A/N:
And we're back! Much sooner than the last one, which hopefully can continue. I know this chapter's a little slower, but it's also necessary, so...forgive me? I love you guys!

Tweek leans back against his wooden headboard and pulls his thick blue comforter tighter around his shoulders to cushion his back against the wood. He reaches out to pick up his glass of water from his nightstand, and glances down at his phone, which is charging on the bed beside him. It's just about two thirty in the morning; for most of the other inhabitants of South Park on a Sunday night, being wide awake at this hour would be absolutely ludicrous. For Tweek, this is about as normal as it gets. He can't remember the last time he was asleep before four o'clock.

He takes a long drink of water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before replacing the glass on the stand and turning his attention back to the piece of paper lying in front of him. He's read it over at least twenty-four times already, and now his eyes drift to the colorful stickers plastered on the page, forming a border around the pink writing. Unicorns, fairies, and smiling dragons, in all the colors of the rainbow, with adorably giant eyes stare back at him.

Tweek is no stranger to mythological creatures. Even putting aside the fact that he's been a victim of the curiously entrepreneurial Underpants Gnomes for at least the last ten years, living in South Park means he's seen more than his fair share of the impossible. Aliens, a superhero team comprised of religious figures, Nazi zombies, he'd even been part of the group of guys that had captured a real live leprechaun once; but, somehow, the list he's currently reading for the twenty-fifth time is more shocking than all of those things combined.

His eyes linger on a majestic unicorn sticker at the top of the page for a moment before drifting down to find his own name, listed at tenth place. That isn't even the most shocking part. The part that has Tweek staring, wide-eyed, down at the paper with his heart competing in the Indianapolis 500, is the name listed beside the number one.

When Butters had first announced the existence of the Cutest Boys list all those years ago, Tweek had been far more anxious than curious or excited about it. The thought of all the girls talking about him, judging him, comparing him to all the other boys... All it did was make him feel even more self-conscious than he already was, about his hair, his clothes, his voice, his entire personality. No way would the girls consider his constant twitchiness cute. It was crazy to him that everyone else was dying to get their hands on the list, like none of them were at all concerned about what would happen once they had it.

The strangest part of it all, he remembers thinking at the time, had been that he had outranked Craig. Clyde had been first, which Tweek thought was likely enough, just based on how often he was seen with the girls. Token being second also made a fair amount of sense, as he was the only boy in class with a steady girlfriend at the time – as steady as a fourth grade girlfriend could be, anyway. But Craig being ranked at number twelve, with Tweek four whole spots above him? Tweek had puzzled over that constantly for the six days the list was relevant; he just couldn't understand how it was possible that he'd been number eight and Craig hadn't even cracked the top ten.

Being eighth on the list had been a better placement than Tweek could have ever dreamed; and while he had to admit it felt pretty great to be that high up, it also came with a whole new host of problems for his anxious mind.

Clearly the girls had noticed him more than he'd realized, and had decided he was worthy of their attention. While he knew that would make any of the other guys feel great, Tweek just felt pressure to be someone he knew, even at nine years old, he wasn't.

He'd watched as Bebe and Rebecca fawned over Clyde; as Lola twisted her hair around her fingers while suggesting to Token that he take a break from his girlfriend for an afternoon to go for ice cream with her; as Stan and Wendy whispered to each other in the hallways, speaking for the first time in months. It was obvious to Tweek that it was because they were all in the top ten, and it made him uneasy. The kind of uneasy you feel when you know you've stumbled into somewhere you shouldn't be and you're just waiting for everyone to find out. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, if you will.

And then, just under a week later, the truth of the conspiracy came out. Upon finding out that the list they'd seen had been a faked version, crafted for the sole purpose of scamming shoes from Clyde, Tweek's world finally made sense again. He was Tweek Tweak, after all: the nervous, twitchy, weird kid whose parents were currently under unofficial investigation for drug trafficking. (At least, that's what Tweek believed; he knew where they got their secret ingredient for Tweek Bros. Coffee from, after all, and Detective Yates' frequent visits to the shop went way beyond normal cop coffee breaks.) He'd always known that he wasn't 'eighth cutest' material.

