Suddenly, the door opened again. They both turned.

"What's this?" Clyde slurred, coming out and closing the door behind him. He crossed his arms. "Craig, you hate rum." Craig wiped his mouth. He felt guilty but he wasn't entirely sure why. Clyde turned his attention to Bebe. He was not smiling. "We need to talk."

"Huh? What?" She furrowed her brows and defensively wrapped her cardigan tighter around her body, recognizing his sequence of words as trouble. "Why?"

"I was talking to Kyle," Clyde said pointedly.

"Okay?" She looked lost.

"He said his mom saw you at the grocery store yesterday with Craig."

"Yeah, we were buying ingredients for Tweek's cake. So what?" She was getting annoyed now. She was way too far gone to be dealing with Clyde's shit right now. As a matter of fact, she was so drunk she was pretty sure she could see two angry looking Clydes in front of her, both of them standing with their arms crossed. "I don't understand what you're getting at."

"She thought you guys were dating," Clyde spat, frowning deeply at her. "First of all, you'd better fucking tell me that isn't true, and then you'd better fucking tell me why she thought that in the first place!" Bebe opened her mouth but he interrupted her. "And second, what the fuck were you doing hanging out with him anyway? And what are you doing hanging out with him alone now?" His voice was growing louder and he pointed accusingly at Craig, who was now giving him an irked look, also seemingly not in the mood for his hysterics. "Why the fuck did you lie to me about seeing Bebe yesterday, huh? You said she took you to work and that was it."

"I never said-"

"Yes you did!" Clyde was shouting now, but luckily the party goers were making too much noise and having too much fun to hear or see them through the glass.

"Clyde will you shut the fuck up for a minute?" Craig said, irritated. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning. I didn't say that she took me home after work and you never asked. Calm the fuck down."

"Clyde, hon," Bebe began, trying not to lose her temper and reaching to put an arm on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. She continued, speaking slowly and trying to be careful in her pronunciation, but the words still slurred together. She was definitely too drunk for this. "Craig and I aren't dating. That's crazy and you know it. I'm with you. After he told me he got fired I invited him to help me with the cake. That was it."

Clyde was far from convinced and his intoxicated state was worsening his already weak hold on his emotions. "Don't you dare lie to me!" He cried. He was breathing heavily and his face was beet red. "I can't fucking believe you!"

"Clyde," Bebe tried to interject, but he continued to rant on about how she had betrayed him.

"CLYDE!" Craig bellowed. Craig rarely bellowed and it seemed to shock both Clyde and Bebe into silence. Some of the people inside looked out onto the balcony curiously. "Fuck off, man. You drank too much and now you're behaving like a fucking dick. And coming from me, that should mean something. Leave her alone, alright? She didn't do anything wrong. Instead of turning into a jealous psychopath can you not just be happy that I'm finally getting along with someone, especially with someone that you care about? We're just friends. Hardly that. We only just hung out yesterday so calm the fuck down. I think you should go cool off somewhere."

Clyde was fuming. "Yes, Craig," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "it's nice that you're so quick to stand up for my girlfriend," he spat. "Fuck you guys. Fuck it," he slurred, storming back into the apartment, presumably to get another drink.

Bebe and Craig sat in silence for a few seconds. She broke the lull first. "I'm sorry," she began, but Craig cut her off.

"Dude, don't be. It's not your fault for fucks sake. I don't know how you deal with that shit 24/7."

"I -It's complicated," she sighed. "Let's go back in, it's fucking cold." They went back into the apartment, seating themselves on the couch then fell into silence. The party was in full swing now and there was laughter and happy shouting everywhere, but she was so drunk that it sounded as if it was coming from far away, like she was hearing it through a thick wall. Her vision was swimming and it was hard to tell the mass of moving bodies apart. Everything felt so surreal and strange. She knew she was swaying in her seat a little, but either didn't care or was unable to help it. She couldn't quite tell which. She thought she could make out the sight of Carman dancing with Butters and Jimmy, which would have been hilarious if she had been able to properly process what was happening. Wendy was across the room beside Stan, arguing with Kyle. Probably about politics or something. Stan looked bored. Sally Darson was sitting on Kenny's lap and Bebe spared a glance over to see if Craig's face betrayed any sort of reaction to this but he was staring stonily ahead, eyes seeming to not be focused on anything. There was music playing, but she didn't recognize it. She could only tell that she hated it.

