The thing about working with Craig was that he was boring. I mean, really, really boring.

So I wasn't his favorite person. He wasn't mine. No biggie. We were both mature enough to do this project like respectable adults; both able to handle the fact that Kyle and Tweek were probably having just as hard of a time dealing with it as we were.

"Toss me the book about Johnny Appleseed, faggot."

Adults, I reminded myself. We were going to behave like them...at some point. I took the green textbook and practically flung it at his head to get him to shut up about it and let me finish up typing our report. There's been a thick tension ever since we've been assigned to work together, and that was fine. I could deal with it. But I couldn't deal with the negative comments ever single sentence. It takes me a while to get to wit's end now, but here I was at the brink and holding on with the skin of my teeth to spare.

I pause my typing, spin in Craig's chair and cross my arms. Hell, he wasn't even paying attention to me due to the fact that his eyes were buried in the pages about old folklore that I didn't give a shit about if only to spite me and make me angrier about being ignored. I hated to say that it worked. And what pissed me off more was that I couldn't seem to get the same reaction out of him.

"Do you want me to leave so you can do this project by yourself?"

He licks his thumb and continues reading without answering me verbally; a shrug is all I'm worth.

Adult, Stan. Be adult about this.

Okay, so maybe Craig and I haven't been getting along because we both knew that Tweek and Kyle were getting along. Pretty well, actually. Knowing Kyle like we both did, he probably had the project finished by now, being as there was about a day left before the project was due. Even then, Kyle and Tweek had been pretty much close buds the past few days. Hell, Craig and I both knew that they probably would have gotten closer due to this, but not to the point where we felt kind of inadequate as best friends. This was the most logical reason behind our current level of disrespect towards each other. That, or Craig was still really miffed about Peru.

"Fucking say something!"

Craig lifts his head, and with one hand gives me the ever-famous finger. The whole maturity level possibly dropped to the point where I wanted to throw something else at him, but all I did was pinch at the bridge of my nose in exasperation.

"God damn it! Why do you hate me so much?" I turned back around, my drive to finish the last bit of text urging me on so that I could just get out of here for a while and avoid Craig Tucker.

"I don't hate you, Stan," I hear, voice not so nasally anymore but obviously still hinted with it. It would probably be gone in a few more years as we got older, and then there would be a new voice for Craig to insult through. I give him what I hope is a confused look, to which he's silent to but at least looking at me like I exist.

All this silence is going to wear on me. "You don't? Well you could have fooled me."

"Oh, I don't like you. But I don't hate you." He says it so simply. Then again, he's not much one for dramatic flair, if I remember. No, he's more about just getting what needs to be said out in the open, flip you off, then go about with his day. He sets Johnny Appleseed down in his lap, shoulders hunched up and legs sprawled out on his bed. "I just don't like you enough to be your friend."

I just have to get it out in the open. "This is about Peru, isn't it?"

He blinks. "It factors in somewhere."

I don't know why it bugs me, but damn it all it's practically gnawing at the base of my skull to make this up somehow. Hell, hadn't we already given him back the money we used? I thought we had. I remember the finger-flipping to be for some other reason other than the fact that he was pissed. Shaking my head, I sighed and gave him another chance to try to explain. "That was in elementary. Why can't you just let it go?"

He raises his eyebrows instead of his shoulders. "You haven't proven to me you deserve to have it be forgotten." The look on his face is enough to make even the most peaceful man punch a baby if given the same blank indecisive look Craig could give.

"Hard to do that when you won't give me the chance."

A roll of his eyes preempts his answer. "Then come by tonight. Bring what you can from your dad's booze cabinet." He has my attention, and I have his. "I'm having a party tonight. I figured Tweek was already going to invite Kyle. Might as well have you come along."

"Kyle won't go unless Kenny goes."

"Kenny doesn't miss a party," I hear him say with a bit of a tone that he probably uses for stupid people. That does wonders for my likeability of his character. "Bring some booze and keep Kyle from getting hurt by Tweek and I'll think about liking you."

I'm about to tell him to shove it up his ass before the last part catches me off guard. "...Tweek wouldn't hurt anyone."

"Normally," he says as he picks up the book and begins to go off into his own little world with it. "But you haven't seen Tweek after a bottle of Pendelton."

*~*

I don't know how I've done it, but I've managed to make it to one of Craig Tucker's parties. Which in itself is quite a feat, but Tweek assures me that as long as I'm with him Craig won't say a word. I begin to wonder what affect Tweek has on his own best friend before I spy Kenny and Stan off in the corner trying to outmatch Token and Clyde in seeing how many shots of cheap-ass vodka they can stomach.

I smile. If Stan can get in, I'm golden. But before I can get too comfortable in the atmosphere of just about every kid in our grade, Tweek grips at my wrist and I find myself being tugged into the somewhat sanctuary of the Tucker household kitchen. I'm sure he's not too comfortable with all of the other people around us, I've come to find that for a fact. But at least he's not so stressed out around me more.

He's not a bad kid to be around, now that we've actually gotten to know each other a little better. I know a lot more about him than I had before. Like, that he prefers old Terrence and Phillip episodes like I do. That his hair gave him as much grief as mine did to me. And that, unlike everyone else thinks, we've both been drunk before and realized that it was a bad idea.