He'd been relieved when Stan had revealed that the true list had been destroyed, honestly. Not having something like that out there meant there was no pressure to act 'appropriately', according to where you were on the list – like the way that Kyle had been forced to hang out with the Ugly Kids, or how Clyde's personality had gone from zero to douchebag in one point eight seconds. It had taken a week or two, which was almost forever in elementary school time, but eventually everyone had stopped talking about the list and everything went back to normal, or whatever passed for normal in South Park.

Except now, there is concrete proof sitting in front of him that the list hadn't been burned, like Stan had claimed. Tweek traces his name with his eyes, hardly able to believe that, even though he hadn't truly been eighth, he was still in the top ten. And if that in itself wasn't enough to send familiar waves of anxiety creeping up his spine, there is the small fact that, according to this version, the title of Cutest Boy in the fourth grade had originally belonged to none other than Craig Tucker.

Tweek's eyes flick up as a shuffling noise outside his door distracts him. It's too early for the gnomes. His shoulders tense, and he listens carefully for signs of danger, only slightly relaxing when he hears his dad's unmistakable cough from the hallway. He doesn't think tonight is a delivery night, but it's not as though the people renting out Kenny's garage have ever kept a consistent schedule. Better to be cautious than dead, that's Tweek's motto – which has become much more relevant to his life ever since his dad had decided it was a good idea to give out his home address for deliveries, instead of keeping all business activities confined to the shop. Lately Tweek feels like it's safer for him to be at the shop than at home, especially now that he's got Kenny as a coworker.

Although, he thinks as he looks down at the list again, wrinkling his nose a bit in thought, he's only had Kenny as a coworker for one day and his life is already well on its way to being turned completely upside down. He feels his cheeks grow slightly warmer as he recalls his behavior at Raisins. If someone had told him yesterday that he'd be acting flirty like that in public, with Kenny McCormick of all people, Tweek would have called 911 for an ambulance because clearly someone was having a stroke and needed immediate medical attention. And if that someone had persisted, and informed him that the flirting was specifically to make Craig Tucker jealous enough to admit he had feelings for him, well… Tweek probably would have skipped the ambulance and gone straight to making funeral arrangements for someone, because there was no coming back from that kind of brain damage.

Yet, earlier that evening, there he'd been, shamelessly snuggled up against Kenny in the booth, acting decidedly unlike himself. And doing it well, if Sierra and Ferrari's reactions had been any indication; the fact that both girls had accused Tweek and Kenny of being on a date had to have meant that Tweek's flirting had been believable. But had it been believable enough for Craig to fall for it?

Tweek had been so focused on keeping up the act that he'd completely forgotten to pay enough attention to see Craig's reaction to it all. Though he'd been sure he'd ruined everything as soon as he'd panicked and denied the date accusations, Kenny had reassured him, on the walk back to Tweek's house after, that it made sense in context.

"I mean, think about it," he'd said, walking backwards along the edge of the sidewalk. "You knew I was supposed to be out with Ferrari tonight, freaking out the way you did just makes you look guilty, and as far as they're concerned, you'd only react like that if there was something going on."

"Oh," Tweek had eloquently replied, his brain churning out thoughts faster than he could process. Latching on to one before it escaped his mind entirely, he blurted out, "I'm sorry again about Ferrari!"

"I told you, forget about it," Kenny had answered, waving away Tweek's apology for the second time that night. "The important thing, Tweeky, is that your loverboy Tucker totally bought it, and it was killing him."

"He did?!" Tweek had stared at him wide-eyed, nearly dropping his thermos as he tried to recall anything from earlier that would lead Kenny to that conclusion. There had been that weird moment where neither he nor Craig had been able to say the word 'coffee' for an abnormally long time, but Tweek didn't see how that could be a sign of anything more than a momentary lapse in brain function, which happens to everyone at some point. And aside from that, he really hadn't noticed Craig acting any different than he usually did. "Are you sure?"

Kenny had just laughed, and given Tweek a look somewhere between amusement and incredulity. "Jesus, you really don't notice anything."

Tweek wonders, now, what Kenny would think of this list, the real list. Specifically, he wonders what Kenny's response would be to Craig being number one, and if it would change his opinion on Tweek's chances. Clearly Tweek can't pick up on hints or signals, but Kenny can; and despite the sinking feeling of hopelessness that has been slowly overwhelming him for the last few hours, Tweek is trying very hard to not just give up before getting a second opinion from the most observant person he knows. He wishes he'd found the list earlier, while he and Kenny were walking back to his house, but it hadn't been until he was already home and up in his room, digging through his backpack for the math homework he'd been putting off all weekend.

