So, the same lovely person who drew me this (thateccentricasiangirl . tumblr post/29383942787/fan-art-for-the-strange-attraction-syndrome-c-i) also drew me this (listentothistrackbitches . tumblr post/34122657895/i-just-fucking-love-over-protective-big) and I absolutely love it. It's pretty much the best thing that has ever happened to me. I adore it so much. In honor of such beautiful fan art that makes me so very happy, this chapter is dedicated to AzyumiChan.

The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you.

—Rita Mae Brown

Tweek's point of view:

We met up with Stan, Kyle, and Thomas at an Italian restaurant later that day, although just the spite the couple, Craig asked for a smoke break before we went inside and sat down.

"I'm addicted," he explained. "Introducing Tweek to my family was stressful. I need it."

Nobody bought his fake reasoning. "Dude, just shut up." I smiled wearily to let him know that I wasn't being serious. "If anyone needs to smoke, it should be me. Both of our parents think we're having sex."

The situation got everyone to laugh and helped lighten the mood. Craig nodded his head as though he understood me completely. "Try it then."

"No," Kyle objected. "Tweek's not trying anything. The last thing he needs is to take up smoking."

Craig rolled his eyes. "He's not going to like it. Smoking is an acquired taste." We were sitting on a bench located near a patch of flower bushes surrounding the building where he held out his cigarette. I looked down at it and then up at him questioningly. To be honest, I had no clue what I was supposed to do.

"Stop it," Stan snarled. "What did Kyle just say?"

"That the last thing Tweek needs is to take up smoking which he's not because what did I just say?" Craig asked. "That he's not going to like it. He's going to cough and it's going to suck and he's never going to try it again." This time, he held the butt of the cigarette up to my mouth and I wrapped my lips around the filter despite Stan and Kyle's aggravation. "Inhale and hold it in your lungs. You don't have to do it for long, then you just let it out."

I did as instructed and inhaled what must've been a relatively large amount. The cherry at the other end crisped up and became ash. I don't think I did it right because I saw it as much as I experienced it and my throat and lungs felt like they were igniting just the same. Craig rubbed his hand across my back as I coughed out contamination and heaved in clean air over the side of the bench. My eyes were stinging and my mouth tasted bitter.

"What did I tell you?" He gloated. "Are you ever going to do it again?" I shook my head and tried to swallow past the burn in my throat. "Good. I don't want you to be a smoker anyways."

Thomas was grinning at me from the other bench and I watched him mouth You two are so cute in embarrassment.

"What was that?" Craig wondered.

My best friend smacked his lips together and shook his head innocently.

More than anything I wanted to slap my palm across my forehead in that moment, but then I realized that Craig still had his arm around me. He was prodding gently against the small of my back, twisting the material of my shirt between the pads of his fingers. It was such a nonchalant action that anyone could've thought of it as a regular occurrence and that alone caused my heartbeat to ricochet against my ribcage.

"Do C-Clyde or Token know we'll be there tomorrow instead of tonight?" I asked, unwilling to move a fraction incase he realized what he was doing and decided to stop.

"No, actually." He removed his hand despite my efforts because of my efforts so that he could retrieve his phone and dial one of their numbers. I was genuinely peeved, mentally slamming my face into the asphalt while he waited for someone to pick up. "Hey, hold on." After pressing a button on his phone, Clyde's voice gained volume and could be heard by all of us. "I've got you on speaker now. Say hi."

"No."

"I don't blame you," Craig professed. "I'm stuck here with two faggots and two homos. It fucking sucks." Stan and Kyle shook their heads at each other. Someone wasn't making a very good impression on them. "At least say hi to Tweek, though."

"No."

"Are you and your woman fighting?" His question released an onslaught of information, stuff of which I did not want to know or ever want to hear about, regarding Clyde and Pretty Lady's personal relationship including why they weren't getting along. Supposedly there was a mixup with her birth control and she was upset that they'd had to use a condom or something roughly along those lines. "Did she orgasm?" Clyde gave an affirmative. "Did you come?" Another affirmative. "Then it's all good." Genius. I rolled my eyes. "I'm about to make your day worse, though."

