Author's Notes: Oh look, a third chapter! After several rewrites and a few weeks of marinating in a cool, dry place, I am finally throwing in the towel and posting this beast. I'm pretty sure that if I don't, it will never see the light of day and all four of you reading this will be left forever wondering if Mark ever puts his hoo-hoo-dilly in Craig's cha-cha. Oh, and as always, thanks to everybody who's shown interest in this story since the last chapter. You're awesome and I would probably not have the balls to post my stuff if it weren't for you guys.
Over the past week, Craig had made a sport of ignoring Mark. Despite the fact that he was forced to work in close quarters with him for over a half-hour every Tuesday and Thursday, he had managed to say only the bare minimum to him, and even then, he was fairly certain he was well below the acceptable amount of dialogue exchange expected of him. A pleasant side-effect of his silence, however, was that Mark had not only begun to ignore him as well, but he did most of the labs by himself, giving Craig the answers without complaint. It was doing wonders for his nerves, and while he still occasionally felt the urge to crawl under the table and cry into his hands whenever Mark caught his eye, he was feeling as though things were finally returning back to normal.
"Can you hand me that eyedropper?" Mark asked dully, during their fifth lab together.
Craig looked around him, spotting the rogue eyedropper lying somewhere near his elbow. He avoided Mark's gaze as he slid it toward him, chin still resting in his hand. Mark continued on with the lab, leaving Craig to think about more important things, such as what he was going to get for lunch today and trying to remember if he had already asked Clyde if he ever intended on returning his copy of Clerks.
"Do you have a problem with me or something?"
Craig jumped at the suddenness with which Mark said this. He looked around, as though Mark could have been talking to anyone else, then looked back at him, wholly disturbed.
"What? No."
Mark continued the lab, a look of vague contempt on his face. "You've been a dick to me on and off since elementary school. Have I done something to upset you, or are you just like that to everyone?"
Craig frowned. "Yeah, well, I was kind of pissed when you skipped a grade," he replied without thinking. He cringed when he realized what he said.
Mark looked up at him, his sullen attitude evaporating. "You remember that? We haven't shared maybe twenty words in the past six years," he said, lips tugging into an amused smile.
"Yeah, well," Craig mumbled, unconsciously returning his smile as he twirled an extra eyedropper in his hands. "I was a little shit back then."
Laughing, Mark shook his head. "Yeah, so was I."
"Haha, yeah," Craig said, then cringed again at his own stupidity. "Shit, sorry."
Mark waves his hand dismissively. "No, it's fine, I was. Remember when we beat up that kid together at the end of third grade? What was his name?"
Craig's smile widened, though his stomach did a somersault against his diaphragm. "Oh. Bill...or maybe Fosse. I can't remember."
"Maybe," Mark hummed, eyes misting over a bit like he was trying to remember. "God, I don't even remember what it was for."
"Yeah, I dunno," Craig lied as the memory emerged in full, Technicolor detail.
They had been sitting on the jungle gym one day after school, when the playground was mostly empty, talking about whether or not they were going to stay in South Park once they were grown-ups. Mark's legs swung idly as he lay back on the bars, arms folded behind his head. Craig sat next to him, staring up at the grey clouds that hung heavily overhead, threatening snow. He remembered wondering if anybody had ever left this town before, because he couldn't think of a single person who had ever moved away. Mark was telling him that he was going to move to India when Bill and Fosse had appeared below them. One of them told Mark and Craig that they needed the jungle gym for their base. Craig had told them to fuck off, flipped them the customary bird and was content to leave it at that, but what followed next had left a lasting imprint on his mind.
He hadn't expected Mark to react quite so violently when one of them had called Mark and Craig gay. Craig remembered wondering if he should tell Mark that it was okay and that they said that about everything, but after only a moment's hesitation, he instead dropped down to help. The accusation had hit home a little too closely.
When Mark finally backed down and told them to run, they did.
Craig had never been so impressed with anyone in his life.
"Not that I condone senseless violence, but I thought you were such a badass," Mark said, shaking Craig out of the memory. "I was pretty upset when you stopped talking to me."
Craig exhaled sharply and grinned, feeling his face grow warm and his insides squirm with excited energy. Everything was suddenly good in the world again, or, at the very least, not so terrible. Newfound exhilaration bubbling up in him, he opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by a loud cough behind him. He didn't have to turn around to see who it was, the flush draining from his cheeks.
