I stare at the boy who had just spoke those four terrifying, heart-stopping words.

"Kyle?"

Everyone is staring at him. He looks like he is going to be sick.

"I think I know who that guy was.." Kyle says, his voice croaky and dry.

"Who?" Craig asked, shifting himself so he was sat up. Kyle stayed quiet for a while, his eyes darting from his hands, to his feet, to the now crackling TV screen. Finally, he speaks up.

"It looked… It looked like Stan.."

My brain seems to flare with anger. My hands ball into fists and I begin to twitch again.

"Where will he be, Kyle?" I ask, my voice shaking with contained rage.

"Uh.. The park probably.. Why?" Kyle asks. I don't answer. I quickly squeeze Craig's hand and leave the room.

I hate him so much. The stupid, vain, self-centred bastard!

I felt sorry for him! I pitied him! We were in the same boat! We were both virgins and we had both been bullied for it. I thought he was okay.. But now I hate him.. He hurt the most important person in my life, the only person who made me feel warm and wanted.

I storm through the gates of the park and glance around looking for Stan.

I see him. Laid out on the bench, texting on his phone.

I run towards him, grab the scruff of his collar and spin him round. His eyes dart to my face and he drops his phone. As I slam him against the wall, I step on the phone and it breaks. He is looking at me with a half-puzzled, half-shocked shine in his eyes.

"I know what you did, you sleazy toe-rag!" I hiss, glaring at him.

"What are you talking ab-" Stan begins, but I press the fists holding his collar into his soft neck making him splutter.

"You know bloody well what I'm talking about.." I snarl. He looks at me, his look is full of an emotion I have never seen directed at me before. Fear.

Soon, the shock of my attack wears off and Stan begins to fight back, first he overcomes the pain in his neck enough to move his hands up to my hair. He grabs a fist-full of it and pulls with more strength than he looks capable of. Sudden pain forced out a yell as my strength disappeared, I fell to my knees in weakness, my grip on Stan's neck releasing as i crashed to the floor. Stan looms over me, grinning. I see the look of enjoyment in his face and anger wells up inside me again. I bring my legs up to my chest, then jab them out. They hit Stan squarely in the chest. It winds him and he staggers backwards. I stand, wiping my mouth as Stan coughs, then looks at me with pure hatred in his eyes. I glare straight back, not flinching. He lunches for me, grabbing a handful of my green shirt as he goes. I hear and feel the small warning clicks that signal the shirt is in danger of having a massive hole. Thinking that my parents will freak if I rip my shirt, I claw at Stan's hand. He releases, but then claps his hands over my neck. I can feel all the blood rush to my head and my temples begin to pump, threateningly. All those years of sports have really made him strong. He is obviously not putting all his strength into the push, because if he was - I would probably already be dead. However, it is still pretty painful and I can hardly breathe now. My eyes are swimming and I can feel a tingling sensation in the front of my face. I splutter a beg for him to let go but he only laughs. I can feel Stan's hand against my adam's apple. I gulp, then choke, the impact and pressure on my throat stopping the swallow. I'm beginning to lose strength..

I close my eyes and all I can hear now is the pumping from my head. I'm going to either die or be unconscious for a while… Then, I see a face.. With black hair.. And deep blue eyes.

Craig..

Suddenly, a mass of anger seems to hit the top of my head. It gives me a burst of energy and I sink one of my fists into Stan's soft abdomen. He lets go of my throat and I gulp in the fresh oxygen with relish. My head stops swimming, and my strength returns. Stan has backed away from me and is now spluttering and coughing again. Thinking it is all over, I ruffle my already, wild and un-tameable hair and turn to leave the park.

Then, Stan runs at me. Before I can dodge out of his way, he is pummelling my stomach. Searing pain jolts up my abdomen, but I do not fall. The thought of fighting for Craig is keeping me upright. I begin to punch him back. All my strength is powered behind my punches. It is beginning to hurt my knuckles, but all I can see when I look at his face is hate.

He finally stops punching me. I stop too and he backs away from me, pulling a blue inhaler from his pocket. I look at him as he places one end in his mouth, pushes the large button and breaths slowly. Stan then looks at me.

"Why did you attack me, Tweek?" He asks, panting.

"You attacked Craig!" I yell. Stan doesn't answer me, he just stares at a point slightly over my left shoulder. My eyes are boring holes into his eyes, even though they are not returning the gaze. I am inspecting every inch of his worthless face. Glaring at him still, I move in front of the point the was staring at, trying to force him to look at me. No luck. He does look at my face, but not my eyes. He's looking at my nose. A confused look rests on his chiselled face. If he weren't such an asshole, I'd pat him on the shoulder and tell him not to worry.. That everything will be okay.

Finally, he looks straight into my eyes, instead of looking from my nose to my mouth.

"I didn't mean to.."

"You didn't mean to?" I repeat, slowly. "HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU NOT MEAN TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF SOMEONE WHO HASN'T DONE A THING TO YOU? YOU BEAT HIM TO A FUCKING PULP AND NO-ONE KNOWS! WHAT COULD HAVE POSESSED YOU TO PUNCH HIM UNCONCIOUS THEN STEAL HIS FUCKING IPOD YOU LOWLIFE EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN!"