"Fuck you, Tweek." That was the first thing Clyde said and he hadn't even been told that I was the reason yet.

"Yeah, pretty much." I gave Craig a look of disdain. He smiled at me and slung his arm around my shoulders, bringing me in close to his chest. "We'll be there tomorrow, alright? You can take my bed tonight if you have to." I pulled away until he could see me and shook my head in disagreement. My friends got a chuckle out of my objective reaction because they knew where I slept and that I didn't want anyone else sleeping in the same place. "Bros before hoes, dude. Sorry."

"He's going to jack off or something," I whimpered, trying to keep my voice down so that Clyde wouldn't hear.

But of course he did. "Hell yeah I'm going to jack off. I'm going to cream all over Craig's bed and you're going to sleep in it, asshole."

I frowned and made sure that Craig could see the disapproval all over my face. He tipped his head back and sighed. "Have mercy on me, Clyde. Don't make me buy new bedsheets."

"Oh?" The brunette was pissed. "Guess who had to buy the condoms." The line went dead.

"Hmm," Craig mused, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "This is going to suck, I suppose."

"I'm sorry," I apologized, standing up when he flicked the dead butt of his cigarette and patted my back. He told me not to worry about it, that it wasn't a big deal, as we headed inside the restaurant with our small group. It smelled like marinara sauce and fresh salad.

"You know," Kyle started, following the hostess as she seated us at a booth near the back. "You could always not sleep in Craig's bed."

Annoyance tethered to me, and for what was probably the first time in my life, I wanted to glare at the redhead. Was it seriously necessary for him to say that? "No, he does. We're cuddle buddies. It's impossible to separate us when a bed is near." And then suddenly I loved Kyle all over again. He gave me an amused look to which I felt guilty. His intentions had been to get that out of Craig from the beginning.

We settled down in a both, me in my designated seat and Craig across from me. Stan and Kyle took my side while Thomas accompanied Craig's. It was a pleasant arrangement, I decided, and began to look over my menu. Conversation was silent minus a few questions about who was ordering what or which dish sounded more appealing than the rest. Restaurant foods weren't as appetizing to me as they were to others so I settled for a simple garden salad whereas I knew Craig would finish off everyone's meal including his own.

Once our orders were placed—Craig insisted we get two separate checks instead of four because he was feeling overly generous tonight and wanted to cover Thomas and I—he liked to do that: pay for dinner, a thing of which Thomas didn't mind since he was a mooch, but I had fought and lost against—regular conversation commenced. "Do Clyde and his girlfriend fight often?" I asked, though I felt like the answer would be no. They seemed to be a reasonable couple.

As I'd guessed, Craig shook his head. "The thing is that she's allergic to latex. It's happened before. She just doesn't like having to get super special condoms fit for her condition."

"Clyde has a girlfriend?" Stan asked, relatively surprised.

Craig nodded his head and grinned. It was cute how prideful he was over something that wasn't even his. "They've been going steady for about eight months now, I think."

"Yeah?" Stan scoffed. "So what the hell happened to you?"

"Are you implying that I can't keep a relationship?" Craig asked, clucking his tongue. "Moot point there, dude. I've never even been in a relationship."

In unison, Thomas and I asked, "You haven't?"

"Have you forgotten that I'm like ninety percent asexual? The only hope for me is another asexual retard or never again be sober. I'm a hormonal type of drunk."

Although he was partially joking, what he said didn't sit well with me. Was that what he needed, maybe even wanted? Someone else who was asexual? Because that certainly couldn't be me. I mean, I wanted everything to do with Craig sexually.

"So, what's the other ten percent?" Thomas asked. I wanted to send a look his way, but I was scared that Craig would intercept it.