"You're having a good time," Bloom wheezed from behind him, his voice making the hairs on Craig's neck stand on end.
Craig searched for words to respond with. He looked unconsciously to Mark for help, but Mark just smirked and returned to their lab.
Bloom leaned over his shoulder, to look at what he had written so far. "Impressive," he said. "Maybe you should look into tutoring, but that's probably asking too much."
Craig frowned at the cryptic accusation, looking at his answers as Bloom shuffled off to go breathe on someone else.
"What was that about?" he mumbled, still looking down at his work, before hearing a quiet snort from Mark. He looked up to see him covering his mouth, trying to stem uncontrollable laughter. "Uhmm?"
Mark straightened up, trying hard not to smile. "Try not to be too mad at me," he said, finally gaining control of himself.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Craig could have sworn he looked almost guilty.
"I've been giving you the wrong answers for the past three labs," Mark said, smirking sheepishly. "Well, four, if you count this one so far."
Craig stared at him, mouth agape. "You...what?"
Mark shook with silent laughter, wiping his face with a hand. "I'm sorry, you were really pissing me off."
Blinking a couple of times, Craig continued to stare in bewildered silence before finally speaking. "Oh my god, you're a dick."
"Yeah, I'm inclined to agree with that," Mark said, watching Craig stare at him.
The fact that Mark looked so incredibly guilty, while still finding the situation completely hilarious made Craig break into a grin before he could stop himself. He shook his head.
"I can't believe it. Were you ever going to stop?" he asked.
Mark shrugged, returning his grin. "If you stopped being an asshole, yeah. If not, well, I guess you'd have failed chemistry," he replied. "You'd have deserved it, too, since the answers I gave you were pretty awful."
Craig was too shocked and, honestly, impressed to feel properly upset or embarrassed. He found it almost surreal that he was now laughing with him, and realized he couldn't bring himself to care about the fact that Mark had not only deliberately sabotaged him, but made a fool of him in the process. Really, he found the fact that Mark disarmed him so thoroughly downright impressive in itself. The thought, however, made a slight blush return to his cheeks and he covered his mouth to suppress what could only be described as a nervous giggle. This whole situation was absurd.
"Should I just assume you hate me now? And any chance at rekindling childhood friendship is beyond repair?" Mark asked with an apprehensive smile.
Craig shook his head again and laughed, a little louder than he meant to. "I can't," he said, resting his chin in his hand, looking at Mark with something approaching admiration. "This is too ridiculous."
"Honestly, I was expecting you to be a little more upset with me," Mark said, grinning as he returned to their work.
"Yeah, well," Craig replied. He watched Mark's hands carefully for a moment, then straightened up. "Do you want some help or anything?"
Mark continued, brow furrowed in concentration. "Oh, no. It's actually just easier to do it by myself. I'm almost finished anyway." He looked up at him. "I'll give you the right answers this time, though."
Craig leaned forward to continue watching him, still smiling unconsciously. "Okay," he said, letting is chin fall back into his hand.
"If you have any questions about what I'm doing, feel free to ask," Mark said, aiming carefully with his eyedropper. "If you don't mind my assumption that you haven't been paying attention in class."
Snorting, Craig rolled his eyes, despite the fact that it was the truth. "Will do."
They fell into comfortable, if excited, silence that Craig couldn't bear to break, despite the fact that he had no idea what it was that Mark was doing. After a few more minutes of watching with legitimate interest, Mark finally slid his answers toward him.
"You really should pay attention next time, though," Mark said. "I might start slipping you wrong answers again just for the fuck of it."
Craig smiled stupidly. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he continued to copy down answers, rewording them to make it sound like he wasn't copying them from someone considerably smarter than he was.
"God, you are seriously a dick," he said, not looking up. "How did I never realize this?"
Mark laughed. "You were too busy being a dick yourself. Think of what we could have accomplished if we'd stayed friends."
Handing him back his paper, Craig felt his insides squirm delightedly. "Yeah."
Mark opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the shrill ringing of the bell. "Shit," he said, looking at the mess he had left on the table.
Craig froze for a moment, then shook his head furiously.
"Oh. Shit. I'll get it if you want," he said, rushing forward to clean up, almost toppling a glass bottle in his near-panic. Somewhere in the back of his head, he worried that he had messed everything up, as irrational as that was.
