebegone all at once.

"Kyle? Are you okay?"

Kyle responded by drawing forward and crawling onto the piano bench, his leg curling over both of Craig's until he was straddling him; his arms winding around his neck. Craig could barely believe what was happening until Kyle's eyes caught the light from the fire and they were illuminated briefly; flashes of green and scarlet at war in his luminous irises. Craig sucked in a breath at the change in them, and started to speak when Kyle placed a finger on his lips; just like the night before.

"I kissed you last night, didn't I?" He whispered, his voice drenched in barely-concealed desire. "Tell me the truth."

Craig nodded his head, the arousal from before burning through him as he lifted his trembling hands to Kyle's back; his fingers clenching around his t-shirt and crushing the thin material.

"Yes, you did," he replied, his voice almost a growl. "I didn't think you remembered."

"Oh, I do," Kyle said, smiling a little. "I believe I kissed you right here, didn't I?" He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Craig's neck, right over his pulse; almost making him gasp as he nodded a little.

Kyle pulled away and smiled again, the green and red lights dancing in his eyes and almost having the power to transform him into someone else entirely; a being of pure sexual energy, a siren beckoning Craig to his doom.

"What if I kissed you here, though?" Kyle asked, leaning forward again and this time his lips came to rest on Craig's mouth; their plump softness driving him to near madness. They lingered there for a moment until Kyle sighed and licked along Craig's lower lip, imploring him to open his mouth to him.

Without thinking, Craig pulled Kyle toward him until he could feel his rapid heartbeat flush against his chest; the frantic staccato leaping like a rabbit as it ran in terror from the stalking wolf. In what could only be a dream, he found himself kissing his Kyle deeply as the fire raged inside of him, threatening to destroy everything in its wake; dark desire cutting through him like a million daggers.

I love you, I love you, I love you, Craig chanted over and over in his head as Kyle melted into him, their tongues exploring each other's mouths. God, I just fucking love you so much.

Thoughts of Damien and curses and potions evaporated in that moment as Craig suddenly found his dreams coming true; the thoughts he had formed in the darkness finally coming into the light. Kyle gasped against Craig's mouth, his sweet, intoxicating kisses tasting like rich wine and burnt sugar; sending Craig headlong into a lurid, overwhelming paradise. After a few tantalizing moments, Craig looked over Kyle's shoulder, noticing his phone beginning to vibrate where it sat on the piano, and Craig almost growled with irritation when he saw the name on the display:

Stan.

Reaching forward casually, his other hand still wrapped in Kyle's shirt, their mouths still hungrily meeting and tasting one another, Craig swiftly dragged his finger across the screen of Kyle's phone; abruptly sending the call to voicemail. Stan had had his fun with Craig's beloved, his Kyle, and now it was his turn, finally.