"Probably nothing," came his vague answer. He sipped from his beer, a drink that I hadn't even known he'd had a taste for until he'd ordered it. "I'm not a relationship type of guy." And then his features deadened. His pupils contracted as though in pain and he swallowed hard—couldn't even look at me as he realized what he'd said.

I think that the only reason why I reacted the way I did was because of how apparent his guilt was. "It's okay," I murmured, half disconnected from the topic entirely. Craig couldn't even formulate a formidable apology because I then added, "I know that relationships aren't your thing. I know, Craig."

Except it was clear to all of us that Craig's "ability" was not one to be proud of nor mentioned. Even as he attempted to rationalize his meaning, my only response was to let go of the begrudging topic, and the only thing that that accomplished was to make Craig feel like an ass. An ass and a hypocrite because what the hell we were doing with each other? Flirting and kissing and relationship things.

"How experienced are you?" Jesus Christ, Kyle. What the fuck was with these questions tonight?

Craig was reluctant to answer. "I've been around for twenty-one years, dude." God, I did not feel good. Queasy was a more accurate interpretation. "I'm not a Kenny or a Clyde...but" —he started to speak very slowly, almost uncertain whether or not this was the correct discussion he should be participating in while I was at the table— "I would say that I...guess...uh...have a pretty good...technique."

Kyle sat back, indulging in the conversation. "And we're speaking about when you party, right? Since you're a horny drunk?" When Craig nodded his head, his jaw worked through a sudden tightness. I think he might've actually been aggravated. "So you're good with women."

The niorette shrugged. "I know what I'm doing."

"Anal?" The redhead challenged.

From across the table, Craig fixed him with a steady gaze. "I know what I'm doing."

Oh, sweet mother of God.

Our food was walked in on serving trays and placed before us where it was requested. Craig had gotten a hearty serving of something extremely Italian—I couldn't remember nor pronounce the name—that he'd never heard of or tried before. I wanted to blame the steam from my food on my blush except I kind of had a salad and it was actually pretty cold.

During his initial taste test, Craig's expression remained neutral and for an instant I thought that meant his food was just okay, but then he shared that it was delicious, and I realized just then how emotionally-impared he could be. This quirk of his was adorable to me and I tried to hide my smile behind a mouthful of lettuce. Just ignore the conversation, Tweek.

"Do you want to try it?" He asked me, pushing around a few pieces of pasta. "I think there's meat in it, but there's mushrooms too. So I can just get the mushrooms and the noodles. And the sauce. Don't forget the sauce, idiot."

And there was just no denying that. Craig could be too sweet sometimes. So I agreed to try it and opened my mouth when he had a forkful ready for me. From across the table, he watched expectantly. There was cheese in the sauce that melted to combine with the thick flavor of the mushrooms and tomatoes. To keep him from waiting, I covered my mouth with my hand and said, "I like it."

I didn't catch him right away as I returned to my own dinner, but after a few bites and mindless sips from my drink, I noticed that he hadn't withdrawn his gaze. When I glanced up at him, the look in his eyes was the one he used for memorization and mental drawing. It occurred to me then that I wanted him to do something. In response to my remembrance, I felt myself wake up in a sense, and found it ridiculously interesting that Craig seemed to do the same. His expression became vivid and the color of his eyes flickered curiously.

"Before I forget, I want you to draw something so that everyone can see what you do and how good you are," I told him. He grabbed the attention of our waitress the next time she passed and asked her for some crayons and a sheet of paper. When they arrived, he asked what we'd like to see him draw; I suggested Stan and Kyle. Maybe it would return him to their side of approval. Without arguing something along the lines of having to draw homos or a pubehead, he cleared an area and started scribbling with a blue crayon. It probably wouldn't come out the clearest or the prettiest, but my friends would get the gist of Craig's talent.