"No, I've got it," Mark said, watching Craig try to set the bottles right again. "I'm a good student; I have the luxury to be late every once in awhile."
Craig coughed and straightened up, noticing Mark's amused smile. "Oh. Okay," he said awkwardly, hesitating a moment before turning to go.
"Do you maybe want to go hang out at the mall on Saturday?"
Turning back around, Craig stared at him. "I, uhh," he stammered, taken aback by the abruptness of the question.
"It's alright if you don't want to," Mark said, nonchalantly gathering up the lab supplies. The tone of his voice made Craig's knees feel as though they were made of oatmeal.
"Okay, yeah," Craig said, nodding and swallowing thickly. "Yeah, that'd be—that'd be really cool." He grimaced slightly at his word choice.
"Here's my number in case something comes up and you can't make it." Mark tore off a sheet of notebook paper and scribbled something down before handing it to him. "At four? By the food court?"
Craig looked down at the paper and the phone number written hastily on it. He couldn't help but feel a certain elation at just how nice Mark's "7"s looked.
"Okay," he said, nodding as he pried his gaze away from the paper. He went to speak again, but the bell rang once more, causing Craig to jump and curse loudly. "Shit. I have to go."
"See you," Mark said, smiling as he moved toward the sink.
"Yeah," Craig replied. He forced his legs to move, knowing if he hesitated any longer, he'd have stayed until Mark finished. He bolted from the room and down the hall, slowing to a walk as he reached his History classroom. Before he opened the door, he looked down at the phone number one more time before folding it twice and tucking it safely away in his messenger bag. Trying to reign in his almost uncontrollable grin, he slipped into the classroom, flashing an apologetic look at his History teacher as he took his seat.
The rest of the day passed far more quickly than Craig realized was possible, his idle moments filled with a sort of sublime sense of satisfaction. He found himself paying slightly more attention in class than was usual, and even offered the last of his fries to Clyde at lunch, which had garnered him strange looks that he pointedly ignored. It was only when they reached Clyde's car that Clyde finally commented on his strange behavior.
"Okay, I give up," Clyde said as Craig and Tweek piled into his car. "First, you're all depressed like you're gonna go and fling yourself out of a window or someshit. Then, you go all meth addict on us. Then, you go back to being all depressed, only to completely snap out of it and give me your fucking french fries like I'm your best friend in the whole world. What the hell?"
Craig patted his shoulder, leaning back in his seat. "But you are."
Clyde furrowed his brow. "I'm what?"
"My best friend, shithead," Craig replied. He smacked Clyde affectionately on the cheek a couple of times, which Clyde just took, bewildered.
Tweek let out a soft, strained whine from the backseat. "Okay, I actually don't think I'm overreacting for once when I say that something is terribly, terribly wrong and that there is legitimate reason for concern."
"Pshh, I'm fine," Craig said, emphatically. "I mean it, I'm fucking awesome. Man, it's fucking sunny out today, what's up with that?"
Tweek whined again from the backseat and Clyde heaved a sigh.
"You're coming over to my place because I am not going to leave you alone in this state," Clyde said, starting the car. "You don't have any say this time."
Craig opened the window, letting his elbow rest outside the car. "Cool, okay."
"What, no excuses? No complaining?" Clyde raised an eyebrow, still watching the road. "With the exception of Monday—which, I might add, was completely ruined by your sudden emotional outburst at Token—you've been dodging us ever since school started."
Furrowing his brow, Craig grunted in reply. "Do you want me over or not?"
"That's a little better," Clyde relented, honking his horn as they passed Tom Selleck, who was sitting patiently on the side of the road. "Seriously, though, I'm glad you actually want to come over."
Craig grunted again, this time more pleasantly.
.o.o.o.
"I hear you Hans! Luke's trapped in the well again?" Clyde shouted as he struggled with the key to his house. As soon as they had reached the doormat, a cacophony of barks sounded from inside. "Dammit, Hans, why can't you just shoot the lock open like a proper outlaw?"
"He has no thumbs," Tweek said, taking the key from him and shoving it into the lock, twisting the door open.
Craig steadied himself as Hans—full name, Han Solo—imparted saliva and affection onto each of them, nearly knocking them over in the moist and uncomfortable process. Hans wriggled excitedly as he weaved between them, finally settling enough for them to move into the kitchen to acquire some food from the bountiful Donovan cache.
