Teawii: Thank you! I'm so glad you like it :)

November comes and goes just like any other month, and when Craig returns to work the following Monday after Thanksgiving break, he finds the office down a broken desk.

"So, yeah—let's all give Stan a warm welcome, alright?" Kyle says, grinning wide. He's wearing a green gingham shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and even with a tie, he still looks oddly underdressed without one of his signature pullover sweaters. Standing next to him is the new employee, Stan Marsh, who gives a small wave and an awkward half-smile. Most of his new coworkers welcome him with open arms before dispersing back to their desks from the conference room where they'd all been gathered to hear the sudden announcement. For some reason Kyle insists that Stan be seated with Craig and Clyde.

"You guys'll show him the ropes, right?" Kyle asks, seeming both anxious and excited about this new merger. Craig is not amused with having to share his isolated workspace, let alone with someone he'd literally just learned the existence of less than ten minutes ago.

"What is there to show?" he asks back.

"Don't worry, man. We got him," Clyde agrees for the both of them, which irks Craig not only because he hates being spoken for, but also because he doesn't like the way Kyle rests his hand on Stan's shoulder. Kyle had spent a few extra minutes alone in the conference room with Stan before practically dragging him over to the shiny new desk shoved up against Clyde's, and now Craig can't help but wonder what they might've talked about to cause this to happen.

"That's good to know," Kyle says, chancing a sidelong glance over at Craig, even though Clyde was the one who'd said it. Kyle is met with a look of indifference. He clears his throat. "Okay. Well." He nudges Stan. "I've gotta go talk to Wendy, but just let me know if you need anything, alright? I'll be back in a little bit."

"Oh, sure, dude," Stan says. It's the first thing Craig's heard him say so far and already it's the last thing he ever wants to hear. The word "respect" doesn't hold much meaning for Craig, but calling your new boss "dude" is just bad taste.

Kyle gives Stan a pat on the shoulder before finally leaving him to fend for himself, but Stan does not seem nearly as nervous as Craig believes he probably should. Stan turns to him the second Kyle steps foot out of the office, lips pursed and ready to say something.

"So you're a Broncos fan, huh?" Clyde suddenly asks, lifting his chin at Stan's shirt: a faded, plain black t-shirt with the words SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONS printed across the chest in orange, the Denver Broncos logo situated in the middle underneath. If Craig had thought Kyle seemed underdressed, then Stan might as well have just shown up in his pajamas. The office doesn't have a strict dress code by any means, but putting in some sort of effort to look at least semi-professional on your first day of work is only to be expected; even David still wears neckties, and he's been interning there for almost two months now.

Stan opens and closes his mouth, clearly thrown from his line of thought. Once he catches his bearings, he shifts his attention to Clyde and says, "Dude, hell yeah. Broncos all the way."

Clyde sticks his fist out. "That's what's up!" he exclaims. Stan meets him halfway and knocks their knuckles together. Craig rolls his eyes. "Did you catch the game yesterday? Against the Chiefs?"

"No, but I have it recorded. I had to drive my roommate around to run errands all day so I didn't get a chance to watch it yet. Was it good?"

"McManus was really off his game, but I mean, it's definitely worth a watch. Chiefs still got their asses slaughtered either way."

Craig tries his best to ignore the two resident meatheads as he busies himself with editing a few pictures in Photoshop, drowning out their obnoxious chatter about tackles and plays with the Arctic Monkeys' artist radio on Spotify. For six whole minutes he's left alone in his own little world, until his headphones suddenly stop working and The Strokes' Machu Pichu starts playing through his computer speakers instead. Clyde dangles the unplugged cord to his headphones off to the side.

"You didn't have to do that," Stan says.

"Well, he's being rude," Clyde says.

"What the fuck? Who's being rude?" Craig asks.

"Stan's trying to talk to you but you're not listening," Clyde tells him.

"So you yank my headphones out?" Craig asks. He looks at Stan. "What? What do you want?"

"I didn't catch your name earlier," Stan says. "You left before we had the chance to meet."

Craig looks at Clyde. "You couldn't just tell him my name?"

"I did, but he still wanted to talk to you," Clyde says.

"Sorry—I didn't mean to bother you. I know you don't talk much," Stan says.

Craig grunts and snatches the cord from Clyde's fingers. He plugs it back in.

"Is he always like that?" he hears Stan ask before turning his music back on. Clyde just shrugs.

Despite having literally no previous experience writing whatsoever, Stan is assigned to work on sports news with Clyde, as well as the new pets and animals section that Craig hadn't even realized had been added to the website over the holiday weekend. Craig's not entirely sure just whose dick Stan had to suck to get that kind of work right off the bat without even having completed an internship, but he's not about to start asking questions.