As their images unfolded, the three new to this began sharing short comments on how it was coming along quite nicely, that they'd never expected this, and wow. I understood Craig's previously expressed pride towards Clyde in that moment because I was staring at him fondly now and listening to my friends chatter with an identical feeling of high esteem. He was so good at this and I wanted them to see what I did. I wanted them to know that he wasn't just a plain old asshole, but an asshole with talent and a direction and a purpose. That Craig had reasoning.

And when he was finished, they ogled over the image even though he'd drawn a penis heading toward Kyle's face and a fist aiming for Stan's.

"That went over well," Craig said on the way back to my house. It was dark by now and I wasn't sure whether he was referring to dinner, everyone's civil interactions, the picture, or how he and Stan had actually shook hands before leaving.

"Yeah," I agreed, figuring he meant everything. "They're going to keep that picture forever, you know. Even if they hate you."

Craig grinned sardonically. "Well, when I'm famous, they can say they got to be my first official customers." The two had given him a quarter as a gag joke for drawing them.

When I thought of fame and official artwork, I thought of signatures, and I wondered how his name would look on his pieces which led to me pondering his name in general. "Craigifer Drew Tucker?" I asked, testing the name out on my tongue. It mulled over in the back of my throat like a mixture between dinner and the cigarette, something both strange and nice.

"Hey, be careful with that. It wields a mighty power." He scowled. "It's kind of like my weakness."

My eyes bugged out at his confession. "When your dad calls you Craigifer Drew? That's your weakness?"

"What—no!" He started laughing the most hysterical sounding laughter that I'm sure he could manage. "I meant—God no. Not my dad, dude. And not Drew."

"I'm confused," I admitted, laughing because he was laughing.

We were stopped at a red light when he told me, "Not many people know that my name is Craigifer, so when they do and they say it, it kind of turns me on. Not just in an everyday conversation, you know? It has to be intimate."

Oh. I knew what turned him on now. The car was suddenly a little hot and maybe a little stuffy and I sort of wanted to see just how weak his full name could make him. "I-It's a nice name."

He turned onto the street that would eventually curve and lead us to my house. It would approach quickly, and I knew how it would be when we got there. My parents would be home and things would be confined. "There's a ring to it, I guess."

The slight curve was nearing and I didn't know how far my parents' surveillance spread, but that didn't matter because my mouth suddenly had a mind of its own. That or my libido had taken over. "I don't know exactly what to expect at my house. I don't know what sleeping arrangements will be like or how nosy my parents will be. We can't do anything when we're there, though. You can't kiss me or touch me, not even little things."

At my sudden outburst, Craig took his foot of the gas and listened as his car trolled along the side of the road. We had just breached the start of the curve and I had yet to see my house tucked between all of the others. The engine stopped and the niorette let his hands fall into his lap.

I sat there for a second, on edge in the silence and in tune to the way the moon flickered off reflective surfaces outside. My skin was prickling with temptation and knowledge and all I wanted was to crawl into his lap and whisper his name into his ear.

That's when he asked, "Do you want to move to the back?"

Fingers trembling slightly, I wrapped them around the latch of my seatbelt and pushed down on the tab to release it. Instead of letting it snap back, I withdrew it slowly and wondered if my breath could be heard in the quiet of Craig's car. I could feel him watching me, the weight of his eyes causing me to shiver. At the same time we moved toward the center, except the two of us weren't going to fit through the seats together.

"You first," he said, staring down at my mouth. I wet my lips and scooted closer despite his suggestion. His breath fanned out across my lips and I had just tipped my chin up, mine and his nearly brushing. "The back will be more comfortable."

Nodding my head, I pulled away and slipped between the seats. When my face was turned, a breathless smile overshadowed me. I had to bite my lip to keep it contained. All I could possibly think was Craig and I are going to do something in his car. I don't know what, but something's going to happen.

