05.12.2012
Craig Tucker: So don't even respond to this because I really don't want to talk, but I saw that toy you bought Stripe and I just
Craig Tucker: Thanks
Stan Marsh: …your welcome
Stan Marsh: does he like it?
Craig Tucker: Yeah, he does.
Stan Marsh: that's cool..mellow doesn't really like hers, she goes for those ice cream cone things
Craig Tucker: …that's cool. Look, I'm not looking to talk today so just don't, okay?
Stan Marsh: why not?
Craig Tucker: Because I really just don't want to
Stan Marsh: why?
Stan Marsh: you're being a real bastard.
Craig Tucker: Why am I being a bastard? I took care of your guinea pig and thanked you for the toy; what more do you want?
Stan Marsh: I don't know.
Stan Marsh: so if my guinea pig is pregnant, does that make us grand parents?
Craig Tucker: No, stop, we aren't grandparents
Stan Marsh: why wouldn't we be
Craig Tucker: Because fuck that; they can be YOUR grandkids. Not mine. I don't want anything to do with you and kids.
Stan Marsh: aww come on craig
Stan Marsh: imagine tiny guinea pigs
Stan Marsh: with tiny paws
Stan Marsh: how do you think they'd feel if their other grandpa abandoned them
Craig Tucker: No, I'm not grandparenting with you
Stan Marsh: you're going to break their tiny little guinea pig hearts
Stan Marsh: before they even breath :(
Craig Tucker: Stop
Stan Marsh: why?
Stan Marsh: okay, is it wrong that I just like talking to you?
Stan Marsh: it's entertaining.
Stan Marsh: why don't you want to talk .
Craig Tucker: Stop liking talking to me
Craig Tucker: Really
Stan Marsh: no.
Stan Marsh: make me.
Craig Tucker: Ugh
Stan Marsh: strong arugment there
Stan Marsh: argument.
Stan Marsh: god I'm getting like you. can't spell worth shit.
Craig Tucker: Don't tell me things like "you like talking to me"
Craig Tucker: That's fucked up
Craig Tucker: You hate me
Stan Marsh: I like hating you. there's a difference.
Craig Tucker: …didn't your girlfriend forbid you to talk to me anyway?
Stan Marsh: yeah.
Craig Tucker: Then why aren't you listening to her?
Stan Marsh: …because I like hating you.
Craig Tucker: Enough to risk pissing Wendy off?
Stan Marsh: are you going to go tell her?
Craig Tucker: No, I'm not even going to talk to her.
Stan Marsh: then ok
Stan Marsh: why not talk then.
Craig Tucker: Because I don't want to.
Craig Tucker: It's that simple.
Stan Marsh: really?
Stan Marsh: you don't even want to talk to me a little?
Craig Tucker: No, not really. You're making my life hard.
Stan Marsh: how so?
Craig Tucker: You just are. And you're fucking up my sleep patterns by talking to me all night.
Stan Marsh: you love it.
Craig Tucker: No.
Stan Marsh: yes you do.
Craig Tucker: No.
Stan Marsh: Yes you do.
Craig Tucker: No.
Stan Marsh: Yes
Craig Tucker: No.
Stan Marsh: Yes
Craig Tucker: Fuck you.
Stan Marsh: Fuck you.
Craig Tucker: Is there a point to this? Because even if you like talking to me, this isn't even talking. It's bitching.
Stan Marsh: you're bitching, I'm talking
Stan Marsh: so?
Craig Tucker: So you like me bitching at you?
Stan Marsh: why won't you just admit you like me.
Craig Tucker: Because I don't.
Stan Marsh: Come on.
Stan Marsh: Say it.
Craig Tucker: No.
Stan Marsh: Say it
Craig Tucker: There's nothing to say
Stan Marsh: besides that you love me and can't stop responding to every word I send
Craig Tucker: Then I'll stop.
Stan Marsh: …
Stan Marsh: don't
Stan Marsh: want to hang out?
Stan Marsh: …
Stan Marsh: please?
Stan Marsh: dude, come on
Stan Marsh: are you seriously ignoring me
Stan Marsh: fuck you, craig.
Stan Marsh: you know what? I really do hate you.
Craig Tucker: Thank you.
Stan Marsh: ugh
Stan Marsh: fuck you
Stan Marsh: with freddy kreuger's claw, bastard
Craig Tucker: Yep.
Craig Tucker: Are you done now?
Stan Marsh: no.
Craig Tucker: …
Craig Tucker: Stop.
Stan Marsh: No.
Craig Tucker: What would you want to hang out with me for anyway? All we do it fight.
Stan Marsh: i don't know.
Craig Tucker: Well that's a fantastic reason.
Craig Tucker: Really convincing.
Stan Marsh: what reason do you want?