Tweek was the kind of person who desperately tried to be organized, and every September he started off great: color-coded binders and pens for taking notes, every assignment sheet carefully placed neatly in order; the small day planner each student received at the beginning of the year actually full of due dates and reminders for himself. By mid-October, all of that had gone to hell and his backpack (and locker) became a black hole of chaos, papers disappearing that he would swear on his life he'd put in there not five minutes earlier.

It was one of those papers he'd been frantically searching for, nearly tearing his backpack inside out in a panic. He'd already missed two assignments and it was only October 17th. Missing another one would earn him after-school detention and he couldn't get after-school detention, because that would mean he wouldn't be able to work at the coffee shop and then he'd have to tell his parents why, and he'd get a metaphor-laden lecture from his dad about responsibility and that was just not something Tweek wanted to deal with if he could help it.

He'd finally turned his backpack completely upside-down, dumping the entire contents out onto the floor and sat back, staring at the mess of papers and pencil shavings. His hands were shaking, and he'd shoved them into the pockets of Craig's hoodie that he was still wearing, because if he couldn't see them shaking they couldn't stress him out more, and then he'd felt the scratchiness of a folded piece of paper against his fingers.

Tweek isn't by nature a nosy person, and if he'd been thinking more clearly, maybe he wouldn't have pulled the paper out and unfolded it. But he was thinking about math homework, and how he couldn't find his, and how maybe by some crazy chance that would only make sense in South Park, it had wound up folded into a square inside Craig's hoodie's pocket.

As he'd found out, of course, that was not the case. His math homework, he'd discover later after coming back upstairs from eating a late dinner, had been sitting on his bedroom desk the entire time.

Tweek looks down at his phone again, then back to the list, then up through his window at the night sky, then back down at his phone. He raises both hands to fiddle with the zipper of Craig's hoodie nervously as he thinks for a second, before reaching down and unplugging the charger. He lifts up the device and scrolls through his contacts before settling on Kenny's name. He taps the call button with a shaking finger and puts his phone to his ear.

It rings three times before the sound of Kenny yawning comes down the line. "H'lo?" he mumbles, and Tweek realizes, ten seconds too late, that he's just woken Kenny up at two thirty in the morning.

"Oh, God!" he squeaks, unconsciously tugging on his hair. "Nothing!"

"Huh, Tweek?" Another yawn, and then a shifting sound. When Kenny speaks again, his voice is still sleepy, but comes through the speaker slightly clearer, like he's just sat up. "What time is it?"

"Nothing!" Tweek repeats, his voice rising. Inhale. He opens his mouth and sucks in a lungful of air. Exhale. Then blows it out as slowly as he can manage, cooling the imaginary cup of coffee in front of him, his breath causing the edges of the list's paper to flutter slightly.

"Nothing," Kenny echoes, his tone making it very clear he doesn't believe that for one second. "You called me at–" A pause. "–two thirty-two in the morning for no reason?"

"Ngh!" Tweek grips his phone tighter. "Sorry! I wasn't thinking, I wanted to ask you something and I forgot that it was so late!" Inhale, exhale, cool the coffee, inhale, exhale... "Don't worry about it."

He can almost hear Kenny smiling through the phone when he replies, "Nope, too late, Tweeky, I'm awake now, so what's up? Let's hear it."

Tweek looks out his window again, watching as the streetlight directly outside flickers a few times before dying completely. He shifts his gaze back to the list. "Um," he says, hugging himself with his free arm, letting himself imagine for just a second that it's not his own arm inside the hoodie's sleeve. "Actually… Do you think I could show you something?"

"This is all your fuckin' fault." Craig leans against the bathroom door frame, glaring into the mirror at Clyde's reflection and making a point not to look at his own. He already knows that he looks like he spent the night underneath a bridge, he doesn't need the visual confirmation.

"Muh fmph?" Clyde frowns back at him, scrubbing furiously at his back molars with an electric toothbrush.

"You had to bring that fuckin' list with you. You had to drag me the fuck out to Raisins in the first place." Craig crosses his arms, then immediately uncrosses them and starts hitting the palm of his left hand against his right fist, an anxious habit he usually only gives in to when he's alone. "You had to go poking around shit under my fuckin' bed and get this whole fuckin' mess started in the first place!"