"Ugh," Craig heard Bebe moan under her breath with a frown.

He looked over. "What?"

"This song," she replied. It was a terrible song. An obnoxious beat riddled with auto-tuned wails about something "going down" and someone "yelling timber" or some shit. Craig nodded in agreement. "Can we go to your room for a bit?" Bebe asked. "I need a break from the uh, festivities," she explained, glancing sidelong towards where Clyde now had his arm around Milly, apparently having gotten himself another drink. He was leaning in close and she was laughing. Craig followed her gaze until he saw them, then nodded again, rising.

Once they were in his room he shut the door and sat in the chair by his desk, motioning for Bebe to take a seat on the bed. She perched herself on the edge and put her head in her hands. Craig cleared his throat uneasily. "Are you okay?" She didn't answer. "Was that - did you guys break up?" He was suddenly very aware of the fact that the two of them were alone and she was sitting on his bed. If only Clyde could see them now, he thought wryly. That would give him something to scream about. The funny thing was that it was Clyde's own fault, too. He had driven Bebe into the very arms (so to speak) of the same person he'd irrationally accused her of cheating on him with.

She raised her head slightly to answer and her voice wavered. "I don't even know. Maybe. I just..." Shit. She was looking down at the floor but Craig could tell her eyes were welling up with tears that she was valiantly trying to fight off. Tears made Craig uncomfortable. Waterworks were not his specialty, particularly when they came from a pretty girl and not just a drunken Clyde. "There there," he mumbled awkwardly, hating that the monotone sound of his voice made him sound both annoyed and insincere.

Bebe took a deep breath, looking small. "Sorry. Shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't unload this on you." She hung her head again, rubbing her eyes as if trying to force the tears that were gathering back into her eyes. Fuck.

"No, no it's fine," he assured her quickly. "Look, I um, have some weed if you want. Or we could like... talk? Or you could talk and I could listen or something. If you want. I don't know…" He trailed off. Eloquent, thought Craig, inwardly rolling his eyes. Real fucking eloquent. But Bebe seemed to brighten a little bit.

"Did you really just volunteer to have an actual conversation with me? Like, I don't even have to force you into it?" She asked in mock surprise.

Craig raised the corner of his mouth. "Imagine that," he said sarcastically.

She sighed, as if deciding whether or not to take him up on his offer. Then, evidently not wanting to let the opportunity go to waste, blurted out louder than she'd intended, "I'm not happy with Clyde, okay? Like at all." She didn't realize how strongly she felt this way until just now but it felt good to finally admit.

You don't say, Craig thought to himself sourly.

"I used to try to convince myself that I was but I'm not and it gets really fucking hard to keep lying to yourself after a while. I've been at this shit for too long and I don't know if I can do it anymore. But every time I try to end things he…" she paused. She couldn't very well tell Craig why she couldn't leave, could she? Clyde's disorder was his business to tell, not hers, and she knew for a fact he didn't want Craig to find out. "Every time I try to end things it doesn't work. I always feel too guilty and then I end up right back where I started and it's exhausting and I hate it and I'm so - I'm so," she groped for the right word. "I'm so fucking sad," she finished, her voice having grow soft and shaky by the end of the sentence. Huh. She really was sad. She'd felt many things because of her relationship with Clyde, but it was just now dawning on her that above all else, she just felt really fucking sad and really fucking alone.

Craig was looking at her with a combination of confusion and what seemed to be a sort of sadness of his own. "I'm sorry," he said, looking back down at his feet, and somehow the way he said it made Bebe feel slightly better. "I wish I could do something," he mumbled, then added almost with frustration, "I don't see why you can't just fucking leave him."

She ran a hand through her hair and wiped the corners of her eyes. "Maybe one day I'll be able to explain it to you." He accepted this with a nod, not wanting to hound her for details if she wasn't ready to talk about what was going on yet. He fucking hated when people did that to him. But so help him if Clyde was in any way threatening her into staying with him, there would be hell to pay. "Hey, can I take you up on the pot?" She asked timidly, turning her head to the side. Craig allowed himself to smile and reached into his drawer for the pipe.