Craig stepped through in tandem and caged me against the backseat to situate himself. His arms were covered by the sleeves of his flannel but I liked what was underneath and I wanted to touch him. I didn't want to be shy all the time and I didn't want him to have to do everything. So with an uneven breath, I set my hands on his wrists and slid them up to his shoulders, fingers wrapping around and feeling the shape and muscle of his arms beneath the fabric.

Drawing our bodies closer, he dipped his head and ran his lips along the curve of my jaw. He bypassed my mouth completely and clamped his lips around a section of my throat. My arms slipped around his neck as I turned my own in a submissive gesture. His tongue swathed my skin before moist, openmouthed kisses were peppered down the expanse of my skin. Reaching my collar, Craig nipped at the bone and snagged the hem of my malleable top, pushing it off my shoulder. One of his hands slipped around to my back where he ghosted his palm across the dip of my exposed shoulder blade.

It felt like this wasn't enough, though. The brief touch of his hands distanced from the rest of my torso, kept away due to my shirt, was too little. I wasn't satisfied, even with him sucking and lavishing my shoulder with his mouth. I'd been naked the last time something substantial had happened, and despite my humiliated modesty, I didn't want to be wearing clothes now either. But I felt like there was a point that needed to be reached—a time limit or sign—before clothes could be removed. But waiting wasn't appealing to me. Especially with Craig's fingers drifting teasingly beneath my shirt as though he knew my distress and wanted to make it worse.

We didn't have any time to spend and I didn't know how long it would take for a sign to appear, not with my parents knowing that I was out with a guy past dark. That's why I grabbed the hem of my own shirt and tugged it over my head, leaving my hair disheveled and a self-surprised breathlessness to my body. That's why I twisted my fingers around the buttons on his flannel and lost control of my hands as they travelled down his chest. I was too distracted by the thought that I've never—in this way—felt his body before, that he was warm where my fingers happened to brush. I left him to finish undoing the buttons himself, eyes stuck on the revealing of his skin growing wider and longer.

He'd always been at my disposal; it was just that my own hindering fears had damaged my curiosity. I'd been scared for irrational reasons to give him the same treatment that he did me, but it was only fair that I touched and kissed him back. Clearly I wanted to. My hands weren't itching to fling his shirt off his shoulders and my eyes weren't trying to ingrain his lean figure into my brain for no reason. The reaction of my body to the mere sight of his own was proof enough. God, there must've been something wrong with me tonight if all of my fears just suddenly weren't present.

The way Craig rolled his shoulders out, allowing his sleeves to hang from his arms and expose the entirety of his chest made me swallow thickly. He removed it completely and slung it over the back of the seats before leaning forward to attach our mouths. It was immediate when my hands reached forward, connecting with his flesh to eagerly feel for the planes of his collar, ribcage, and abdomen. His hipbones pressed into my palms and our kiss turned demanding, all breath and spit as he encompassed my waist and eased me closer. My limbs wrapped around his back where I grabbed the wide berth of his shoulders and pressed our chests together.

The sensation of him breathing against me, of his stomach pushing and receding, made my body ignite. I nicked his skin with my nails as I registered the presence of his thighs against the fronts of mine. His hands were trailing down the small of my back, roaming over the slight rise of my rear, causing the back of my neck to prickle and my pulse to race, when the sound of my phone receiving a text message interrupted the lure of the moment.

It was obvious that he'd grinned against my mouth before leaning back, though his hands remained. He had half-mast eyes and glossy lips because of me, an expression that I liked so much, I followed his recede and rubbed my palms against his sides as I kissed the corner of his mouth. Turning a fraction to align our lips, Craig dropped his hands into my pockets the rest of the way and tugged our lower halves together. A small noise unintentionally escaped me, swallowed by our lips and a second tinkling of my phone followed in suit.

"It's my parents," I sighed. They tended to grow paranoid when I didn't answer right away. It was in our genetics.

"Parents are always convenient," Craig lied, taking one his hands and retrieving my phone from my front pocket. Maybe this was karma for walking in on his sister.