But what the hell? He's got the bottle of Morgan out already, kind of nervous-looking but all the same showing me that other side of him that hadn't been for my eyes before. We're intent on finishing the amber-colored contents before the real drinking starts; we're here to get fucking smashed because no one expects it. We had both planned this out before even entering the door; grab a bottle of whatever and drink ourselves stupid as a giant conglomerating "Fuck you," to our friends.

Oh, we loved them. But after a while you get tired of being treated like a delicate flower.

For instance, as I felt Tweek pull me off to a side hallway with a twitch, that's another thing we had in common. We weren't the fat ones. We weren't the poor ones or the rich ones. We sure as hell weren't the tough ones. When people thought of Tweek and Kyle, they thought of the spaz and the Jew. That's what we were. Easy to push around. At least I had a temper that wasn't afraid to rear its ugly head when needed. But the blonde was more passive than I, and kept it all in.

"Jesus Christ he's gonna be pissed when he finds this gone!" He's unscrewing the cap nonetheless, despite the twitching and the little odd vocalizations. It's amusing sometimes to watch him, now that the inner workings of our minds have been compared and found to hold some of the same gizmos and whirly-gigs. He might be antsy about doing this, but the look in his toffee-colored eyes is telling me that he's doing this no matter what. His decision is final. I like that about him, about how even if he doubts himself when he makes up his mind he'll somehow set himself to do it. The bottle goes to his lips, and he scrunches his eyes as the liquor touches his tongue. The taste mustn't be too bad, even as he pulls back and shudders. Then it's my turn to take a swig, and oh god at least it's spiced.

"Holy shit, Tweek," I sputter, "isn't there any Coke in the fridge? Can't drink this stuff straight." I make a face as he takes the bottle back, fidgeting and taking a smaller swig. The look in his eye can match mine in a moment.

"Ghn, we gotta catch up with everyone else! You don't wanna be the only sober one here do you? Ack, I don't!" He drinks again, practically chugging at the thing like it's his coffee. And damn, you've got to admire that in a guy. And with another scrunch of a face it's my turn as he passes me the bottle. "Just get it over with man!"

Shit, the music's starting up and that means we're going to be found soon. The alcohol must already be working in Tweek's system because he's already calming down and going into a sort of intoxicated daze. Better join him. The bottle is easily finished, the little pirate mascot smiling up at us like we're some sort of brazen godly figures. I toss his smiling face in the trash, feeling pretty toasty and good by now as I help Tweek up. "C'mon. Let's...let's go find Stan and Craig." Tweek gives a grumble, shaking his head and heading back over to the whole basic bar set that all the kids have gathered from illicit-gained unguarded liquor cabinets. He's intent on getting us shit-faced, I can tell that as soon as he grabs the bottle of cheap whiskey as well as the tequila and begins to stumble back over.

"They'll find us sooner or later," he says in a voice that could match mine. He sounds so much more confident than before; perhaps they were right when they say alcohol doesn't make you do anything you didn't already want to do in the first place. "Just...just forget about them. Let's have fun. Me an' you."

Without even knowing how I got it the bottle of tequila is in my hand and the sour smell of alcohol tickles my nose as we both bring our poison to our lips in synchronized symphony. God I hate the flavor at first but there's something comforting about the after-taste that it makes me lick my lips and think about taking another sip without Tweek to follow. Shit, I'm feeling good now; my nose is numb and I'm leaning against the wall a lot more.

We don't need to have extreme tolerance to alcohol. We just need to get drunk.

I wonder to myself how we agreed to do this even if, for no other reason, it was to finally be able to relax around the other. He licks his lips, and the tell-tale sign of his poison of choice flickers in his eyes. Ah, whiskey? Tweek's never actually struck me as the type to like the taste of alcohol, but I'm a witness to it here and now as he leans against the wall with me. He's looking as good as I feel, a kind of half-smirk on his face that he undoubtedly picked up from either Clyde or Craig, because it's just too weird to see it on his face without thinking of the other two influencing him.

He taps his bottle against mine, possibly in mock toast or possibly to gain my attention. Either way he's got it. "Hey. Let's play a game. Like a drinking game."

Well Tweek, what else kind of game would we play? "Okay," I say because my curiosity is peaked now and I can't help it. "What kind of game?"

"A lame one," he admits before whiskey graces his lips again. "Ah, we'll swap secrets. Measure your drink in seconds dependin' on how big the secret is." He knows it sounds stupid, but we're young. Sometimes stupidity is amusing. I kind of smile, sliding down the wall so that I can sit on the cool tile floor. I'm grateful when he joins me, our shoulders kind of bumping because neither one of us really care about contact anymore. "Alright. You go first Kyle."

I tap the lip of the bottle against my chin, thinking of something that would be worth our little moment of fun. "How's this? I always cheat on my math tests."

He makes a funny kind of laugh. "Oh God really? Man, you're gonna have to show me how. Two seconds." He tilts the tequila in my hand up to my lips, and counts down the seconds as I taste the bitter liquid against my tongue. I cough almost immediately after he lets me lower the bottle, and I glare at him because that was just asking for payback. "Alright," I wheezed, pointing at him with one finger, the other hand too busy clutching the bottle away from Tweek. "Your turn."