"Nachos?" Clyde suggested, head thrust fully into the snack cabinet. An untouched bag of trail mix fell out as he rummaged around.
"Only if you promise to use real cheese and not that jarred crap," Craig mumbled, picking long strands of Border Collie hair off of his hoodie.
Clyde tossed a bag of corn chips onto the table. "Tough titties, I like the jarred crap. You can have hummus and carrots with Tweek if you're so disgusted by the food of my people."
Tweek offered Craig his tub of hummus.
Craig sighed. "Fine, whatever. If I die from heart disease, I'll make sure my parents sue you for all of your money."
"The only thing you're going to be dying from is intense flavor, Craig," Clyde said, scooping out the viscous orange slime into a bowl. He doctored it with half a can of green chili peppers and generous helping of salsa before setting it lovingly in the microwave.
"So I see you and Mark are talking again," Clyde said, not taking his eyes off of the slowly spinning bowl of cheese.
"Yeah, and?" Craig replied irritably.
"Just making an observation," Clyde responded, taking the bowl out of the microwave exactly five seconds before it went off. "So are you guys friends yet?"
Craig scowled. "I dunno? Jesus, that smells awful," Craig said when Clyde held the bowl of melted cheese-product under his nose, though he was only being half truthful. The smell teetered between absolutely disgusting and vaguely intriguing, kind of like the cheddar cheese Cup Noodle that Clyde had bought and eaten on a dare.
"You always say that about my cooking," Clyde said, gathering the chips into his other arm. "Well, I'm glad you two are at least talking again."
Hans followed them upstairs to Clyde's bedroom, letting Tweek lie on him as Clyde and Craig went through Clyde's collection of video games.
"I don't get why me and him talking is even a thing," Craig finally replied, holding out Mario Kart.
"Come on, you always want to play Mario Kart," Clyde groaned. "And it is a thing, because you're basically the most misanthropic jerk I know."
"I'm not playing one of your stupid football games," Craig grunted. "And if you really want to fucking know, me and him hanging out on Saturday."
Clyde paused. "Seriously? I don't think you've hung out with anyone who wasn't in our immediate friends group since sixth grade."
Craig frowned, mostly because this was true. "So what?" he asked, suddenly feeling very defensive.
"Just commenting on the fact that it's weird, is all," Clyde replied, holding his hands up in defeat. "Okay, seriously, just pick something that isn't Mario Kart before I make you watch me play Spyro for the billionth time."
Craig grumbled, pulling out one of the many Mortal Kombat games Clyde owned.
"Here. Jesus."
Clyde rolled his eyes, obviously biting his tongue. "I'm not going to call you predictable," he said as he fiddled with the elaborate setup of his bedroom's entertainment center.
"Then don't," Craig replied as he settled on the floor in front of the TV. He leaned his head comfortably against the foot of Clyde's bed, grabbing one of the GameCube controllers that Clyde threw to him. There was something undeniably soothing about how easily he slipped back into their routine—something he suddenly realized he had missed. As he loaded a tortilla chip with molten cheese product, he wondered why he had ever fought this.
.o.o.o.
To: Tubby
I can't do it.
Sent Sept 24, 3:34 pm
From: Tubby
cant do what did you fall in the toilet again
Received Sept 24, 3:36 pm
To: Tubby
fuck you. i am freaking out what do i do
Sent Sept 24, 3:37 pm
From: Tubby
slow down seabiscuit. tell mamma clyde whats wrong
Received Sept 24, 3:39 pm
To: Tubby
so mark invited me out right
Sent Sept 24, 3:39 pm
From: Tubby
right. are you going to eat up my texts this month with this nonsense or are you going to cut to the chase?
Received Sept 24, 3:41 pm
To: Tubby
i haven't talked to him in forever and now i want to throw up and die. i am going to die clyde.
Sent Sept 24, 3:42 pm
Craig jumped and nearly threw his phone across the room when it went off, vibrating and blaring "Lust for Life" at an obscene volume.
"My fingers are too fat for the keys," Clyde replied amiably after Craig answered his call. "Now what the hell is going on?"
Craig groaned melodramatically into the mouthpiece. "I can't go. He's going to think I'm an asshole."
"Well, considering you are an asshole, at least it wouldn't be false advertising?" Clyde replied, in a way that Craig assumed was an attempt to be helpful. It wasn't.