"Hmrh!" Clyde leans over the sink and spits a mouthful of saliva and toothpaste directly into the drain. He wipes his mouth on a nearby towel, sets the toothbrush on the counter, and turns to face Craig, his expression hurt. "I've just been trying to help you."

"I didn't ask for your help!" Craig nearly shouts, all of the panic, frustration, anxiety, and fear that had kept him awake all night bursting out of him in a sudden rush of anger that's gone as quickly as it appears. He accidentally catches sight of his reflection and visibly cringes at his disheveled appearance; somehow he looks even worse than he'd thought.

His eyes are very obviously red, a little less obviously puffy, and much more sensitive to light and air than usual; he has to blink twice as often just to keep them from watering. The circles underneath are so dark it looks like he's been punched in the face, or at the very least been on the wrong side of a doorknob or two. His hat is sitting askew on his head, parts of his hair matted with sweat, other pieces sticking almost straight up in the air. Craig swipes at those pieces, trying in vain to flatten them before tearing his hat off and jamming it as far down his head as he can. Despite not sleeping, he still hadn't managed to drag himself out of Token's third guest bedroom in time to shower this morning.

He's wearing the same clothes from the night before, because, unlike Clyde, he doesn't leave half of his wardrobe at Token's house every time they sleep over. There's a pepperoni-sized pizza stain on the front of his shirt; both Token and Clyde had offered to let him wear something of theirs, but Craig had adamantly refused. All Token owns are sweaters, which Craig can't stand the feeling of; and after Clyde had changed his own clothes, the only shirt of his left in the 'Clyde Corner' of Token's closet was some bright orange promotional Taco Bell t-shirt, and, at the moment, Craig would rather stab himself in the eye with a barbecue fork than wear a certain someone's signature color.

Clyde opens one of the drawers underneath the bathroom counter and picks up a couple of hairbrushes until he finds the one labelled with his name. "No," he says, turning back to the mirror and catching Craig's reflection's eye. "But that doesn't mean you don't need it."

"I don't," Craig says, not sure if he's trying harder to convince Clyde or himself. He straightens up, a flash of defiance igniting in his eyes. "I don't need anything from you or Token."

"Okay, well, that's not true." Token says, appearing in the hallway and leaning casually against the wall. "After last night I'd say you need us now more than ever." He sighs as Craig sends a middle finger his way. "Unless you really think that broken caveman English is the epitome of flirting."

Craig's face heats up in embarrassment as he remembers his hopeless attempt at flirting from the night before. That, coupled with the memory of Kenny and Tweek laughing together in the booth at Raisins, is too much for him to handle. "Why can't you both just mind your own fuckin' business," he mutters, defeatedly sliding down the door frame to sit in the doorway. He rests his head in his hands, gripping the strings of his hat tightly.

"Because if we did that," Token says, following suit and sitting cross-legged on the carpet. "I'm not sure you'd make it to graduation." When Craig lifts his head a little to give him a look of confusion, Token continues, "Look, Craig, I told you yesterday. I've been your friend for nine years. And whatever you might want other people to believe about you, you can't hide shit from me. Other people, maybe; Clyde, definitely. But not me."

Clyde pauses in the middle of brushing his hair and opens his mouth to protest, but Token holds up a hand to silence him.

"Keeping how you feel about Tweek to yourself was killing you." Token shrugs one shoulder. "And honestly, I've been worried about you for a while. I was actually really glad Clyde found your secret Tweek notebook because it meant we could finally get you guys to admit that you both like each other and things could stop being so weird all the time."

"What do you mean weird?" Craig blinks a few times, thinking back to the last few weeks. "Things haven't been weird." He'd made sure of that, even though lately it had been harder and harder to stop himself from doing things like reaching out to grab Tweek's hand anytime they ended up walking beside each other.

"Oh my God, are you kidding?" Token exhales in disbelief, looking to Clyde for support, but he's too busy counting brush strokes to ensure his hair is perfect. "Seriously, I'm not sure who's more oblivious out of the three of you," he says, slight wonder in his tone, like he can't believe he's made it this long with friends like these. "You really haven't noticed how he's extra twitchy around you lately?"