With both hands around his own bottle like an infant with a bottle, I can tell he's not going to easily let me tip it to his lips like he had with mine. Damn it all, it's a stupid game but he's already cheating and I can tell it. He licks at his lips for a second, and I'm kind of transfixed on how the wet muscle moves against the slightly plump flesh. If he notices he says nothing, just like I've said nothing to him about his own little staring problem when it comes to my rear end. "I..." he trails off, like he's lost the thought and is now trying to fish it back up to the surface. "Oh, I've gone to school on coke before."

"You? A crack-head?"

He looks offended, frowning and practically growling out his next response. "Fuck no. One time thing. You got something to say?"

"Shit...shit Tweek. Just take it easy. Man, didn't mean anything by it." And that's the bad side of alcohol. My own temper kind of just boils underneath the surface of calm while Tweek's own emotions flip-flop worse than a fish out of water. "Just a little surprised. Two seconds for you too buddy." I want to reach over, and playfully I do reach over my hand. It touches the bottle, but he shoves me away with a laugh and drinks for as long as I deem two seconds. The alcohol's really hit us now, to the point where our drinks have tapered off into half-sips.

Oh, right. My turn. "So like...Tweek. Tweek man, what kind of secrets are acceptable?"

"Ugh, why do you gotta...why do you gotta put the pressure on me?" He looks worried, scratching at his nose and tugging a little bit at his hair as he thinks. Some habits about him don't drown with cold-filtered liquor. "Anything. Just say something."

"Some secrets man, some aren't meant to...to be...said, yeah. Said. You know?" I sip just to taste the alcohol again, fixated on watching him as he tries to make up some reason as to why I should delve deeper and share something so personal with him.

"Feels better if you do. I'll go again even." He raises the bottle, almost a dare and I can tell because he's flashing me this look that I've never seen before in his eyes. Oh yeah? I'm not backing down now man, not on your life.

"Deal."

Tweek kind of giggles, thinking of another secret. It's almost as fun to try to guess what the other person's going to say, but this time I'm left utterly clueless because he's already shown me that he's much more of a mystery than just a blonde, twitchy coffee-loving kid. Underneath that he wants to be more, and he can be angry and frustrated like the rest of us. He leans in closely, like someone could really hear us when they're all to busy dancing themselves to death and passing around shots of that god-awful bourbon I'm sure Stan took from his dad.

"I don't like girls."

What? I'm lost for a moment, and I stare dumbly at him. I've got tequila and rum on the brain, watering down my thought process. "You hate women?"

For a moment I think he's going to yell at me, but it's all in good faith when he rolls his eyes. "Dude. I'm gay. Fruity?"

"What? No way. Really?"

The whole thing seems so out of regular style for Tweek. No way, no way if he were sober would he have ever said that. He's fucking with me, he's gotta be because Tweek likes girls. Right? I mean, just because I haven't actually seen him with a girl before doesn't mean that. I mean, a lot of guys don't hook up with girls and are straight. Tweek's gotta be pulling my leg on this one, and I'm about to call him out on it before I give it another thought.

Wait. He does spend an awful lot of time with Craig. I mean, an awful amount of time. Damn alcohol! Frustrating when I want to think but I just can't because of it.

"Yeah. I don't like girls. How many seconds?"

He's leaning up against me, and even with that little bit of revelation the human contact isn't unwanted nor wanted. It's still Tweek, and there still seems to be some sort of boundary that neither one of us will cross with that little bit. "...ten." Ten seconds should be good enough, and maybe teach him a lesson, if there needed to be one, about lying in a game where he was supposed to tell true, real secrets.

He was lying, right?

I find myself unable to do anything but stare at his throat as he tips back the bottle back, his adam's apple slight but visible with each gulp. Hell, I almost forget to time him as I just kind of look at the way his eyes are softly closed, his lips puckered against the bottle, free hand in his lap as he lets the whiskey work its way down into his belly. We're both going to have one hell of a hangover if we continue like this, but hell, it's a party. "Ten," I practically whisper, my hand going to the neck of the bottle and brushing up against the hand. I felt the urge to just take it away from him, and the look in his light-brown eyes suddenly lights with a slight rage I've never seen before.

"Hey, hands off the Black Velvet," he growls, lowering the bottle into his lap and I just kind of let my hand follow. This puts us a bit closer, and hey, it feels nice. And despite the way I'm sure he's trying to scowl at me, I find myself analyzing his face. Very...slender. I'm sure somewhere on his face he's got some sort of scruff, most likely little scratchy blonde hairs on his chin that just refuse to grown elsewhere. Really that's the only sign of rough testosterone on him. He's just...pretty. I, Kyle fucking Broflovski, find that my new somewhat-friend is actually decent looking. "You've got the Sauza anyways, back the fuck off."

Does he even know how good-looking he actually is? We're close now, barely enough room to take sideways sips at our drinks. God if we weren't drunk before we're shit-faced now. And the words escape me before I can bottle them up and hide them away for me and me alone to know. "You're really pretty."

And what does any guy do when he hears that come from another guy? Gay or not, it's got to be grating on his masculinity. "Jesus Christ, no I'm not." He pokes at my chest with one finger, almost pushing me back but we're still close as ever. "C'mon now. You have to go. Catch up."