Craig Tucker: I don't want a good reason, because I don't want to do it anyways.
Stan Marsh: fine, I'll give you a fucking reason.
Stan Marsh: after spending four unbearable days with you, I miss you.
Craig Tucker: …you miss me.
Stan Marsh: Yes. I miss your stupid face.
Craig Tucker: My pointy face.
Stan Marsh: yeah.
Craig Tucker: Well that's still not what I wanted to hear. Actually, it's pretty much the opposite.
Craig Tucker: I don't want this. We hate each other.
Stan Marsh: yeah, whatever.
Stan Marsh: Fuck you
Stan Marsh: I'm not responding anymore
Craig Tucker: Okay.
Craig stares at his AIM box, becoming more and more frustrated as the seconds pass. Why does Stan have to like him? Why does Stan have to like talking to him? Why does Stan have to do shit like come to his house and confess? Or buy Stripe a toy?
Why did he buy Stripe that fucking toy?
He looks over at his guinea pig, who is happily gnawing away at the little wooden burger, and lets out a strangled groan.
This needs to fucking stop. Stan needs to be told what's fucking what, and he needs to fucking stop this bullshit before he fucks up Craig's relationship with Kenny permanently. Craig doesn't like Stan enough to risk that… probably.
No, he definitely wouldn't risk it. Fuck Stan. No – fuck Marsh.
In a rash decision, he stands and starts gathering up his things. He's going to fucking go over there and give Stan a piece of his fucking mind. This needs to fucking stop. Craig doesn't like Stan, and Stan needs to stop making things fucking worse.
Keys in hand, he all storms out of his house and rolls away in his car. It's really not worth the drive, but he doesn't even care. All he fucking wants is to go over there, tell Stan to back the fuck off, and then go home. Simple as that.
He pulls into Stan's driveway and all but slams his door. He storms up to the front door and tries the handle. Thankfully, it's open. He doesn't need anyone knowing he's here. He looks around and assumes that Stan's room must be upstairs. His directional sense helps him find the stairs quickly and once he's upstairs he looks around again. How will he know which room it is?
Ah – of course – the one with the fucking Broncos poster on it.
He opens the door and instantly reels back at the danger zone inside. There's shit fucking everywhere; he can barely even see the floor. He looks down and there's a little patch of floor cleared off for Mellow. Craig rolls his eyes at that. At least this asshole had enough sense to clear floor space instead of just putting the cage on top of the mounds of shit.
His eyes finally land on Stan, with his fucking sound blocker headphones. No wonder he hasn't noticed Craig standing there yet. Initial shock of the room aside, he wades his way through the trash to stand behind Stan. He unavoidably catches sight of Stan's screen.
What? Stan is still staring at Craig's chatbox? What the fuck. He also vaguely hears Pain, by Three Days Grace, playing through Stan's headphones. Is this kid trying to be an ironic asshole? This kid really needs to be told to fucking quit. Craig does notlike him, and nothing Stan can do will change that.
He glares at Stan's other messages to Kyle, saying how much of a dick Craig is, and moves his hand to tap Stan's shoulder. He realizes at the last second that he never figured out what he wants to say, but his dilemma is ignored by the fact that he's already touched Stan. Well, fuck.
Stan was mid typing more crap about Craig and Kenny, and then he felt a taping on his shoulder. Usually it was his mother, so he moved to minimize his windows slowly, and then he took off his headphones and opened his mouth to say 'Hi Mom', and before he could begin he glanced over his shoulder and saw Craig standing there. He stared with a blank expression, trying to figure out if he was suddenly delusional or if Craig actually trespassed and entered his room. Turning back around he unminimized Kyle's window and wrote to him, 'Craig's standing in my room. brb.'
He turned his spin computer chair and then stared at Craig. "What?"
Craig doesn't say anything for a second, still not sure what he's going to say. He tries to regain his pissed face, because he ispissed, but right now his unsureness is winning out. He came here to tell Stan to fuck off, right? He came here to tell Stan that he doesn't like him, and that he never will, and that he likes Kenny more. He likes Kenny a lot more.
So why is it so hard to say, now that he's looking Stan in the face?
"Uh… I came over here to tell you to fuck off, but…" he stops, trying to figure out but what. He doesn't continue, just glares at Stan.
Amazingly, Stan seems to keep his composure even though he's wondering why the hell Craig is in his room with such a shitty excuse. If he wanted to say fuck off, he could have done it over AIM. Part of the reason for staying so apathetic to the situation was due to Stan's irritation that everyone in the house never locked the damn door. Soon people would be walking out with stuff, and they wouldn't even know unless they did it in front of them.
With a less than amused expression etched on his face, he said, "But?"
Without really thinking it through, he says, "But I kind of missed you too."