"Clyde."
"Okay, okay, fine," Clyde relented. "Jeeze, you really need to get out more and start talking to new people. Me and Token have ruined you for normal social interaction."
"I hate everything."
"I know, now hold on, I am hatching a plan all up in here."
"Help."
"Okay, okay," Clyde began, speaking quickly. "So like, you're going to the mall, right? Maybe be like, 'hey this is my friend Clyde and he's hella cool because he's gonna go like, I dunno, go buy his mom a present at Yankee Candle. Bitches love Yankee Candle.' Except don't call my mom a bitch because then I'll hit you."
Craig thumped his head rather ineffectively against his pillow. "You're embarrassing me already. This won't work."
"No, man. Seriously, say whatever, I'm just giving you ideas."
"You're giving me a migraine."
"Wait, what if we take Tweek, too?" Clyde suggested, blithely ignoring Craig's despair. "Then it'll be less awkward or whatever. Just be like, 'Hey Mark, just dropping off my bros here' and leave it at that. Then you can escape to us when shit goes all crazy and you inevitably throw up on his shoes."
Craig paused for a moment, thinking it over. It seemed solid enough, considering the likeliness that he was going to vomit all over Mark.
"I'll pick you up at four. Call Tweek."
He changed his shirt three more times and his shoes twice before he settled on an outfit, making a valiant attempt to not feel ridiculous at his need to look, well, nice.
"Look at you," Clyde cooed when he and Tweek piled into Craig's car. He reached out to touch his hair, an action which Craig promptly halted. "You brushed your hair and everything. The ends get all flippy when you do that."
"Fuck off," Craig replied, sneaking a look in the rear-view mirror. He frowned, mussed his hair a bit, then smoothed it before mussing it once again. Now, it didn't even look like he had brushed it in the first place, which may or may not have been a good thing. He tried not to think on it too hard.
"Aww, it looked nice," Clyde said, brushing a stray strand away from Craig's forehead. "Honestly, we're never going to get you married off."
Craig slammed on the gas pedal in reply, eliciting a yelp from the both of them.
Not distracted by the ordeal of choosing the proper shoes to go with his shirt, Craig was once again forced into his own mind. He tried hard to think about anything other than the likeliness that this whole situation was going to go to shit very, very quickly and Mark was not only going to think he was an idiot, but would probably never speak to him again in any capacity. He barely stifled a whine when they were stopped at a light, only seconds before they reached the mall parking lot. He wanted to get the inevitable vomiting and crying and apologizing over as soon as possible.
"Dude," Clyde said, much to Craig's relief.
"Shut up. Whatever you have to say, just shut up," Craig said, probably a lot louder than he meant to. "No, I mean, don't shut up."
"Uhh."
"Please, keep talking," Craig said through his clenched teeth. "Talk about Arwen's bouncy tits for all I care, just please make words at me."
"Dude," Clyde said again, this time soothingly. He placed a comforting hand on Clyde's arm. Much to Craig's relief, it actually comforted. "He wouldn't have asked you out if he didn't, like, like you and want to chill with you and shit."
Sage words, but Craig couldn't bring himself to believe them.
"But I'm an asshole and nobody likes me. And I don't like anybody. This is stupid," Craig said, forehead bumping against the top of the steering wheel. "I can't. I'm turning around."
"It's okay," Clyde cooed, patting him gently. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
"Oh my god," Craig said, bumping his head against the steering wheel a few more times. "Stop making such a big deal out of this. I'm just going to turn around once this fucking light ends."
"I, uhm," Tweek stammered from the back seat. "I think you should go."
"What? Why?" Craig groaned, resisting the urge to crawl into Clyde's lap, despite how pathetic and impractical this would be. "You of all people should be telling me this is a terrible idea."
"Well," Tweek began, "because if you don't, you're going to worry about it forever because that's what you do. And, uhh, you won't be able to get over it because you'll always wonder whether or not you guys would actually become friends again and actually like each other and stuff now that you're older. It'll eat away at you, when it would have just been easier to talk to him and know for sure whether or not he likes you and wants to, like—green light—hang out with you more and stuff."
Craig lifted his head from the steering wheel and blinked.
Tweek took a deep breath. "I could just be projecting, I don't know. And I said 'green light' so please move the car so people don't start honking at us."