Oh. Yeah. Secrets. Well, Tweek's set the bar here, and now everything seems to be going at a pretty tame pace. My bottle of Tequila swishes as I bring it up, tapping it against its whiskey brother. "Fine. I've never slept with anyone." I eyed him, watching his reaction. A smirk, so slight it probably wasn't even a smirk but a twitch underneath the alcoholic fog settling in. "I guess that's a ten-second one?"

"I was gonna say seven, but yeah. Ten should do good. Drink up Kyle." I smell the difference between the whiskey and tequila then; it's on his breath and his face is really, really close to mine. We forget about that for a moment, because he's caught up in looking at me now too. I'm surprised we're both not slurring, but hey, not everyone's the same when they're drunk. "You...you're pretty too."

This sounds like the start of a bad one-night stand. Tempting, too much so for even me to ignore. In all reality I haven't given much thought about my sexuality, but the side of me that's hitting the booze like an old hobo is telling me that Tweek meets the criteria of what I like. Suddenly I find myself liking his eyes, the slim-lined features of his face and body almost matching mine. I'm a bit more jagged, not so soft. Perhaps that's just my heritage speaking through my genetics. We're getting closer, and I feel him breathing against me. I want this, I've decided as the hand that was still on his booze traveled to his hip. Somehow his hand is at my side, fingertips just brushing at my ribs. Damn the tequila, the rum, the whiskey, the vodka, damn every single ounce of alcohol on this planet. It had pushed me to a decision I'm sure I wouldn't have made otherwise.

"Holy shit dude."

Tweek and I snap our heads up to find three goofy-looking stooges smiling down at us. Kenny's hanging off of Craig because he probably can't even walk straight, and Stan's whole wardrobe is a mess. Wendy probably gave him a lap-dance in between body shots; I can tell he participated because he reeks of lemon. Kenny starts laughing, stumbling a bit and forcing Craig to correct himself even though the kid's probably as plowed as we are. Stan just whistles at us, laughing and moving in.

"Save the lovin' for later," he slurs, patting our shoulders roughly. Bit of a brute, that's what Stanley Marsh is. Oh yeah, I'm smelling the evidence left behind from Wendy's perfume on him, and damn it all it just kind of pisses me off that the moment I decide I'm going to try to get some these three fuckers just waltz in and break that. "You boys need to do some shots with us instead of hiding out in here with the good shit."

Tweek growls, pushing Stan back with his free arm and forcing my best friend to stumble back a bit. "Get the fuck outta here," he snarls at them, and suddenly I don't know if that's Tweek anymore. "Ack, just leave us alone." I don't know if his face is red from alcohol, from the fact he's pissed beyond pissed. Stan and Kenny kind of fall into a quiet hush along with me as Craig rolls his eyes and passes Kenny to Stan. He's coming closer, and sort of nudges his arms between us and begins pulling Tweek up and away from me.

"Up you go," he says in a sing-song voice, and even though Craig's got the blonde out-muscled there's no way that his emotional level could match Tweek's drunken rage. "Don't give me that look; you'll thank me later. Just behave yourself, man."

I feel two pairs of arms lifting me up, though it's more like one working pair and another that just ghosts around like their supposed to be helping. Stan's supporting me now as the world becomes one big, rocking ship; I'm swaying against him on one side and Kenny's just a mess on the other side. Hell, now that I'm in the mindset I find myself checking out my best friends. Stan's got the handsome look down; he's still a boy but he's also a man at the same time. Good. Wholesome. And supporting the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen. Kenny's got a lot of the same qualities I find myself liking. Blonde, I realize, is just fucking hot, and he shares some of the same soft facial features I found myself attracted to not moments ago. But it's Kenny, and everything about him screams unfed scarecrow. He's skinny even compared to me, bony like no other. If he could get a decent meal maybe he'd look more like he was able to handle puberty instead of looking like he was a breath away from flying away in the wind.

I can't help it, I grin right back up at Stan because it's infectious. "Hi."

"Hello to you too, Kyle," he says with a laugh, drawing out my name and tightening his grip around me and Kenny. Kenny's lost in his own little world, but I'm looking at him like some dreamy high-school hunk and I'm okay with that. At least I'm better off than Tweek is right now, because from the muttering I've drowned out he's just getting angrier and angrier.

And as soon as we enter the living room filled with kids, I can understand why.

*~*

I'm fucking pissed off. I'm pissed off because Craig keeps taking the booze out of my hands and replacing it with water. I'm pissed off because Eric Cartman's booming laugh just has that affect on people; he's a fat fuck sober and he acts like a fucking retard drunk. And I'm extremely pissed off that Kyle and I didn't even get to touch lips without someone barging in.

"Easy Tweek," I hear Craig say as he takes the shot of tequila away from me. "You're already pretty trashed. Water, water for right now." There's a little red plastic cup in my hand, and I'm paranoid for a moment to think that he's drugged it so I'll just go to sleep and miss out on the rest of the fun. That only fuels me to push it into his chest and drop it, the liquid and cup falling to the floor. He groans; he's put up with my bullshit before and he'll do it again now that there's more people around.

When he's bending over to pick up my mess I sneak in a good shot of tequila. Must be something good, it's a lot smoother than what Kyle had earlier. I lick my lips in satisfaction, hearing Craig groan behind me and I know he wants to just say fuck it and leave me be.

"Stop it," he warns, trying to pry the empty glass from my hands but I just keep pushing him away. It's my damn glass and I'll fucking hold it if I want to. "Tweek, give me the damn thing."