"He's always twitchy," Craig mumbles, finding a loose thread on the hem of his jeans and twisting it around his thumb.

"Not like this. And don't think I haven't noticed that you'll do everything you can to make sure you're sitting next to Clyde or me at movie nights, and not him." Token raises his eyebrows at Craig. "Or how you can't even hear his name without reacting."

"Not true," Craig protests, pulling hard at the thread, which stays firmly attached to his jeans.

Token leans forward, waiting until Craig gets uncomfortable enough with the feeling of eyes on him to look up and meet his gaze. "Tweek," he says, sitting back with a small triumphant smile as Craig's face flames bright red and his mouth curves up in an involuntary grin, which he immediately flattens back into an indifferent expression.

"Asshole," he says, one final tug on the thread pulling it free. He unwraps it from his thumb and starts repeatedly tying knots into it, another nervous habit.

"Yeah," Token agrees. "But I'm not wrong."

Craig looks down, staring so intensely at the piece of thread in his fingers he wouldn't be surprised if it bursts into flames in front of him. "But Kenny–"

"–flirts with everyone, I told you!" Clyde drops the brush onto the counter with a clatter and steps over Craig to sit in between his two friends, completing the triangle on the floor. "He flirts with me all the time, it never means anything."

Token tilts his head up to roll his eyes at the ceiling, but doesn't say a word.

"Tweek doesn't," Craig says, refusing to look either of his friends in the eye, feeling incredibly awkward to even be having this talk right now. He sucks at these types of conversations as it is, and trying to manage it while functioning on zero sleep is even more difficult. He feels like his brain is operating at half speed through a cloud of the thickest fog known to man. "Tweek has never acted like that in his life."

"You're right," Token admits after a moment. "And I don't know what's going on there. But what I do know is that if you just give up right now because of last night, you're going to hate yourself so much more than you would otherwise."

"Yeah!" Clyde nods enthusiastically. "Fight for your guy, Craig!"

"For Christ's sake, Clyde, that was my ear." Token sighs heavily. "But, I mean, essentially, yes. For all you know, Tweek was only responding to Kenny because he thinks he doesn't have a chance with you."

Craig considers this possibility, recalling the way Tweek had practically leapt away from Kenny and shrieked, "It's not a date!" when the two girls had asked. He ties another knot in the shrinking piece of thread. "Okay," he says. "Say that's true. There's still two things you're forgetting."

"And what are those?" Token's phone chimes from inside his pocket, and he pulls it out to check the notification.

Craig tosses the thread onto the carpet. "One," he says as he raises his right arm, lifting his middle finger to illustrate the number. "Clyde is an asshole for springing last night on me with barely any fuckin' warning."

"Hey!" Clyde whines as Token laughs. "I gave you an opportunity!"

Token shoots Clyde an apologetic shrug. "He's kind of got a point, Clyde. I mean, you did say you would teach him flirting and then you just sort of fed him to the wolves. You know he has no idea what he's doing."

Craig glares at him, but can't exactly say anything in his defense, because as infuriating as it is, Token is once again not wrong about something.

"That's true," Clyde muses, like the thought had never occurred to him – because really, it hadn't. "I guess I should have realized, not everyone is a natural Romeo like me."

"Uh-huh," Token snorts, unable to help himself. "Tell that to Sierra, Romeo. She was about ready to claw your face off last night."

"Aww, Sierra loves me!" Clyde waves his hand dismissively. "Like I said, they just can't show it in public, it'll make all the other customers jealous."

"As much as I would love to visit whatever fantasy world you live in," Token says. "I feel like I should point out that Sierra was about four thousand times more pleasant to Craig last night than she was to you. Or me, for that matter, probably because I'm the one who's bailed you out a million times."

Clyde wiggles his fingers in the air. "Misdirection," he says knowingly.

Token stares at him for a second, then blinks and turns his head to Craig. "All right, so, before my brain literally melts out of my head. We've established that we need to come up with a more solid plan before we let you loose with Tweek, so that's some progress." He cocks his head. "What's the second thing?"

"Two," Craig continues, fighting harder to keep his expression indifferent now that he knows Token knows what Tweek's name does to him. He holds up his other arm, displaying both middle fingers now. "He has the fuckin' girls' list."

"And?" Token shrugs, like Tweek's possession of the list is no big deal.