"I, uh. Yeah. Wow," Craig stuttered, pressing down on the gas pedal. "Yeah, no, that makes sense."
"So can I hold you to this little get-together?" Clyde said as Craig pulled into the parking lot.
"Yep," Craig replied simply, hoping this newfound courage was not just the effect of being blindsided by the fact that Tweek was actually being less paranoid than he was.
"And if you stall out halfway to the food court, I can pick you up and carry you he rest of the way, eventually depositing you unceremoniously at Mark's feet?"
"What? No, just stop," Craig said, finding an empty parking space as close to the doors as he could. The less time he spent walking, the less likely he would be to hide in Ruby Tuesday's and cry into a plate of potato skins.
"I'll take that as a yes," Clyde said, taking off after Craig as he got out of the car and shot off toward the entrance.
Craig almost jogged to the food court with Clyde and Tweek following a few paces behind him. He was fairly certain if he didn't keep moving, his legs would give out entirely. He was also fairly certain that if they did fail, Clyde would soon be trying to reenact the scene from Return of the King where Samwise Gamgee carries Frodo Baggins up Mt. Doon to destroy the One Ring—all the while yelling about how Craig can't go where he can't follow in a very bad Scottish accent. Clyde's predilection for lifting people shorter than he was, as well as reenacting scenes from The Lord of the Rings whenever possible, wasn't something Craig was going to bet against, so he just kept walking at as quick a pace as he could manage.
However, as soon as he caught a glance of wavy brown hair belonging to someone in a dark green sweater, he stopped dead. With the same disarming, lanky grace that always managed to make Craig feel like an asshole, Mark leaned against a railing, looking down thoughtfully at the phone in his hand. Though he had exchanged a few words with Mark before class on Friday, Craig realized was entirely unsure of how to even approach him outside of a classroom setting. Perhaps Token and Clyde had ruined him for life. It was likely.
Taking a deep breath, Craig swallowed nervously before continuing toward him, praying he wasn't going to throw up all over his sweater before he had even said hello.
It was a very nice sweater.
He breathed a sigh of relief when Mark eventually looked up to see him walking over, flashing a wide grin at Craig that made him want to turn around and run as fast as he could in the other direction.
"You're late," Mark said amiably, still grinning wide.
"Buh," Craig responded.
At that moment, Mark seemed to notice Clyde and Tweek, because his gaze shifted to something behind Craig and his grin had faltered slightly.
Craig silently cursed his friends for reasons he was unsure of, considering this was the plan in the first place.
"Oh, hey. Clyde, right?" Mark asked, recovering from the initial confusion. "And...Tweek?"
"Sup," Clyde responded coolly, while Tweek made a strained noise that was possibly a greeting, but could have been something else entirely.
Craig wheeled around to shoo them off. "Okay, you can leave now," he said through clenched teeth. He wanted to actually make a shoo-ing gesture with his hands, but all he could bring himself to do was nervously bunch his hands into fists. Also, it probably would have made him look like an idiot.
"They can come too, if you'd like," Mark suggested passively from behind him. "I figured we could walk around for awhile. Maybe grab some food and catch a movie?"
Before Craig had a chance to answer, Clyde leaned in over his shoulder and grinned wide. "We'd love to."
Craig narrowed his eyes at Clyde, though he was unsure of whether or not he wanted to hug him and thank him, or break his nose. Instead, he turned around and forced a smile at Mark, which quickly turned into a real smile when Mark returned it.
To Craig's disbelief, the next two hours passed without incident. They had browsed stores, making idle small talk, which Clyde and Mark had primarily dominated. Even when Clyde had dragged them into Yankee Candle, Mark had just smiled appreciatively at the various displays and talked about scented candles before he bought one for his sister. Things were, Craig thought, disturbingly alright. His only regret was that he couldn't bring himself to say very much, though both Mark and Clyde had both made valiant attempts to include him. He just didn't trust himself to not say something stupid. Even more alarmingly, he had even managed to begin enjoying himself by the time they made it back to the food court.
Tray of Chinese food in hand, Craig slipped into one of the four chairs at the table Mark had chosen in one of the emptier corners of the food court. Clyde and Tweek were still in line at the mall's trashy little Tex-Mex stand, leaving him and Mark alone for the first time since they had gotten here. He was about to say finally say something unprompted when, to his dismay, he noticed how starkly Mark's dinner—a salad and a small bag of potato chips—contrasted the greasy Beef and Broccoli pooling lifelessly on his plastic plate. He couldn't even recall a place in the mall where Mark could have gotten a salad.