"Up your ass!" I say, possibly too loudly for a two-person conversation. Clyde looks over at us, nose red from the amount of Burnett's Vodka that he's ingested. For a moment I think it's Craig that flips him off, but I realize that the skinny hand is mine and lower it with a bit of reserve. So what if I'm a bit of an ornery drunk? Everyone can get a temper from the alcohol once in a while. Craig's got his arms on my shoulders, shaking me a bit to grab my attention. Well he's fucking got it as I glare right up at him.

And maybe he's pissed off too. Do I feel bad? Not in the slightest. I will later on, when I'm not feeling so brave anymore and all that I want to drink is coffee and water. "You're being a complete douche," he says, and I know it to be his warning tone. "Calm the fuck down or you're spending the rest of the night sleeping off your hangover in my room." His indigo eyes bore into mine. He's absolutely serious. I don't doubt that for one precious second.

"Alright," I say with an aggravated tone, freeing one hand to tug at my hair habitually. "Jesus Christ, Craig. It's not like I'm...I'm throwing punches." I wanted to, but this luckily didn't get past my lips. Or if it did, then I was lucky enough to have Craig not notice and just speak as if it didn't pass my lips.

"I wouldn't put it past you at this point. Just stay put, I'm getting you more water." He makes me sit on the couch, and my gaze goes to Cartman and Kyle. They're both hammering away shots of whatever Token pours, gaze intense and challenging. Their little spats are normal, but at this point I can see Kyle losing. We're both going to be feeling this later, either that or someone's going to have to hold his pretty red hair back when he's praying to the porcelain god.

Well speak of the devil. Kyle's not looking so good, a bit green around the gills. There's Kenny, so trashed that I doubt he even knows his own last name, but at least I can give him some credit. He's hanging off of Kyle, eyes swimming with booze but looking concerned for the state of his friend. And there's Stan, trying to bat away Cartman from egging Kyle on in this drinking competition as well as stealing their shots when he can. The alcohol's hit him hard by the way he sways while he sits, trying to focus some sort of anger on Cartman that he just can't seem to find.

It pisses me off. I should go over and help.

"I thought I told you to stay put." I feel an arm go around my waist, Craig's nasally voice in my ear, another red plastic cup with water in it being shoved in my hands. Unless it can get me trashed, I don't feel like drinking it. But do I have a choice? No. The thing is brought to my lips, and my intake of oxygen is cut off by water spilling over my lips, dribbling down my throat inside and out. Motherfucking Craig Tucker's going to be the death of me at this rate!

And he's such a hypocrite. I smell the booze on his breath, see him staggering a bit. He's drunk. He can take his goddamn water himself, and before I know it that's just what I do. The cup is at his lips, and I've shoved it past his gritted teeth to let the plastic cut little lines into the sides of his mouth. Let him choke on the water. I don't know I throw a punch into his gut until he's on the ground writhing, Clyde and even Butters standing up to see the commotion. Sorry Craig. You're in the way.

It's not a big scene, just a couple of people witnessed that I've thrown my first punch since grade school. But with every laugh and taunt that Cartman shouts to Kyle, I feel myself stepping closer and fuming more than I ever have before. I have to be quick, grabbing a bottle of god-awful Jack Daniels and wielding it in my hand. The booze is spilling out as I tip it upside down; I hear Bebe complain at first before voicing some concern. I'm staggering; I have to be quick before I get pulled away for the night. I'm itching for a fight, and Eric Cartman just happens to be who I'm going to pick it with.

I don't know why, really. Maybe it's because he's taunting Kyle. Kyle's too nice of a guy, you know? And he can't really defend himself in this state. The bottle leaves a good sound against the fat fuck's skull as I smash it down with all of my strength. It's not enough to knock him out or break the bottle, but it's enough for him to snap his attention right to me. Hell, everyone has their eye on me now as I yell out something which I think is a taunt.

"Are you fucking nuts, Tweek!?" Cartman's holding the back of his head. Good. I got blood. The only thing I really regret right then and there is the fact that now everyone knows why Craig usually forbids me from parties. Oh well. I'll go out with a bang. Or a fist to my face, with the way Cartman's standing and looking at the blood on his hands. Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake.

Kyle somehow manages to get his inebriated body between us, trying to push Cartman back. "Dude what the hell?" Then there's Stan, Kenny, hell I think I even see Token trying to hold Cartman back. Oh yeah, I've angered King Kong now. C'mon fat boy, let's see you throw a punch at me.

"I said leave Kyle the fuck alone!" Ah, so that's what fell from my lips earlier. I swing the bottle and it misses; there's someone holding me back now and I twitch. My legs kick out when I realize Craig's growl in my ear, Clyde's hand wretching the bottle away from me and even Jimmy as I see a flash of his crutches trying to instill some sort of peace amongst us all. I'm in deep shit and I know it; there's hell waiting for me in the morning. But screw just giving up like normal. I flail more, the fight still in me as I try to elbow out of my best friend's grip. It isn't working.

As sudden as I had wanted to fight it was gone. What? I'm being dragged to Craig's room, but Kyle's walking next to me. "Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. I need a break anyways," he tells him, and it's then I realize that I'm between them both while being lead away.

Must be my lucky day.