Craig stands at the water cooler, an empty paper cup in hand as he watches Kyle chew on his pen cap with furrowed brows through his cracked-open office door. It's Tuesday, which means that Kyle is most likely proofreading badly-worded and heavily-misspelled guest articles—that, or trying not to burst a blood vessel while looking over more instructions from Cartman regarding plans for the new office that had been dropped off earlier this morning by Butters.

"Hey—finally caught you with your headphones off."

Craig turns to find the new guy standing behind him with raised brows and the stupidest gotcha smirk painted across his face. He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Craig, right? I'm Stan."

"We've already met."

"I don't think you ignoring me yesterday actually counts as us meeting."

"We literally sit right across from each other," Craig deadpans. "You're always bothering Clyde because you don't know how to use the share button on Twitter and you keep staring at me while I work. I know who you are."

"In my defense, I'm really not that big on social media. I don't even use Facebook," Stan says, then forces a self-deprecating chuckle. "And, uh. Sorry about—that. I'm honestly not trying to be weird or anything. Getting your attention is just—well, you don't exactly make it easy."

Craig glances back at Kyle, who's now whisper-shouting expletives into his phone receiver, hunched over his desk with tensed shoulders. Cartman's name is clearly visible on his lips. Craig wishes that Stan would just go away so that he could enjoy the show alone and in peace.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, hey—I can see Kyle from here."

Craig crushes his cup and throws it in the trash, abandoning Stan at the water cooler to head back to his desk, where the other half of his soggy convenience store sandwich is still waiting untouched. He sighs. All he wants is to enjoy the last of his lunch break in solitude while Clyde's still out making a Taco Bell run, but Stan—who plops down at his own desk just as Craig is about to put his headphones back on—is apparently not about to let that happen.

"So where'd you go yesterday?"

"Work."

"No shit." Stan laughs. "But you left early. How come?"

Craig lifts up his camera bags by a handful of their straps. "Work," he repeats, not wanting to go into detail about how Stoley had been out sick yesterday so he had to go film an interview with Jimmy in his place. Stoley's out sick today, too, so Craig actually has to head out for the rest of the day again after he's finished eating.

Stan nods, as if this all makes perfect sense. "Do you do that a lot?"

"Why do you keep talking to me?"

"I'm just trying to get to know you, dude."

"Well, stop."

Stan, whose patience is clearly beginning to wear thin, starts to say something else but holds his tongue; a wise decision, Craig thinks. It's already bad enough that his once perfect view of Kyle's office is blocked thanks to Stan's ugly mug getting in the way; Craig's not about to start playing 21 Questions with the guy, too.

"So, hey," Stan says, "do you have an Xbox One?"

Craig stuffs the last of his sandwich in his mouth, grabs his camera equipment, and leaves.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, Stan must've finally taken the hint that Craig wants nothing to do with him because Stan hasn't tried to say a single word to him all day. This is great, except for one small thing; rather than Stan bothering him, Stan's been following Kyle around the office all morning like some dopey lost puppy instead—which, Craig decides, might actually be worse.

For the past hour and a half, the two in question have been holed up in Kyle's office with the blinds drawn shut as per usual, and Craig's been practically sitting on the edge of his seat, straining to catch inaudible fragments of their muted conversation, because seriously—who the hell does Stan think he is, keeping Kyle tied up like that? Doesn't he know that Kyle's a busy guy with things to do? Surely Stan could wait until Friday like everyone else.

A particularly joyous fit of shared laughter jars Craig from his thoughts and fills him with a whole new sense of irritation at the situation at hand. He doesn't have a clue what's supposed to be so funny—he can't hear a thing, even with his headphones off and Clyde actually working in silence for once—but Craig knows he doesn't like it.

"Where are you going?" Clyde asks.

"Water," Craig tells him.

"Bring me some?" Clyde asks. "Actually, can you get me something from the vending machine instead? I want a Dr. Pepper. And a KitKat."

Craig has absolutely no intention of doing either of those things, but he nods to appease Clyde anyway. He loiters at the water cooler with a paper cup in hand for show as he tries to listen in on Stan and Kyle's conversation. It's usually a lot easier to eavesdrop from here, the water cooler only being about ten feet to the left of Kyle's office door, but with it completely closed shut all he can do is just barely make out single words and phrases, all useless without context. Craig thinks that maybe he hears his name get dropped, but he can't be certain.

Kyle's door suddenly cracks open, and Craig sees Stan looking back over his shoulder, talking to Kyle just as he's about to leave.

"Dude, I've been trying. It's impossible," he says, tiredly, with a groan. Craig, too caught up in wondering what that's supposed to mean, doesn't think to look away when Stan turns his head and catches him staring; Stan seems to perk up almost immediately. He turns back to Kyle and jams a thumb over his shoulder, and, after a quick, hushed exchange of words, Stan pulls Kyle's door open wider and waves Craig in.