"That looks...appetizing," Mark said with a grin that made Craig feel, despite its utter pleasantness, horribly inadequate.
Blushing wildly, Craig stabbed at a limp piece of brown broccoli with his fork, examining it. He wondered if he should make up some sort of excuse about how they got his order wrong, but who was he kidding? He put it in his mouth. Belying the sheer grossness of its appearance, it was delicious, in only the way food court Chinese food could be.
"Totally disgusting," Craig replied, with a touch of euphoria.
Mark chuckled and shook his head. "I bet."
"HEY, CRAIG!" Clyde's voice sounded from halfway across the food court, effectively shattering Craig's buzz into tiny, miserable fragments. He looked over to see Clyde waving his arms slowly with Tweek standing behind him, mirroring Craig's distress.
Craig covered his face with both hands for a moment before turning to him, silently mouthing, "What!" at him.
"WE'RE GONNA EAT WITH KEVIN. THAT OKAY, BRO?"
Rubbing his temples, Craig looked up and shouted, "FINE!" at them. He couldn't help but notice that Kevin was wearing a cape. When it finally registered that Mark was still sitting across from him, he wondered idly if he should just give up now and set himself on fire right here with his pocket lighter. It might distract Mark from the fact that Craig's friends were basically the worst people in the world and that Craig was, by association, a total asshole for hanging out with them. Maybe Mark would even visit him in the burn ward after his horrible and completely not self-inflicted accident, because, really, who would set themselves on fire due to a bunch of idiot friends?
Gathering his courage, Craig chanced a look at Mark and was met with an amused, though surprisingly delighted smirk.
"He's something else," Mark said with a quiet laugh, eyes fixed on Craig. "Does he do this often?"
Craig laughed as well before he could stop himself. It sounded a little more anxious than he would have liked, but it made him feel better. "He's an ass. I don't know how he lives with himself," he confided, trying not to look over at Clyde in case he was doing something particularly ridiculous.
Mark's smirk widened. "If that's how you talk about your friends, I'd hate to be one of your enemies," he teased.
Feeling the flush return to his cheeks, Craig smiled apprehensively and picked at his food. "He's not that bad."
"I don't remember him being quite so," Mark paused to choose his words. "Colorful as he is now. Not that that's a bad thing."
"He's always been weird, but he's just gotten louder about it since middle school," Craig replied before taking another bite of his food. It was strange that Mark knew Clyde from years before, at least somewhat. It seemed sort of wrong that Mark knew so much about his life, despite almost being a complete stranger now.
"I'm impressed that you've stayed such good friends since third grade," Mark said, a bit wistfully.
Craig flashed a slightly embarrassed smile and busied himself with his meal. "Preschool, actually."
Clyde chose that exact moment to loudly exclaim that he was "the Goddamn Batman," causing Craig's head to jerk in his general direction. Much to his horror, Clyde was trying to wrestle a chicken nugget from Kevin, who was attempting, in retribution, to bonk him on the head with his ever-present Lightsaber. Tweek just looked highly disturbed. People were staring.
"Oh my god, Clyde," Craig groaned, wrenching his eyes away from the scene and back to Mark. Much to his surprise, Mark was neither staring at them (nor Craig) with utter contempt, but was instead watching with a bemused smile. After Clyde had settled down, Mark's gaze went back to Craig, a slightly perplexed expression still on his face, as though looking to him for some sort of explanation of his friend's ridiculous behavior.
"He's not normally that bad," Craig said quickly, knowing it was a lie. He got the feeling Mark realized it was a lie as well, because he had gone back his salad with an amused grin.
"Oh, I'm sure," Mark replied. There was still a look of slight disbelief on his face that made Craig wonder how much of this he would be able to stand before Mark stopped talking to him entirely.
"He's usually a lot better when Token's around," Craig mumbled, as though that fact was any excuse.
"Oh, you're still friends with Token?"
Craig looked up from his plate, the feeling of surreality of having Mark back in his life creeping up on him again. "Yeah, why?"
"He's been in a couple of my classes over the past two years. We have some mutual friends, actually. He's a pretty nice guy," Mark said. "Talented, too."