Bebe took in her surroundings while Craig packed them a bowl. The walls and bedspread were navy blue, the carpeting was grey and his walls were filled with posters for bands and movies, some she knew, most she did not. There was a Dark Side of the Moon poster, and some for stoner comedies like The Big Lebowski. She was more fascinated, however, by the way the walls were spinning than what was on them. It was strange how amplified the side effects of intoxication were when you were away from the distractions and noise of a party, sitting alone with another person in a quiet room.

"I'm so fucking wasted," she groaned, giggling a little. Hopefully the weed would mellow her out some. It was hot, too. She peeled off her cardigan, noticing that Craig looked up from what he was doing for a split second when he saw her movement, then quickly averted his eyes. It was almost mesmerizing to watch this long fingers break up the buds and arrange them carefully in the bowl. She smirked, wondering if her and Clyde were in fact broken up or not. She tossed the cardigan aside and lay back on the bed with her arms out to the side, closing her eyes. She began singing softly, "I want to break freeee." Craig looked up from the pipe curiously and she kept singing. "I want to breeaaak free," He smiled. "I want to break free from your lies, you're so self satisfied, I don't neeeeeed youuuu," she looked over and laughed. She knew she sounded terrible but he looked amused. "I've got to break free!" He laughed too, and even joined in, even more softly than her: "God knoooows, God knows I want to break free!" Bebe considered singing the next verse about falling in love for the first time, but bit her tongue, not wanting to ruin the moment or make it awkward for him.

"Hang on, if we're making up an inspirational-get-out-of-your-bad-relationship playlist, I have just the thing." He set aside the now packed pipe and opened his laptop. Soon a familiar sounding drum beat filled Bebe's ears.

"Hey, I recognize this," she mused, sitting up and furrowing her brow. It was one of those songs they played in movies and on the radio all the time but no one could ever remember the name of.

The problem is all inside your head
She said to me
The answer is easy if you
Take it logically
I'd like to help you in your struggle
To be free
There must be fifty ways
To leave your lover

Bebe chuckled. "Oh you shrewd man, you!" Craig grinned.

She said it's really not my habit
To intrude
Furthermore, I hope my meaning
Won't be lost or misconstrued
But I'll repeat myself
At the risk of being crude
There must be fifty ways
To leave your lover
Fifty ways to leave your lover

Then the chorus kicked in:

You just slip out the back, Jack
Make a new plan, Stan
You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just listen to me
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free

They listened to the rest of the song, and every so often Craig would interject with an overly theatrical wagging finger, as if to say 'I hope you're taking notes on this.' Bebe laughed when the song was over. "That was a great musical pep talk, Craig. Thanks for that." He nodded and put on a different song. Something psychedelic and spaced out sounding. She didn't recognize it but she liked it. He picked up the pipe and lighter, stretching to pass them across the room to her, then returning to his chair. She took them, but frowned a little. "You can sit with me, you know. I don't bite," she said cocking an eyebrow. Craig shrugged making his way over (a little apprehensively) and seating himself on the edge of the bed. He was careful not to look too long at the sight of her body in the red dress, sans cardigan, but the way she had draped herself over the bed was enticing, to say the least. His breathing had picked up just slightly and he wondered if she noticed.

"You go first," he said, motioning to the pipe in her hands as he opened the window a crack to avoid the smell from traveling back into the apartment and risking someone bursting through the door, wanting to share. The cold air felt good on his skin.

"Thanks." She smiled and lit it, inhaling deeply. She passed it to him and he did the same. They did this a few times in comfortable silence.

"How are you feeling?" He asked after a while, "Better?"

She nodded. The room was spinning less than it had been before, her nausea had subsided, and a peaceful tingling was spreading over her body. "Thanks for saving my night," she smiled, setting down the now ash-filled pipe on his night table and lying on her side. Craig studied the deep dip of her waist against the dim light that was coming in the window from a streetlamp then forced himself to turn away, still on the edge of the bed and now facing the wall. "What's wrong?" Bebe asked, sitting up.

"Nothing's wrong." His shoulders were hunched over and his elbows rested on his knees. His head was down in a fashion similar to how Bebe had been positioned earlier. Ugh, he thought, were they all just taking turns sulking, now?

"Did I do something?" She asked, trying not to sound as distressed as she felt.

"No," he said quietly, then added, "I mean, kinda. But nothing bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind." He turned around and tried to smile, failing for the most part. "I'm just like, not used to this kind of shit."

"What kind of shit?" She asked, confused.