"Dude, come in. Don't be such a stranger," Stan tells him, as if they haven't known each other for only about 72 hours. This would probably have to be Stan's greatest offense so far, ushering him into Kyle's office like it's his own. Craig would tell Stan to shove it if Kyle weren't poking his head out from behind Stan, looking hopeful at the prospect of stuffing a third body into his already cramped office.

"Hey! We were actually just talking about you," Kyle says.

"Yeah. Kyle was telling me, uh." Stan looks at Kyle. "About your—work?"

"And that you're the best editor we've got." Kyle nods. "I showed him the video you put together for my last article the other day. The pictures, too. They were great, right?"

"Yeah."

Craig is about two seconds from pulling Stan's firmly-parked ass off the edge of Kyle's desk. "Is there a reason I'm in here?" he asks, not interested in hearing Stan's clearly-rehearsed words of appraisal. Kyle and Stan share an unreadable glance.

"Well." Kyle swallows. "Kevin's still out, and we've got a couple more interviews that need to be recorded. Mostly just Bebe's, but also the last of Jimmy's interview from Monday, too—you know, the one with the local stand-up comedian? With the puppets?"

Craig heaves a heavy closed-mouth sigh. Interviews with Jimmy always take forever, thanks to his ridiculous stutter, and Craig isn't exactly ecstatic about having to sit there and listen to him ask that puppet fucker a million and one more questions.

"Yeah," Craig still says, either way. "Fine. Alright."

"You know I wouldn't bother you unless it was absolutely necessary."

"I know."

"Here—why don't you take Stan with you?" Kyle suggests, sounding a bit too enthusiastic. "Stan's pretty decent behind a camera, too, you know. He used to help film the morning news back in elementary school."

"Was that on his resume?" Craig sneers, looking at Stan, who seems strangely as ease with being offered up as a workhorse for someone who may or may not have daydreamed about him getting hit by a bus on the way to work. Kyle just laughs at Craig's honest-to-God question and shoos the both of them out of his office before Craig has a proper chance to complain about Stan accompanying him on the job.

"You want me to carry anything?" Stan asks. They're in the elevator now, and Craig's got his camera bags slung over his shoulder and some loose sound equipment tucked under the opposite arm.

"No."

"You sure? I don't mind."

"I said no," Craig snaps, and Stan puts his hands up in mock surrender.

Craig keeps his eyes trained on the floor numbers as they light up, until he sees Stan busy himself with his phone from his peripheral vision. Craig takes this chance to finally get a good look at him; about the same height as Kyle, maybe an inch or two taller, solidly built and with inky black hair that falls limp and unstyled over his forehead. Nothing special, but Craig can't help but wonder if maybe Kyle has a type. There's something eerily familiar about Stan, both in how he looks and even his scent that Craig sometimes picks up when he passes by, but Craig can't figure out what it is.

"Hah! Dude, look at this." Stan leans over to show Craig his phone. It's just some stupid Vine of two parrots "talking" to one another, but Stan might as well have struck gold with that dumb grin plastered across his face. Maybe just this once Craig would indulge him if under different circumstances, but Craig's too busy trying to stifle a sneeze as an overwhelming, unfamiliar scent permeates the air around him with Stan's sudden movement.

"Did you spray something?" Craig asks, pressing his wrist to his nose.

"No?" Stan blinks dumbly at him. He sniffs under his arm, then at the collar of his shirt. "Oh, wait. I shaved this morning. That might be the aftershave balm I use," he says. "Why? Does it smell bad?"

"It's strong."

"Yeah. It's like, medicated, I think. Or something. I probably used too much." Stan shrugs. "I dunno, but Kyle says it's supposed to be good. It definitely stings a lot less than the stuff I used to use, though."

Craig looks at him. "What do you mean, 'Kyle says?'"

"He bought it for me," Stan says. "Sometimes my neck gets really red when I use astringent after shaving, and Kyle said this stuff would help. So far, so good." He laughs. "But yeah, all jokes aside, it's not so bad. It doubles as a moisturizer, too, so hey."

"That's a weird thing to get from your boss," Craig says, trying to remember whether or not he'd ever gotten a gift for being newly-hired during his first few weeks of work.

Stan scoffs. "Dude, no," he says. "The weirdest thing Kyle's ever bought for me would probably have to be underwear. Or condoms." Stan considers this with knitted brows. "Yeah, no—definitely condoms."

Craig doesn't even know where to start as the elevator lurches to a stop.

"Speaking of Kyle," Stan continues, wringing his hands. "I, uh. Hope I don't come off as rude, but I'm just gonna come right out and ask, 'cause I don't know how else to say this, but." He clears his throat. "Are you, you know. Gay?"

