A/N: Yeah. woo. tadaaa. It's like 6AM and I said I was going to bed like an hour ago. I must have lied because this chapter flew at me like a bat out of hell.

So here it is.

I'm going to go deliriously lay in bed until I fall asleep now.

Enjoy~

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Kyle seems pleased with the music on the radio station and I'm glad, mostly because I know this is his favourite radio station, and because I had the foresight to change it to just that before he came over.

I'm a creep. A loser, maybe.

He's working hard writing his notes down. I just kind of watch while I talk. It's nice to see him work from a different angle than behind him in class. My tongue keeps finding my lower lip, and I realize that it's probably so chapped from doing this in school, over and over, staring at the redhead now leg to leg with me.

A real creep.

But I don't feel guilty at all. If he hasn't noticed then all shame is washed away. I like things typical and boring and this is probably the most satisfactory moment I could ask for outside of any moment with Tweek. Don't get my wrong, the kid's my best friend and twitchy as fuck, but he's a really chill person if you ignore the fact that he probably has some off-centre, undiagnosed tourettes and a panic and anxiety disorder that will probably turn him into a serial killer some day. Then there's the OCD, the paranoia, the voices...

Uh, yeah. Kyle is like stepping out into the nice warm weather from an already perfectly tempered pool. It's just relaxing. Like, you lay on the deck. And everything's cool.

"You still there?"

Kyle's looking at me with risen brows and I blink slightly, lifting my shoulders as I spittle out a lie. "Fucking tired. Want a coffee?"

He offers an innocent no thanks and I stand up, taking my leave. I need a breather. This is probably the most time I've ever spent in the same vicinity as Kyle Broflovski outside of the occasional house party and our English and Math classes. Even better, he's in my house. If I wanted, I could get my sister to lock us down and probably just have my way with the goddamn Jew. But I'm not so tactless. Something of such desperation would be up to maybe... yeah, I don't even know. Just, lets stick with simplicity and common sense here, okay?

My coffee's black, just out of habit. Black like my metal, which is in high contrast to the top-one-hundred and soft alternative rock shit that Kyle's got playing upstairs right now. When you know someone like Tweek Tweak you just become accustomed to certain things. If things fall out of order for Tweek, it's like, a 15 minute calm-down process. And worse, he only listens to me. So when my mom screws something up it's even worse.

But anyway.

Trudging up the stairs I can hear some kind of electronic-kinda song getting louder, and then a voice over it as I approach my door, mug in both hands.

Kyle's gyrating his body from side to side like some kind of snake, singing along to the... to the...

"Next time, baby, I'll beeeee...

bullettttttprooooof...

Next time, baby, I'll beeeee...

bulletttttproooof..."

I wonder if he notices me staring. Probably not. It's a good thing expression isn't really my thing because I at least can't feel my enstartlement on my face, but my hands are going slack as I raise my eyebrows, trying to catch my coffee before it slips even though my eyes are stuck on the rotating hips and waist of the redhead writing notes in front of me.

And then he's down on his hands and knees. Probably to get closer to his paper. But I have no complains. I can feel my hot coffee dribbling over my hand as I get the fullest of views, and then finally turn back down the hallway. No use walking in with a boner over what appears to be coffee instead of Kyle's sweet ass.

So I sit on the toilet seat for a moment with said coffee.

Evaluate what just happened, Craig.

I take a long sip. Yes, yes. That was definitely real. Actually I think I stood there long enough to hear the end of the song and the radio lady thing on the speaker. Bulletproof... but some artist I don't know. Oh, what fuckin' ever. I'll google that shit. I need that song on my iPod to jack off to for the rest of my life.

I take another long sip.

"Dude, the fuck's taking you so long? I'm almost done." Kyle's voice from down the hall...

Fuck. I stare down at the front of my pants like I'm discovering this for the first time, wondering how obvious I am. I need to think of something... something terrible.

My guinea pig died two years ago.

Done deal, goodbye boner. Hello emotional side I don't want to think about. I give my bathtub a dirty look and walk back into my bedroom, where Kyle's no longer with his ass dancing in the air, asking me to fuck it into my blue plush carpet.

Licking lips.

"Sorry. Distracted."

A roll of the eyes and he's none the wiser.

I need to prolong my time with him as much as possible.

"Say. You wanna do some shit after to celebrate or somethin'?"

He glances at me. He looks weirded out but I know better, and he's too polite to reject sometimes. Especially when I tilt my head over my coffee and give him a totally blank stare that could to someone be read as innocent.

"Yeah. Uh.. okay. Anything you had in mind?"

I roll my head back, kind of curious. And then it hits me. Kyle Broflovski has never dated a person in his whole life. He's so straight-laced I'm pretty sure his ribs don't even curve in his perfect little chest. I lick my lips, deciding it's time to test the waters as to whether the Jew is a fag or not.

"Raisins or somethin'?"

He offers the ceiling a blank look, before nodding and shuffling our papers together, stuffing them in his folder after writing both our names on it.

"Yeah, cool. Lets go."

Victory is mine.