I'm set on the bed, Kyle sitting next to me with one very, and I mean very pissed off looking Craig glaring down at me. "Just keep him in here until he sobers up a bit. At least he's not gonna hit you. I think." He's done talking with me; his words are for Kyle but that gaze is for me. Even drunk, he's not going to forget this. "Just hit him back if he tries."

As soon as the door closes I feel a very confused, angry stare at me. Oh. Kyle. Right. I suppose he should be pissed. Cartman, somehow, is his friend after all. I suppose I should say something to defend myself, right? Isn't that what it's all about now? I grip the edge of the bed to keep from falling away into intoxicated haven, my head turning to his waiting stare. Hopefully something brilliant comes to mind when I speak.

"He pissed me off."

I don't know if that's the answer he wants, oh god it probably isn't but it's already said, right? Crap. I can't take it back now. He's gonna punch me right? That's what I would do. Shit. Crap. I wince as he makes some sort of movement, the drive to swing my fists long gone.

Instead, I find his arm around my shoulder. "I was gonna hit him. Damn it, let me hit him first before you decide to play baseball with people's skulls." He...doesn't sound too pissed off. Maybe I've done something right? Oh. Right. Of course I did. What did I do again? It doesn't matter, I've got Kyle here with me and we're alone. Was this my plan all along?

Quiet, self. You don't make plans. They're the source of way too much pressure in the end.

Ah what the hell? I throw my arm around his shoulder too, and he practically slides to the side and into me. Were were a hell of a lot closer in the kitchen anyways. I doubt this is too uncomfortable now. "...Don't you...gah, don't you ever get tired of it?"

I feel our heads bump together for just a moment, I twitch at the contact like a trigger. "Of what?"

A burp interrupts us; I lap at the flavor it leaves behind. "This...bullshit. Look at us, Kyle. Jesus Christ, we're fucking pathetic. We're the weak ones, right?"

"What the fuck are....what the fuck?"

Somehow this all makes sense to me as I throw my free hand up into my hair, gripping at my straw-colored blonde roots. "Ghn, we're the fucking sissies of our friends! Look at us! We should be out there having...shit, having a good time, y'know?"

I think he's confused. "...having a good time?"

Even though the repeat function is on for Kyle, I can't seem to shut up. "Be football stars, not scared little nerds! You're not like Stan; I'm not like Craig. We both get pissed off that Kenny and Clyde get dates before we do. And we can't pull off the asshole card-"

"I think you just did."

"Not the point." I sigh, letting myself fall back on the bed forgetting I have a grip on Kyle. He falls back with me, sprawling out in a manner that could make him my red-headed twin. "It's just...don't you ever want to be something more?"

He worms his arm out from under my shoulders, but it grips at the material of my shirt afterwards. He's thinking. Kyle just stares up at the textured white ceiling, like he's looking for the pictures to help tell this fucked up fable. "...all the time."

"Then why don't we?" I realize I've been raising my voice to it's usual squeaky tone, but my face is still contorting in seriousness and the occasional twitch. "What the hell's stopping us from being Stans or Clydes? Us. Fucking..." I slap at my chest for an example. "We're stopping us."

"Dude...I think I understand what you're saying." Good, because I sure don't. Jesus, what have I gotten myself into? "Like...we need to be something more."

He turns on the bed, laying on his side to face me. I figure I should mirror him and do the same; our faces are boring drunken holes into each other. He flips away his green hat, messy red curls flowing forth to match my tufts of untamed blonde. It's not a bad mix when you think about it. Some of it mixes as we scoot closer to each other, foreheads just a few inches short of touching. "Yeah," I breathe out slowly. "We need to be...Jesus I don't know."

We're linked by eyesight now. Like lovers, almost, if the notion could really come to me through the slowed-down thought process. But our two brains, for a moment, have enough left between them to act like one. "More than human."

He's brought it up this time; I know what he's talking about. I know that he's been having the same dreams as I have been. We should be scared after we wake up from them, but we aren't. We're excited. Seduced, really. That's got to count for something, right? We have each other for this, our secret obsession. "Oh god, do you think you can really...become one?" I lick at my lips for more hints of alcohol even though its on our breath.

His eyes lock with mine for a moment. "Stra....strang...weirder things have happened."

You know that feeling where everything's just sort of...okay? Nothing too elated or down, oh no nothing like that. Just okay. That's kind of the reaction I had when he said that. Hell, if you would have offered me coffee or alcohol right then and there, I would have turned it down. Jesus, I would have turned it down. "Yeah. Gah, I guess you're right." His hair was falling in his face as I spoke; somehow between that time my hand found its way over to brush away the auburn strands and tuck it behind his ear. Normal friends did that, right? "...so...do you wanna?"

He frowns for a moment. "Wanna do what?"

"Go do it. Go be skin-walkers." I whisper because, honestly, no amount of alcohol makes that sound sane. And I mean...we'd have to kill our closest blood family. The question lingers on the air. "Oh God...I'm sorry..." Nervously, I try to pull away. I'm stuck because Kyle's got his hand over my wrist, holding it there against his face. A face that was still frowning.

He's thinking, Jesus Christ. He's thinking about it! I feel myself twitch; I'm anxious about the way he's looking at me. Or at least I am until he gives a little chuckle. "Okay. You and me." There's something thick and heavy on my chest then, like a weight. A responsibility. But the ease to which he agreed only makes me...well, makes me want to ask more questions and turn around to look for hidden cameras. Craig didn't have cameras did he?

