Friday:

"Maybe we should make this slide red, white, and blue..."

Unlike most of his classmates, Butters wasn't irritated by his partner; no, actually he had decided that Tweek was a pretty cool guy. He didn't rip on him like most of the other boys—and some of the girls—in the class did, and he even let him voice his own ideas. Even if Tweek did shout that it was too much pressure every time Butters asked him if he thought that their PowerPoint should look a certain way or have a certain tidbit of information, Butters didn't mind; he was just happy that someone would listen to him for once.

"Gah! I can't decide! It's too much pressure, man!"

Tweek was twitching around in his seat, and though it had freaked Butters out at first (he had seen the boy do it over the years, of course, but seeing something and being up and close with it were two very different things), he was becoming accustomed to it. Tweek was, after all, his partner, and Butters couldn't let his partner freak him out, now could he? No, he would have to act like Tweek was normal—which he was; he was a normal boy, just like Butters, and the only difference between them was that the green-eyed boy was "all jacked up on coffee", as Eric Cartman would say. Butters just called it being nervous.

Maybe, if they were around each other long enough, if they were to become friends, Butters would be able to help Tweek overcome his nervous ticks. It was certainly something that he wouldn't mind doing—Tweek was growing on him, after all.

Though it was hard to hear over Tweek's shrill shriek, Butters realized that the bell was ringing—they had run out of time to finish their project at school.

"U-uh oh. I-if I don't finish my P-PowerPoint project, I'll be g-grounded for sure."

He didn't make a move for the door, choosing to stay in his seat; he wasn't going to skip his next class, of course, because that would get him grounded as well, but Tweek was still in his own seat twitching and muttering to himself something that sounded suspiciously like "Oh Jesus!"—Butters was about sure that the boy was waiting for everyone else to leave the class in fear that he would be trampled if he tried to go out of the room before everyone else was out—and Butters wanted to talk to him before he went to Home Ec.

"Oh God! Really? Would they do that? You don't think that my parents will ground me, do you?"

Butters reached out to pat Tweek on the shoulder, trying to sooth the boy's nerves, and tried not to feel too disappointed when Tweek jerked back and screeched not to hurt him.

"W-well, I would n-never h-hurt you. I-I don't know about your parents though, so you b-better come to my house to w-work on it tonight."

And just like that, Butters had an excuse to spend more time with Tweek. Besides, his parents really would ground him if he didn't finish the darn thing.

"Oh God! I can't! It's too much pressure!"

Butters stood, ready to go since they were the only ones left in the class; their teacher had even left. Butters began to wonder where it is that teachers go to, but he had more important things—Tweek, for instance, along with not getting grounded—to think about. He took the twitchy boy's hand in his own, tugging at in an attempt to get the boy to stand up, and wouldn't let go even when Tweek tried to pull away.

"Oh God! Gah! Don't tear my hand out of its socket!"

"I-I'm not going to! Now-now, you s-stop that!" Butters didn't get assertive often—it had to be something pretty darn important to cause him to act that way—and it didn't seem to be helping the situation—Tweek was more panicked now than he had been before—so he softened his voice. "I'm not going to h-hurt you, okay? N-now, come o-on before we're l-late for class."

Tweek whimpered and let out a quiet "Oh God, I don't want to be late!", but it seemed to be working; the boy seemed calmer, and he was no longer screaming for Butters not to hurt him, so the Stotch boy would count that as a win. He even got to hold on to Tweek's hand because the boy was no longer trying to pull away! It didn't even matter that the kids in the halls would call them fags—no one ever let Butters hold their hand, and he was going to take the opportunity when it was offered to him. Besides, Tweek's hand was warm and smooth; Butters liked the way that it felt in his own.

"A-and you w-will come to my house tonight because i-it's the only way that we can b-both get finished so we won't be g-grounded."

Well, one last bit of being assertive couldn't hurt much, right? Especially not if it got Tweek to come over, right? But it did hurt—Tweek was shaking and muttering "Oh God" repeatedly; Butters, wanting the boy to trust that he wasn't going to hurt him, intertwined their fingers together.

He wasn't sure if it was really happening or if it was just wishful thinking on his part, but after a loud shriek, Tweek seemed to calm down a bit more.

Butters decided to keep their fingers intertwined.

...

"Fuck, Clyde! You fucking idiot!"

Clyde had replaced their teacher as the school's number one retard. Not only did the kid not know how to work a computer—Eric had forgotten until then that the boy would rather look at Playboys than play computer games—but he had...he had...Eric was seeing red; he was so angry that he was having trouble forming thoughts.

The fucker had just erased their whole project. All of it. The whole thing. The whole fucking thing. And the bell was ringing.

He was having trouble wrapping his mind around it—the whole project was gone. Forever. Another thought was beginning to form—the he should make Clyde work on it alone at his own home. But then the retard would probably fuck it up.

And why should he make Clyde work alone when he could get the boy back at his place? He was sure his mom wouldn't mind if he had a little company over, and she was usually gone these days anyway. Maybe he could tie Clyde up and make him beg for Eric's forgiveness... Oh, yes, that sounded good.

"We'll have to work on it at my place, you fucking moron! Be over by eight, and if you're not, I'll hunt you down and turn your parents into chili!"

And after that, he was gone; he was rushing out of the door, pushing people out of the way, and knocking a few students—and holy fuck, did he just knock down the teacher?—on the way out. He wasn't in a hurry to get to class, of course. Oh no, he would skip class—he needed plenty of time to plan for the night ahead of him, after all.