"You know, shit." He threw his hands up as if that explained anything.

"Shit?"

"Shit," he clarified, running an anxious hand through his hair. "Shit," he sighed, returning his head to his hands, but he could still see her in his mind's eye. She looked really fucking good on his bed. Alarmingly good. Her cheeks were pink from drinking and her eyes were glazed over and her chest was, to but it bluntly, practically spilling out the top of her red dress.

"Craig…"

"Oh for fuck's sake," he laughed sharply. "Clyde's contagious." Craig ran a hand through his hair. "He rubbed off on me and now I'm the one throwing a sissy fit. I'm just being stupid and drunk, never mind." She returned his laugh because it felt better to do that than acknowledge the growing tension in the room, increasing with every word left deliberately unsaid. The heavy jello-air was back and Craig's shoulders were broad and firm looking, slightly stretching the fabric of his blue shirt across his shoulder blades.

"Can I tell you something really embarrassing?" She suddenly asked.

Craig shrugged. "As long as you don't expect me to tell you something embarrassing back."

She smiled. "I had this huge crush on you when we were kids," she confided. Her tone was light, but the underlying meaning was less so. "I used to day dream about sending you one of those notes that said 'do you like me' with a 'yes' box and a 'no' box and you would send it back with the 'yes' box checked." Oh God, that sounded silly now that she said it out loud. She'd meant it to be an amusing anecdote to break the uneasy atmosphere, but Craig stared at her blankly and now she was pretty sure she'd made it worse.

"Oh."

"I mean don't worry, it's not like I stalked you or took your dirty tissues out of the garbage and built a shrine around them or anything," she joked, but as soon as she said this she realized that it in fact sounded like that was exactly what she had done, and was now trying to cover it up by being overly defensive. "Actually, though, I'm serious. I didn't… do that. It was more about admiration. That's what I was trying to explain in my bedroom yesterday. You're really fucking awesome and you don't even realize it."

Craig seemed to be stunned into silence at the revelation and Bebe wondered if this meant she should continue, or if she should quit while she was ahead. She opted for the former. It was kind of too late to stop now. "You know, I only first started dating Clyde in elementary school because he was friends with you, to be perfectly honest. I thought that I could use him to get to you. God, that sounds fucking awful," she muttered with a wry smile. "Don't think I'm a horrible person, I did grow to love him eventually. For a while." She couldn't really justify why she was allowing these words to come out of her mouth so she chalked it up to the alcohol and braved on. "He knows. Clyde, I mean. About the fact that I used to have a crush on you. That might be why he overreacted tonight." That, and the fact that he had a Goddamn borderline personality disorder, Bebe thought to herself, but she knew she couldn't say that out loud.

"Oh."

"Look, I'm sorry," she apologized hastily, taking in the perturbed look on his face. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this," she rambled on, unnerved by his reaction, "I just kind of wanted to get it off my chest. But that was selfish of me. I'm sorry. You didn't need to hear any of this. Shit."

"No," Craig said, shaking his head. "It's not that." She gave him a questioning look. He laughed bitterly. "I guess your plan didn't work, huh?" He joked, raising an eyebrow.

She chuckled, though nothing was really all that funny. "Guess not."

"I mean I was a fuck-wit back then, though. I still am, I guess. So it's probably on me, not you," he continued.

"Would you have?" She asked, "Y'know, it you weren't a fuck-wit?" They were getting more vague with each statement, but they both knew very well what they were talking about. The detached ambiguity just made it easier to go on.

"Maybe," Craig said softly. "Hard to say. I can't really imagine. I mean, I kind of grew up with you being…"

"Off limits?" She ventured.

"Yeah." He glanced over at her, and to his dismay, she looked sad. Even more so than earlier, if that was possible. She looked deflated. "I don't mean that I would never," he floundered, now having a slightly more hazy idea of what they were talking about. "You've been around Clyde and I pretty much my whole life." She was biting her lip, leaving it dark and swollen, wordlessly urging him to go on, but not to hurt her with what he said. "I didn't really let myself consider… anything." However, the fact that he counted her among the few people that he didn't hate made sense, in a way that spoke volumes about the reality of the situation. A reality he wasn't sure he was ready to admit to her or even himself.

She nodded in acceptance. "Thanks for not laughing at me."