"W-what? That's it?"

Something's brushing against my ear, causing a feeling that shoots down my spine and right down to my groin. Holy shit on a sidewalk-encrusted biscuit. It's Kyle's hand, and the look on his face is absolute. "Yeah. I've...well, I've thought about it. Y'know?"

It makes perfect sense to me. Then again if you were to tell my swimming mind that two plus two now equals England, I'd tip my cheery hat to you and ask you to pass me a crumpet. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, shuddering slightly. "Yeah. So...Jesus, we're really gonna do it. I didn't think that you'd say yes." We're getting closer now, scooting so that somehow I'm kind of draping my body over Kyle's. We're both just about the same build and height too. It's weird how we're just some sort of fucked up mirror versions of each other.

"Hmm," comes the reply as he bumps his forehead against mine. I don't know how it happened, but it feels nice to have this sort of bodily contact with someone. "I didn't think so either. Guess that makes us sorta..."

"Monsters," I whisper, eyelids drooping and for once it's not from sleep. It's from the feeling of total relaxation shuddering down my spine as Kyle's hands brush against the back of my neck. "We're not gonna be human anymore after that, right? We'll be...gah, we'll be fucking monsters." Our lips are almost touching, and I don't know how my hands ended up gripping at Kyle's hips. But we're hungry for one another, perhaps for just this one moment in our lives that we'll eventually come to forget with many other life experiences.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, pink little lines that are parted to breathe through just a hint. I smell tequila and some sort of ale, along with a scent purely Broflovski in nature. "Tweek," he says softly, hinting towards something else other than our bid to damnation. "This means this is our last night as normal kids. You...you know?" He looks hungry as he arches against me on my best friend's bed, and I feel our hips meet together. Oh boy. What's his game?

It hits me. Ten seconds. He never took his drink.

Oh man. Jesus titty-smacking Christ. He can't mean...with me!? "Kyle...gah, are you sure you...y'know...?" We're both just slowly grinding against each other now, so slowly that at first you don't really notice until your partner has their nails firmly planted in your ass to keep you there. Lucky for me Kyle's hands are more occupied with my hair and my neck right then. I gulp. "Man, you wanna do that?"

The music outside picks up; the party's thrumming but it's our own heartbeats that set the rhythm. He nods, frowning slightly. "Have you...ever?"

"Ghn, no! Jesus, no." He lets out a groan as I push a careful hand under his shirt from the curiosity. The muscle and flesh underneath arches away from my touch at first, like the shock of something cold against your skin when you felt hotter than the sun itself. But he rolls back into it, his hands slowly going to my front and flicking with the buttons on my shirt. "...almost."

"With Craig?"

He lifts his arms as I begin to peel away his shirt, over his head it goes and with his hat it joins. He's able to unbutton my shirt, and it just kind of slides away to my right as we work on our respective zippers. "...his parents came home. Too much pressure." It's not a romantic thing, judging by the way we roll out of our clothing until we're wearing nothing but our underpants and our socks. Well, the underpants come off soon enough, and I find myself slowly massaging another guy's dick in my hand like it's the natural thing.

Our lips meet he pushes forward and pulls me down with a grasp of his hand in my blonde hair. It's pretty fiery too, kind of like his hair. All the different flavors of the night ignite then, and I taste him and whatever he's had to eat or drink just like he tastes me. He's sucking on my bottom lip, I lap at his teeth for entrance into his mouth. We're too inexperienced, too drunk, and too desperate to think things out and try to make our first times something special. It's going to be anyways, right? First and last time.

I'm a throbbing mess, my cock's pulsating against Kyle's thigh while his is warmed by my hand. Selfless, aren't I? Even I have needs, and soon I'm trying to palm both organs in one hand. He likes that, likes it when I push the head of my cock and his together, form them against my knuckles. It's what they do in porn, right? Not that I watch porn, mind you. Often. I groan, frowning as Kyle bites my lip and arches up. Well good for you man, but my hand's way too dry to be handling both dicks at once. Especially one without a foreskin; that's just something I haven't seen before. I pause, sitting up and looking around.

Ah. Nightstand. I crawl over Kyle and fumble with it. Where...? Ah. There it is. Just a simple little bottle of lube, unopened and in itself a virgin. Well, make that three barriers broken tonight as I smirk, feeling a bit high and mighty.

"Tweek," comes a moan that makes me harder. "What...what are you...?"

"Oh Jesus. I needed to grab something." I hush him with another kiss, laying the little bottle beside us as I force my body in position between his knees. I don't linger too long, needy thing he is. Hell, isn't there supposed to be some sort of foreplay before you get down to the nitty-gritty, as Clyde had put it to me one day? I'm not an expert in it. Hell, I just home that the light sucking I'm doing against his throat and collarbone is doing something for him. Whoa, it is. He arches up once more, some name slipping from his tongue as his cock rubs against my belly. And that makes him run his hands down my back, which, I gotta admit, feels pretty fucking fantastic at this point.

Weird. He's not as responsive on his nipples like the pornos make it look like. In fact I think he gets annoyed with me as I lap at the little nub, whining and running a hand through my hair. "Tweek..."