"What do you mean, and?" Craig demands, the thought of Tweek looking at the list one of the things that had been plaguing him all night. "What if he shows everyone?"

"What if he does?" Token raises an eyebrow. "It's from fourth grade, Craig, I really don't think anyone's going to care all that much."

"I care!" Clyde says, raising his hand. "I still can't believe he got first place over me!"

Craig nods at him, ignoring the unintentional implied insult. "See? And you remember how fuckin' nuts everyone went last time. Do you honestly think any of those other guys have grown up at all?"

His heart beats faster as he imagines the kind of attention he might get if the rest of the senior class finds out about the list. Remembering the way the girls had shamelessly gone after Clyde in fourth grade makes his skin crawl. If being the top of a list like that was all it took to be deemed an acceptable dating prospect, there was a very good chance that if the real list came to light, even now, eight years later, Craig might end up treated the same way.

Not to mention what Tweek is going to think of him now, he thinks, knots of nausea tightening in his stomach. He'd spent a good amount of time over the years doing his absolute best to convince Tweek that he was worth his time, and that their friendship was real – no small feat considering it had started with each of them punching each other in the face.

Things were better now, Tweek didn't need quite as much reassurance as he'd used to, but every so often his anxiety still got the better of him. Craig had always managed to talk him out of retreating back into the life he'd used to lead before the four of them had formed their group, but this list, this stupid arbitrary fucking list, could destroy everything. The thought of not having Tweek in his life anymore makes Craig want to throw up.

"Okay, well, think of it this way," Token says, getting to his feet and sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Even if Tweek finds the list in your hoodie, do you honestly think he's going to, what, tape it to the second floor bathroom wall?"

Clyde hops up too, and wrinkles his nose. "Not the second floor. Christophe hangs out in there all day, it always smells like smoke and worms up there."

"Worms?" Craig looks to Token for an explanation as he joins them in standing up, but Token looks as confused as he feels.

"Worms," Clyde confirms, ducking into the bathroom to run the hairbrush through his hair one last time. "You know, because he digs all those holes out back during lunch and worms live in them?"

"Right," Token says slowly. "Worms. Not dirt. Worms."

"There's a difference!" Clyde insists as the three of them climb the stairs to the main floor of Token's house. Craig cringes when he sees the horrible shoes from Hot Topic he's just realized he has to wear to school.

"Totally," Token says, his tone completely indifferent. "But, worms notwithstanding, Craig, I'm telling you, Tweek wouldn't show anyone. He's not that kind of person, and you know that."

"I guess," Craig mutters, still anxious, but knowing Token is most likely right. Again. He reluctantly slips his skull-covered monstrosities onto his feet and says, his lack of sleep negating any filter he may otherwise have, "I just really don't want anything to fuck this up."

"Don't worry," Token says, pulling the keys to his Honda out of his back pocket and twirling them around in his fingers. "I think I actually have an idea. And I promise, it's going to have more substance than Clyde's method of help."

"You're substance," Clyde retorts sullenly, shoving Token in the side.

"Watch it, or I'll tell your dad you're participating in substance abuse," Token says over his shoulder, unlocking his front door and pulling it open. "You wanna get grounded again?"

"Douchebag," Clyde grumbles as they all head outside and over to Token's SUV, before lifting his head and yelling, "Shotgun!" right into Craig's ear, the sound amplified by Craig's utter exhaustion.

"Jesus Christ!" Craig stumbles a little and glares at him. "Was that fuckin' necessary?"

Clyde smiles at him in what is supposed to be an innocent, charming way, but that Craig only sees as punchable. "I just wanted to sit in the front."

"No shit," Craig says with a roll of his eyes. He pops open the back door of the Honda and slides inside, leaning back against the soft leather and closing his eyes. He can't catch a break, but maybe he can catch a ten minute nap on the way to school, so at least he'll have been able to have some kind of rest before having to face the day. Something tells him he's in for some chaos.

Why Nobody Can Ever Fuckin' Know

1. I'd lose Tweek if he knew
2. My dad would kick me the fuck out
3. The fuck would Clyde and Token think?
4. Kenny would see it as some kind of invitation, I swear to God
5. Everyone would want to talk about me all the time
6. Cartman. He'd make Tweek's life hell. I couldn't do that to him.
7. Especially because there's no way he'd ever fuckin' like me too.