Craig furrowed his brows. "I wouldn't fucking laugh at you over…" he paused, not sure what to call it. "…that," he finished. "God, why does everyone think I'm such a fucking monster?! Wait, don't answer that," he added with a dry laugh. He knew why. He was an asshole, plain and simple. And fate had decided long ago that the one girl who saw him as more than that would end up unhappily dating his best friend. Apparently, the universe was an even bigger dick than he was.

"You know what the girls used to call you, back in middle school?" Bebe asked, giggling.

"Do I want to know?"

"No," Bebe said, but continued. "They called you Craig 'Unabomber' Tucker."

He looked dubious. "As in the fucking terrorist? I'm not that bad, am I?!"

"No," she laughed. "I don't think so. But you have to admit, you were always really good with math, and you were pretty antisocial, and you could grow facial hair before any of the other boys in our grade," she reasoned with a teasing smile.

"Well, when I rise to my inevitable calling of mailing bombs to people, as you seem think I'm likely to do, you're the first one on my list. Beware of any suspicious packages." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but he was smiling and squinting good-naturedly at her, glad the tension had dissipated.

She was about to reply when a knock sounded at the door. They exchanged anxious glances. Not Clyde, oh God, please not Clyde.

"Bebe?" It was Wendy and her voice was wary. They exhaled a sigh of relief. "Hey, I saw you come in here. I uh -we're about to cut the cake and sing to Tweek if you guys wanna come join us."

"Alright!" She called, composing herself. "We'll be out in a sec!"

Craig moved to close the window and emptied the pipe then put it back into his drawer. "Brace yourself," he said, rolling his eyes. "Back to the world of the living we go."

She laughed at his dramatics and then sighed with disappointment. "Fuck."

…

Back in the living room, the festivities had in fact seemed to die down a little in their absence. It was almost 1 am, and most people appeared to have grown tired of drinking and dancing and were clustered in small groups, just talking or, in the case of the drunker ones, paired off and all over each other. "Okay, gather around everybody!" Wendy called, taking charge as usual and ushering people around the beer pong table which now held Tweek's coffee cake. The candles were lit and they sang, a horrible sounding chorus of drunken voices and cheers. Bebe scanned the crowd of people cautiously, noting the fact that both Clyde and Milly were not present. Tweek looked somewhat on the frightened side by all the noise and attention, but at the same time eager to dig in to the dessert. When the song ended, Wendy cut the cake, serving it the the guests on paper plates. When she passed Bebe and Craig theirs, she shot her friend a 'we'll talk about this later' look. Bebe inwardly groaned, not looking forward to explaining what had happened in Craig's room. To be honest, she wasn't even sure what had happened.

"It's good cake," Craig complimented her after taking a bite.

"You helped with it," she reminded him with a smile. He had a tiny bit of icing on his lip and she wanted to lick it off. She supposed that meant she had finally (after over a decade) stopped repressing and denying how she felt about him. She wanted to lick him. Hah. That was one way to put it, she supposed. They moved to sit back down on the couch where they had been seated earlier, eating quietly and taking in the scene before them. It was always fun to observe the hilarious things drunk people did when they were too wasted to proces that anyone was watching. Red and Token were pressed up against a wall, grinding on each other despite the fact that there was no music playing, Gary was cleaning up Kenny, who had vomited down the front of his shirt and was now lying on the floor looking more dead than alive, while Kyle appeared to be lecturing him about the dangers of liver damage, despite the fact that his sage advice seemed to be falling on an unresponsive audience. By the looks of it, Kenny had managed to throw up on Sally too, who was trying in vain to wipe his stomach acid off her dress and Bebe felt a terrible pang of satisfaction. That's what she gets for sleeping with Craig, she thought cruelly, not caring that it was a completely unfair of her to feel this way. Meanwhile, Jimmy had cornered a very agitated looking Tweek and was telling him jokes, assuring him that he was a great audience. Cartman was still stuffing his himself with the cake, shovelling it into his mouth with his hands and smearing icing all over his face, moaning like he was getting sexual satisfaction out of it. Gross. Then again, this was also how he probably would have eaten sober. She scanned the room again, but there was still no sign of Clyde and Milly.

"Hi guys," Wendy said, coming over with Stan on her arm. "Great cake, Bebe." Stan nodded his agreement enthusiastically.

"Thanks, Craig helped," she replied, giving him a fond smile.