"Yeah, he's a good actor," Craig agreed, moving the last few grains of rice around on his plate. "Better than Clyde, at least."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem to have some opinions on the acting abilities of your friends. Are you into theater too?" Mark asked, looking genuinely curious.
Craig squirmed a bit, unsure of how to respond. He wasn't sure, but he felt kind of like he was being scrutinized.
"I, uhh. Not really," he replied. "I mean, I don't hate it, I guess, but I like film more. You get a lot more precision when it comes to basically everything."
Mark rested his chin in his hand. "You sound like you know what you're talking about. So you're into film, then?"
"I, uh," Craig stammered, Mark's expression making him suddenly doubt the validity of everything he had ever liked in his entire life. "Not really."
"Bullshit. Your eyes lit right up when you mentioned it."
Blushing wildly, Craig let his hair fall into his face. "It's just a hobby."
"Considering I'm terrible at anything even approaching artistic, I can assure you I'm already impressed," Mark said with a smirk, picking up his bag of potato chips.
At that moment, a cellphone went off, playing a quiet rendition of some classical piece that Craig thought might have been Wagner. Craig was unsurprised to see Mark pull his phone out of his pocket and answer it.
"Hello? Is everything okay?" he asked into the mouthpiece, brows furrowed. "Okay... No, it's okay. I can. I'm at the mall." He paused for a few seconds. "No, seriously, it's okay, I'm not upset. Love you too. Be there in a couple of minutes."
Craig watched as he hung up, unable to help but feel slightly threatened by Mark's expression of love at the person who called him.
"I'm sorry," Mark apologized, standing up. "My sister forgot my parents are in Denver for the day. I have to go rescue her from the college library."
Frowning, though feeling slightly relieved, Craig nodded. "No, it's cool. I have a sister, too."
"Oh, yeah," Mark said absently, hesitating before he grabbed his empty plastic container. "I'm really sorry," he said again.
"No, seriously, it's cool. Ruby makes me drive her everywhere," Craig said, almost feeling like this was all somehow his fault.
Mark smiled and nodded, lingering a bit longer before he spoke again. "I'll see you around, okay?"
"See you," Craig said, feeling an overwhelming sense of disappointment when Mark turned to go. He sighed and sunk low in his seat, noticing that Mark had left his bag of chips.
"Why does shit like this happen?" he asked them.
They didn't respond.
After a few moments, he looked over to see Clyde ambling toward him, Tweek in tow. Clyde sat down in Mark's empty seat with Tweek hovering just slightly behind him.
"I saw Mark run off. Did you finally do something to scare him?" Clyde asked, leaning forward with intense curiosity.
"What? No," Craig responded, tapping his fingers on the table. At least, he was fairly certain he didn't do anything. "He had to go pick up his sister."
Clyde's eyebrows rose. "Ohhh," he cooed, in a way that Craig could only describe as sympathetically.
Craig scowled, feeling vague panic start to rise in his chest. "What do you mean, 'ohhh?'"
Waiting a moment before speaking, Clyde gave him a pitying look. "Dude, are you sure it was his sister?"
"What do you mean am I sure it was his sister?" Craig snapped angrily. He was feeling intense concern by this point, as though Clyde was going to lay a ruinous bombshell of information on him that was going to kill any hope he had that Mark had actually left to rescue Rebecca.
"Dude, girls do this all the time. They have their friend call at a specific point during a date, and if it's going bad, they make up some excuse about having to leave because their sister needs them or something." Clyde patted him sympathetically on the arm. "You'd be surprised at the amount of grandmas who get rushed to the hospital when I'm on dates with their granddaughters."
"That's because you're an idiot and a bad date," Craig grunted irritably. Then, it registered what Clyde had just implied. "Wait, this wasn't a fucking date."
"It wasn't?" Clyde asked idly, inspecting the bag of chips. Craig couldn't tell if he were joking or not.
"The fuck? No!" Craig growled, snatching the bag away from him. "What the fuck, I am not dating Mark."
"Oh, okay then," Clyde said simply and—Craig was sure—a little smugly before standing up. "Are you going to eat those or are you just trying to make me feel bad?"
Craig heaved a sigh and handed him the bag, letting his head fall to the mesh table with a loud clatter, unsure of what the fuck he was feeling.
All he knew was that once again, everything was terrible.