As soon as the words leave his lips, he feels a terrible sinking in his chest. He doesn't mean that. No. He didn't miss Stan. No, fuck that. He did not miss Stan.
He tries to turn to leave, just to get out of Stan's house. Okay yeah, going there was a terrible fucking idea.
For a moment Stan's impassivity faltered and he appeared to be a bit shocked, like Craig had thrown him off. He really wasn't expecting that the other even would pay attention to a comment like that, and he wasn't really sure when he sent it if it was what he wanted to bring up. Returning to a look void of expression, he glared slightly at Craig's receding figure and said,
"Fucking douchebag. Go ahead and leave, I don't really want to talk to you either." Obviously, he was using the skill of sarcasm as he spoke, but inwardly he was kind of irritated that he cared that the other was leaving after making a comment like that. What an asshole. Turning towards his computer screen, he looked at Kyle's chat box and then looked at the keys with a hint of glum.
Craig stops, about half way to the door. He doesn't turn back to Stan, but he can feel himself aching. Why is everything so hard…?
"I don't want to miss you, Stan," he says. It's the first time he thinks he's ever said Stan's first name out loud, and it feels weird to say. But he continues speaking anyway. "All I want is to be there for Kenny, and you're making that really hard to do. So just… stop making me miss you," he says. It sounds completely uncharacteristic, and he kind of wonders if he'd actually said it out loud or if he was hallucinating, but either way, there it was. And he can't take it back now. By now he's depressed himself completely, and all he wants to do is fucking leave. Being here is a bad idea.
Staring at his keyboard dejectedly as Craig spoke, Stan didn't move to turn the chair around. He didn't really understand what Craig was trying to say. With a sinking feeling in his chest he tried to ignore the other, maybe he'd just get annoyed if he didn't pay attention to what Craig was thinking. But, unfortunately, he was tuning in to the words whether he liked it or not, simply because it was unusual and not something that could be considered background noise. Glancing to the side, though still not turning his chair, he said out loud, "I'm not making you do anything, jackass."
Craig scoffs and wants to retaliate, but he can't even bring himself to walk away. What's even going on right now? "Right because I'm fucking doing it to myself," he says after a few drawn out seconds. Time really feels like it's not moving, and this terrible feeling in Craig's chest just won't go the fuck away. Things just need to go back to the way they were; back to the way it was before this whole locker room incident.
He finally turned his chair around slowly to look at Craig, and gave him a purely puzzled look. Was Craig seriously blaming him for him missing Stan? With a frown he replied , "I'm not going to do anything, so you can leave."
He thought of Wendy and his agreement, even though accompanied with that argument was the thought of a strap on - he really didn't want to think about it.
"Dude, just get out of my room."
Craig narrows his eyes, even though Stan can't see because he's faced toward the door. "Right, I'm fucking leaving," he says. It's quiet, and maybe even a little dejected, but he doesn't care. He's done here if Stan it just going to be a dick. He moves again toward the door, intending on leaving.
Did he sound mournful as he left? Stan's already narrowed eyes narrowed even more. He was really trying to keep Kyle's 'avoid Craig' speech to heart, because he didn't want to get in any more trouble with Wendy. But he felt like he was hurting Craig in the process, and even if it was a weird feeling, he got up out of his chair and walked past Craig, and shut the door and put his hand on it so the other couldn't leave. Turning to stare at him, he had one eyebrow raised as he waited to see what Craig would do.
Craig scowls at Stan as the other blocks his exit. What the fuck, Craig is trying to leave. "Didn't you just tell me to get out?" he asks, tying to push a bit of his spite back into his voice. "I'm doing what you asked; you should be fucking happy," he says. He doesn't make any moves though. He doesn't feel the energy anymore to do anything about it. He'd stand there all night if that's what Stan fucking wanted because he's not about to fight to get through the damn door.
"Dude, you really are messed up." Stan commented idly as he kept his outstretched palm practically glued to the door, his eyes focused on Craig's face.
"You never do stuff that makes other people happy. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He felt like prying at the issue, but instead he just opted for vocally making it uncomfortable. Somewhere in his mind he already knew what the problem was - but he really didn't want to say it out loud for fear of being one up'd or have Craig pull a jackass stunt on him.
Craig rolls his eyes, despite how shaken he's starting to feel. He wants the fuck out. He's never been this way before, and he doesn't want to deal with it. He just wants to go talk to Stipe and fall asleep with his iPod turned up really loud. Oh yeah, Craig can't even peacefully talk to Stripe anymore because his new favorite fucking toy is that goddamned burger.
"I'm not fucking messed up," is all he manages to say, glaring off in some random direction in the room. His gaze lands on Mellow, and he can't bring himself to glare at the guinea pig, so he shifts his gaze again. He just fucking wants out, why is that so much to ask?