The elevator dings and Craig steps out, but not before slamming the button for the doors to close so that Stan can't follow after him.

Craig is officially pushed to his limit just before noon on Thursday when he finds Stan alone in Kyle's office, sitting behind his desk and mouthing thoughtlessly at Kyle's chewed-up pen cap while browsing the web for college football scores.

"Why did you even hire him?" Craig asks, after having spent a good ten minutes searching high and low for Kyle, only to find him on the seventh floor, leaning against the HR reception desk. He's talking to Wendy, who's got a stack of paperwork in one hand and a bottle of flavored water in the other.

"Good morning to you too, Craig," she says.

"What are you talking about?" Kyle asks.

"We already have too many staff writers," Craig continues. "We don't need him."

"Oh—this is about Stan, isn't it?" Kyle sighs.

"He's not even an intern," Craig adds.

"Look, I know it's unorthodox, but Stan's a hard worker, alright? I know him better than anyone. Trust me," Kyle says.

"So you're fine with him sitting in your office and using your computer so he can waste time watching football or whatever?" Craig asks. Kyle doesn't seem nearly as bothered as Craig had hoped he'd be after hearing this, but Wendy lifts a brow.

"Stan's in your office unattended?" she asks, shooting Kyle a look. "Kyle, you know he can't be in there. We've talked about this. It's a conflict of interests."

"I know, I know. Just—" Kyle groans. "Craig? Come here for a second." Craig suddenly finds himself being led towards the elevator with a hand on his back. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees Wendy watching them. "Listen," Kyle says, lowly, "let's try not to talk about these kinds of things here, okay?"

"What things?"

"Things that HR would have a field day with," Kyle says. "And there's nothing wrong with Stan being in my office. It's not like I've been gone for six hours or anything. Wendy's just being dramatic."

"Then why are you whispering?"

Kyle frowns. He lets his hand fall from Craig's back. "Stan told me you two haven't really been getting along," he says, solemnly, as if that's supposed to mean something. Craig just wants to know what Wendy had meant when she'd said that Stan being in Kyle's office alone was a conflict of interest, and why.

"Should we be?"

"I really think you should just try to get to know him."

"No offense, but you don't exactly pay me to get to know people."

"Please?" Kyle begs. "For me?"

"Why do you care so much, anyway?"

"Because I just do," Kyle says. "Look, we're having an office mixer tomorrow after work to celebrate his first week, so just—try to talk to him then, alright? Who knows, maybe it'll be easier with a few drinks to take the edge off."

Craig wants to ask what the hell the deal with him and Stan is, but he loses wind. "Whatever," he grumbles, although Kyle probably hears it more as a defiant "Fine," with how the corners of his lips curl upwards into a smile. Kyle pats Craig's arm and gives Wendy—who's still watching them from the reception desk—a nod and a wave before stepping into the elevator. Craig waits until it comes back up empty and does the same, minus the whole Wendy bit. He came up here looking for answers, but now he's leaving with at least twelve more questions; thirteen when it's finally time to go home and he notices Kyle walking towards the parking lot with Stan.

"He does know the bus stop's that way, right?" Craig asks.

"I think he rides with Stan," Clyde says.

"Since when?"

"Since, like. Monday? You'd probably know that if you weren't so busy skipping out on work all week," Clyde says. Craig opens his mouth to protest this but Clyde cuts him off, bumping their shoulders together. "Dude, I'm just kidding. Chill." He laughs. "But yeah, Stan's pretty cool. I'm glad Kyle decided to hire him. It's awesome having someone else to talk to," he says, then quickly adds when Craig looks at him, "Not that talking to you isn't awesome, too, but like—you know how you are sometimes."

"No, I don't."

"Dude."

"And what do you mean you're glad that Kyle decided to hire him?" Craig asks. "Are you saying you knew we were getting a new employee?"

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"How the hell was that supposed to be obvious?"

"Kyle said he was asking everyone if they needed help last month," Clyde explains. "I told him it didn't sound like such a bad deal, having someone else to work on the sports section with. He seemed really happy. Said he knew the perfect person for the job, too. So, yeah." He shrugs.

Craig glares at him. "I'm actually going to murder you."

"Okay, but can it wait until after tomorrow? I wanna try and talk to Bebe first," Clyde says, unfazed. Craig's empty threats are nothing new, but little does Clyde know that Craig holds him entirely accountable for his newfound Stan problem, and that Craig is very seriously considering smothering him with a pillow tonight in his sleep.

The sound of an old beat up truck roaring past pulls Craig from his murderous thoughts, and as he watches Stan drive off with Kyle in the passenger seat of his dated red Ford pickup, Craig thinks that tomorrow might be the first Friday he ever misses.