"Mmm." I let go with a wet suck, ghosting my hand against his stomach. It does another roll and he gasps. Or is it me that gasps because he's digging his hands into the sides of my hips, finding that one spot which makes me piston against him for just a second? I'm mixed up and I don't give a damn. But I apologize for my lack of experience with a flick of a bottle, sitting up and coating my hand with it for a moment before going back down to his own throbbing need.

And he likes it. He grips at the sheets as I start jacking him off once more, throwing his head back. Doesn't he even do this to himself? And those moans...goddamn. They're annoying in porn but like fucking fine wine when you're all alone. I drink that wine, giving the base of his dick a squeeze before running my thumb over the head. I like it like that, maybe he does too?

"Oh shit, Tweek!" He bites his bottom lip, and once again I add my own need into the mix and thrust us both together in my hand. Oh yeah, definitely better when slippery. He's biting at the bottom of his lip, eyes closed and basically mewling under my touch. Which is a hell of a thing to do, because right now my knowledge goes as far as insert, thrust, repeat until orgasm.

He's kissing me again, and he's pushing his tongue into my mouth. Damn. A free hand slinks down to join mine, speeding up my pumping hand to the point where even I let out a shuddering moan. Damn, maybe I'm the one that's too slow for this. I feel his lips on my lips, on my jaw, down my neck, bending and biting into my shoulder. "Jesus, don't bite it off," I growl, sliding my slick hand down between pale globes and rubbing against the little hole. If he wants to try to change the decision, then let him speak his piece.

"Ugh, fucking do it already man. You're killing me."

Oh god, the pressure's back on. He's waiting on me damn it! So maybe I'm a bit brash and impatient when I press into him with my finger, and we both show the almost immediate weirdness it is. He frowns, opening his eyes slightly. I frown because I have my finger in a guy's ass. God, that better be lube that comes back out. Maybe this was a horrible decision, right? I just stay still and silent, trying to read him to see if I've fucked up or have just fucked him in general.

He pressed down on my finger, thrusting slightly. "While we're young, man. Holy shit." I give a nod, kiss him again for apology, and begin to slowly finger him. The best I can, after all. And he's doing his best to try to react to me, wrapping his legs around me and presenting his entrance to me like it was made for a silver platter. And whoa. Bebe was right. Kyle's got a nice ass. I'm more of a chest person, but that's a pretty good-looking rear end. I lick at my lips as I push in another finger, trying to stretch him because there's no way my dick's gonna fit in there. His tightness might chop it off!

And I might have lost my sex drive at that thought right there, if there hadn't been a hand stroking me to keep my mind on the task at hand. Kyle's groaning, giving a gasp as I hit something that makes him clench around my fingers. "Shit, did that hurt?"

"I'm going to hurt you so goddamn bad your grand-kids will be ball-less if you stop one more time," comes the throaty threat, half a gasp and half a moan as I slip in a third finger, aiming once more for that spot that just makes him jump like there's lava underneath us instead of 200 thread count sheets. I make some sort of whine as he flicks his thumb over the head of my dick, the slickness of leftover lube and pre-cum adding to the intensity of growing closer to climax. I remove my fingers after I think he's good and ready, shooing away his hand and pumping my own dick until I'm satisfied with the stiffness.

It takes a couple of tries to really push up in him, but I'm sliding into Kyle and he's throwing his head back against the bed like some slut instead of my new-found friend. It's then I realize I'm actually panting, wheezing out someone else's name instead of Kyle's as I bury myself to the hilt. It's almost shameful, really, and once again I almost apologize.

"Oh god, Kenny!"

Guess I'm not the only one with secret loves. Seems all fair to me. I'm not calling out to Kyle, he's not calling out to me. But we know this moment is ours as I begin to piston, thrusting against him with the hope that he's feeling what I'm feeling as I try to pump his cock, hold up his ass, and find that one spot again which makes him jump and shiver in my grip. I feel his nails in my back, in my hair, on my face as he pulls me to his lips. Perhaps its best that we don't let the moans get to loud. After all, the door's not even locked and anyone could just walk in to see this. Our major plan wouldn't be ruined, but it would be a setback for later. But who cares? The people we want most ignored us, threw us aside. We have each other. He's got me, I've got him. We're pounding our bodies against each other, eyes closed and tongues tipping out every once in a while to lick at the other's entrance.

I'm not sure how long we have it. The music picks up to a techno beat; we can feel it through the walls and in the bed and in our dicks. I've got a good hold of it now through persistence, stroking it hopefully in time to my own thrusts. It's better than jacking off. The sex, I mean. It's a whole new feeling than what you're used to, and my eyes are already rolling into the back of my head. "Kenny..." I hear the whine, answering back with a twitch and a kiss. Maybe, in the light, he can pretend that my blonde hair belongs to his friend and not me. I can offer him that, right? But there's no way that I can even pretend for a moment that Kyle's the one I want most of all. The shock of red gives it all away.

And then for a moment, through the haze of alcohol and thrumming music, it wasn't about the fact that I was fucking Kyle. Or that he was letting me fuck him. Or that we were doing it with each other instead of those most dear to us. It was that we were doing this together, lips locked together and bodies slapping against one another. We're giving each other what's left of our sanity, our purity, and our humanity. A beautiful thing, our final farewell gift to each other.

It's enough to make me want to love him. But Craig's name slips instead, and the thought is nothing more than a sticky, sweaty ghost.