I clasp my hand over my mouth. I had meant to teach him a lesson, not swear at him. Swearing is a sin.. Swearing is a sin..

He looks sort of shocked by my outburst. He's shaking slightly. I drop my hands to my side, then shove them in my pockets and lean back, slightly. That's a habit I have inherited from Craig. 'The Cool Pose'.

Stan sits on a near-by log. He rests his elbows on his knees and puts his head into his hands. No matter how much of an asshole he is.. He's obviously distressed and I need to help him. Geez, I hate being so caring.

I sit on the other side of the log, wrap my arms around my hunched up knees and look at Stan. He looks so sad. Regardless of how much I hate him, I would feel guilty if I don't say anything of comfort. I try to force myself to say something but my vocal chords seem to be stopping themselves. I clear my throat and try again.

"Stan.. Are you okay?" I ask. Oh my god. That was lame, even for me! I could've come up with something better than that, surely?

Stan shakes his head and scrunches his body up tighter. I hover my hand over his shoulder. Should I comfort him.. Or will that result in another fight?

Thinking that it cant hurt to try, I pat his shoulder tentatively. Stan seems to tense at my touch, but then relaxes. After a while I decide to give it another shot.

"Stan.. I'm sorry for shouting. What could have made you do that to Craig, though?"

"I just got so angry.. He is so arrogant and proud…" Stan says. I laugh, slightly.

"Yeah, he is quite arrogant, but that's not the reason is it?" I ask, removing my hand from his shoulder. He shakes his head, then looks at me and I can see small droplets of water in the corner of his eyes.

"It's just he was… proud. Un-caring. I guess I wanted to be as confident as he was. Maybe I did it out of jealousy. But, I swear. I wasn't planning it! It was like something took over me, I just had a burst of anger. That retard Marie was watching too, and laughing." Stan says, blinking and trying not to let the tears fall from his eyes.

"What do you mean by 'he was proud'?" I ask, slightly confused. Stan stays quiet for a few minutes, then rises and begins pacing up and down the patch of worn, brown grass in front of the log. Then he stops to face me.

"He doesn't care what anyone thinks. He has a reputation, but he doesn't care!" Stan implores. I stare back into his eyes.

"Stan. What do you mean?" I'm really confused now. What could Stan possibly mean? Craig is proud of everything.

"Don't you think he would have got bullied? The only reason people leave him alone and don't tease him about it is because he has two strong fists to defend himself with! If anyone gives him any cheek he just punches them!" Stan yells, throwing out his arms. "I don't have any reputation for being strong. I just have a popularity reputation and I would lose that in an instant if anyone found out!"

"Found out about what?" I ask.

"Tweek! Isn't it obvious?"

I look into his eyes, thinking about all the things he has just said. Stan is jealous of Craig because he is proud of something and this thing could affect his reputation.. The only thing that Craig has been proud of and that could screw up his reputation is…… Oh…

"You mean your.." I ask, tentatively. Stan nods, solemnly.

"But. Why are you telling me this? You hate me!" I say, cocking one of my eyebrows and looking at Stan.

"I.. I thought you would be the only one who would understand.." he says, looking pleadingly up at me. I smile.

"I do understand, Stan. So.. Who's the lucky guy?" I ask, attempting to brighten up the conversation. Stan looks mournfully at his feet.

"Oh. Does he not like you back?" I ask, feeling sympathetic.

"I haven't even asked him.." Stan mutters.

"Well.. Why don't you just ask him then?" I giggle.

"Because I know his answer already." Stan mumbles to his shoes.

"How? You can know someone's answer before you ask them, you'd have to be physic!" I say with a wave of my hand. There was a momentary silence then, until Stan spoke up.

"I can know someone's answer.. If that someone is my best friend.."

"Kyle?" I ask. I am quite shocked, but the pair have always been very close. Stan puts his head into his hands again and groans.

"How do you know his answer then?" I ask, probing further into Stan's emotions.

"Kyle isn't gay…" Stan mutters, his voice muffled through his hands.

"Hm.. I dunno.." I ponder. Stan looks at me with raised eyebrows and I wink.

About half an hour later, I am pushing Stan out of the lift. He is looking apprehensive but this is something he needs to do. In his sweating, shaking hands, he is clutching a black iPod. Craig's iPod. It still has some small droplets of Craig's blood on the back..

I lead Stan to Craig's Patient Room and push the door open quietly in case Craig is asleep. But find him propped up on his pillows flicking through the pages of an old magazine.

I step inside and I can feel a nervous Stan follow me and shut the door.

"Hey, Craig. How are you feeling?" I ask, resuming my seat next to Craig's bed.

"Yeah.. I'll live." Craig smiles, weakly.

Stan stumbles forward. Craig looks him up and down with raised eyebrows.

"I'm really sorry for beating you up, Craig. My emotions and my anger got the better of me. I was confused but Tweek has helped me. I'm really, really sorry." Stan says quickly, looking close to tears. Craig stays silent for a minute, staring at the quivering, raven-haired boy in front of him. But then he smiles and gestures for Stan to sit in the chair next to Tweek. Stan does so and grins. He hands the bloodstained iPod back to Craig. Craig takes it and immediately shoves the earphones into his ears and presses play. A dreamy expression spreads across his face and he lays back on his pillows with a sigh.

"Ah.. Linkin Park forever…"