"Sorry that we totally kicked your ass at beer pong," grinned Stan good-humouredly.

"Hey, all's fair in love and beer pong, right?" She shrugged, returning his grin, though she was not entirely convinced if there was any truth in her words. Things certainly weren't fair in love, and as for beer pong, well, she'd decide during tomorrow's hangover.

"That's the spirit," he said, affectionately ruffling her hair. She wondered what it would be like to have an emotionally stable boyfriend.

"Anyway, Bebe, I just came over to tell you that I'm gonna spend the night at Stan's," Wendy explained, "I'll text you tomorrow morning, okay? Take a cab home, I don't want you to walk back to the apartment alone at night."

Bebe nodded and winked. "Have a good time, you guys." Craig muttered his goodbye and the couple exited the room, leaving Bebe and Craig alone on the couch again. "Do you want some help cleaning up a bit?" She asked, surveying the mess of bottles and cups and plates that had accumulated in the apartment over the course of the evening.

"Nah, you don't have to do that."

"I want to."

"Alright."

The two of them walked around the room, collecting garbage from the surfaces of tables and the hands of those who had passed out, a majority that seemed to increase almost by the minute. Bebe got to work on the living room and Craig did his best with the kitchen. As Craig was stacking the cups from the counter, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see Butters standing behind him, reeking of wine coolers and looking about as drunk as Craig had ever seen him. "What."

"Hey Craig," Butters slurred, giving him a shy smile. Evidently he was so drunk that he had stopped stuttering. "Clyde told me not to mention it or nothin' but I wanted to tell you I'm sorry you got fired. I know you think I'm annoying 'n stuff but I really liked working with you."

Craig, to his surprise, found himself reluctantly returning the smile. "Butters," he sighed, this was going to be tough. "Butters I'm sorry I yelled at you at work that day. I was only angry because what you were saying hit a bit too close to home, okay? And I'm only telling you this now because I'm too fucking drunk to know any better. But if you spread it around I'll make you just as sorry that I said this as I'll be."

"Aww, Craig! I knew you weren't really all that mean," Butters cried happily, throwing his arms around Craig's waist in an eager hug.

"Butters you have exactly five seconds to detach yourself from me before I put a steak knife through your gut."

The blonde boy took a quick step back in fear, nodding that he understood. "Good," Craig said, brushing past him to continue cleaning up. When he had finally gotten rid of the worst of the mess, he joined Bebe back in the living room. She scanned the scene before her and chuckled at all the sleeping bodies. "You know it was a good party when it's only 1 and everyone's already passed out."

He nodded, but he wasn't looking around the room. "Yeah, it was a good party." His eyes were on her, and she blushed.

"I should probably head home," she admitted reluctantly, already feeling the next morning's headache creeping up on her.

Craig looked disappointed. "Wendy's right, you shouldn't go home in the dark. And I don't want you to waste money on a cab. Why don't you just sleep here? It wouldn't be… weird, or anything." Weird, or suspicious if Clyde ever surfaced, Craig thought."Everyone else seemed to make themselves right at home," he snorted and rolled his eyes, pointing to the passed out young people in his living room.

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Exactly, look at everyone. I'd have no where to sleep. Unless your bathtub is free?" She joked.

He frowned. "Yeah I guess you have a point." They had apparently reached an unspoken agreement that it would not do for her to try and find Clyde and sleep in his room. There had still been no sight of him or Milly, and neither Bebe nor Craig wanted to consider the possibility that perhaps even Clyde's bed wasn't exactly free at the moment. And Craig's was definitely out of the question. "Let me walk you home at least?" He offered, moving to get her coat from the stack on the chair in the corner.

She nodded and let him help her put it on. "Okay. Thanks."

He smiled. "Let me just go grab my jacket from my room." He went in for the jacket, but on his way out he saw a pad of paper on his desk and had an idea that he would probably regret in the morning, but then again it wasn't morning yet, was it? He ripped off a small square of paper and scribbled something on it, putting it in his pocket and returning to Bebe in the living room.

…

The effects of the alcohol were starting to fade rapidly, and the cold winter wind and falling snow nipped at their skin the moment they stepped onto the street. "Shit! That's cold," Bebe shivered, unconsciously huddling closer to Craig. He wondered if he should risk putting his arm around her, but decided, fuck it. It was cold. And they were still a little drunk. And she was sad.