His hand edged down towards the door knob, his back still against the door. He really didn't want his parents to hear another guy's voice in his room this late at night - especially someone they didn't know. But at the same time, Craig's dismissiveness finally had gotten to him, and he wanted to know what was going on. He hated not solving issues that involved him. If he was a problem, he wanted to know about it. Just hating him might have worked out prior to the locker room but now it seemed…strange.
Noting Craig's eye roll and shifting gaze, he frowned even more.
"Then why aren't you pushing me out of the way so you can leave?"
"Because I don't want to fight. And I figure your parents won't appreciate shouting. I don't have anything against them; no reason to keep them from sleeping," he says. That last part it total bullshit, but he doesn't know if Stan will pick up on it or not. Normal people wouldn't, but then again Stan's been hanging around him a lot the past week; who knows what he might pick up on.
"Can I go?" he asks absently, trying to not even think anymore. If he just stops thinking, he won't have to think about what's happening, or what it might mean.
Stan's plain expression, the one he had been maintaining for awhile now, continued to be so passive that there wasn't a traceable hint of finding any other emotion. However, underneath he was being stubborn and Craig's excuses were tiring him. With his hand on the door knob, he gave Craig a very straightforward, "No."
Craig gives a bit of a frustrated sigh, but still makes no move to try and push Stan out of the way. All he does is cross his arms over his chest, continuing to slowly scan Stan's room as a way to distract himself. This place really needs cleaned. "Why not?" is all he asks, not caring to argue it. All he wants know is why, then maybe he can fix whatever it is and leave.
He glanced at the handle of the door, and then back at Craig with a hesitant look before he proceeded.
"I'm not letting you out until you tell me how I make you feel."
Craig feels his stomach drop a little, and a fluttering empty space fill it's void, when he hears Stan's demand. "How you make me feel?" he repeats, stalling answering the actual question. How does Stan make Craig feel…
"I hate you," is his simple answer. Because it's true. He fucking hates Stan. He hates Stan down to every last detail, including how much Craig is starting to actually like him. That thing today with Stripe and the burger was the last straw. Craig… likes him. And he fucking hates Stan for it. He finally looks up to look Stan in the eye. It's not a hard stare, more checking to make sure Stan bought it so he can leave.
"You don't hate me," Stan said rather blandly, as if he were calling Craig on his bull shit.
"If you hated me you would shove me out of the way and leave my room. Instead you're just standing there like you're waiting for me to move, which is not happening. I really fucking hate you, Craig. You're a fucking liar and you're not fooling anyone."
Craig narrows his eyes, snapping back into a bit of his earlier hostility. "What do you want me to fucking say? Do you want me to tell you I like you? What are you going to fucking do if I do? Act on it? Fucking take me away from Kenny? What does it even fucking matter?" he asks, he glares at Stan, wanting nothing more than to hit something. He's not even really mad at Stan right now, he's mad at himself. He's fucking pissed with himself for having these feelings to begin with. Why should he like Stan? Because Stan bought his guinea pig a toy? That's a terrible fucking reason. Craig likes Kenny. Craig should take care of Kenny.
"It doesn't." Stan twisted the door knob, and moved to pull the door open as he moved to the side. With an icy tone, he said, "Get the fuck out, Craig."
He wasn't too pleased with what the other had said, and he was getting too frustrated to have the other in his room. In his mind, he was going over what he'd tell Wendy - yes, Craig came over, no, he didn't do anything. But did he want to do something? Possibly, which made his frustration increase.
"Just get the fuck out."
Craig embraces the glare, it making him feel a little better about himself. Yeah, Craig and Stan hate each other. This is all their relationship is; fights, hard words, and icy glares. "Thanks," he says, but it's still a little more flat than angry. He was going for angry, but he supposes this is just as good. Whatever. He moves to walk through the newly opened door, tearing his eyes away from Stan's.
"I like you, you cold bastard. More than I hate you. So don't fucking come near me." Stan said abruptly, and shut the door behind Craig. Then he put his back up against the door and sunk down to the floor, staring at Mellow's cage. She was sitting there eating hay happily, as if she were already used to Stan's issues.
Craig's eyes shut painfully at Stan's words. No. Stan can't keep telling Craig things like "I like you." It needs to fucking stop. "Yeah, you don't need to worry about that," he says, not knowing if Stan will be able to hear it or not. It hurts, somehow, but he pushes it down. Fuck if it hurts. It doesn't matter.
He walks away from Stan's door and exits the house. His movements are slow, like his body can't keep up with what's happening. The drive home feels slow, too. Everything is just… fuck.
When he gets back in his room, he takes off his boots and crawls back into bed. He pulls up his comforter and shuts his eyes. It's hard to sleep, though, when Stripe's teeth click so loud against that wooden burger.