"We should do this again sometime," Craig suggested, though he sounded a little unsure of himself. "Only next time without all the extra people."

"You mean like hang out, just us?" Bebe clarified bluntly, raising a brow. The street lamps cast a golden glow over her face, illuminating her curls and reflecting off her light eyes.

He laughed. "Yeah."

"I'd like that. You know, if things with Clyde…" she trailed off.

"You're not his property. You can be friends with whoever you want." There was that word again: friends. It was like a safety net for them. Something to fall back on when things started to feel too intimate.

"Yeah, I know," she sighed.

"What's the deal with you guys, really?" Craig asked, looking her in the eye, silently imploring her to help him understand.

"I can't explain it. I mean I technically could, but I can't." She knew that would make no sense to him but it was the best she could do.

"He doesn't… hurt you, right?" Craig felt sick at the just thought, and he was almost positive that Clyde didn't have it in him to really hurt anyone, but he had to make sure.

"No!" She cried, quickly, shaking her head violently. "No, oh God no. Please don't think that. He just -he needs me." She finished lamely. She hated how narcissistic it sounded, but Craig actually seemed to understand this.

"Clyde is a needy guy, but you have to think about what you need too, you know." Bebe smiled at his almost word for word repetition of what Wendy had told her a few days ago. They reached her apartment soon and stopped in front of the front steps, looking at each other.

"You know, I really feel bad for the people who write you off as just an asshole, Craig," Bebe said sincerely, putting a timid hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. He seemed startled by her touch but he didn't flinch away. "They're really missing out." She studied his strong jawline and fullness of his lips, and the way his dark eyelashes rested on his cheeks when he looked down at the ground like he was doing now. He raised his eyes to meet hers, and they were looking into each other again, like they had done yesterday on her bed. "If -if things were different," she began, hand still searing his arm, "I'd ask you to come up with me."

He broke the eye contact and bitterly returned his eyes to the slushy pavement. "If things were different, I'd say yes." He awkwardly reached up and patted the hand that she still had on him.

Bebe tried not to moan at the simple contact and throw herself greedily into his touch. He appeared to be doing the same. His breathing was laboured and he removed his hand shakily. "Fuck," he laughed dryly, looking at her with pained eyes.

"Yeah," she agreed, adding her own laugh to the humourless sound, "fuck." Craig loved the way her lips looked when they formed that word. He wanted her to say it onto his skin, so he could feel them move. Then they were holding each other. He wasn't sure who had initiated it, it happened too fast to tell, but the next thing he knew she was pressed up against him with her hands on his back and his arms were around her. She buried her face in his the crook of his shoulder for what felt like entire minutes but had probably only been a few seconds. Her hair smelled like weed and something fruity and he wasn't sure if he'd ever smelled anything so wonderful. He felt a stirring in his crotch. Apparently, hugging Bebe was enough to make him hard now. Lovely.

He felt her head shift and couldn't be positive but he thought he felt her lips brush up against the skin of his neck. He shuddered. Every sensation was simultaneously electrifying and completely indistinguishable. She tightened her grasp on him, scrunching her fingers into the material of his jacket. The movement pulled her forward, causing her (unwittingly?) to press her lower half against his and he knew there was no way she wouldn't feel the bulge straining against his pants. But she didn't pull away. He thought he heard her sob and instinctively held her even closer, but when she finally pulled away, her eyes were dry. She released a shaky breath. "I really fucking want you to come up." Her voice was a desperate whisper.

"I know."

"Wendy's at Stans."

"I know."

"But we can't."

"I know." It was like a mantra.

"Goodnight, Craig," she sighed.

"Goodnight, Bebe."

She moved to walk up the stairs but he caught her arm. He'd almost forgotten. "Wait." She spun around. He took the folded piece of paper from his pocket it and pressed it into her hand, relishing the few moments that their skin touched. She shot him a questioning look but he shook his head with an unreadable smile, then turned and left. She watched his figure retreat down the sidewalk, and when he was out of sight glanced down at the paper in her hands. She unfolded it, choking out an anguished laugh at what was written on it.

Do I like you:

X Yes _ No

She stared at it, studying the curve of each letter that formed each word so that she could be sure of their meaning. She put the paper in her pocket and went in the door.

A/N

I don't own any of the songs mentioned and shit blah blah blah