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As soon as his body hits the firm mattress, Craig shuts his eyes and melts into the comfort of his quilt. Marching band practice kicked his ass today; muscles in his legs that he had previously been unaware of are throbbing from strain. He thinks that the grueling hours spent at band camp over the summer should have prepared him for these situations, but a six-hour practice after a seven-hour school day remains absolutely exhausting.
Just as his eyelids begin to slide closed in the midst of an SNL YouTube marathon, the ringing of a FaceTime call startles him back to consciousness. He lets out a yawn when he accepts the call from his best friend, Clyde, and instantly complains, “Why can’t you ever just text me like a normal person?”
“Because I’m pissed off!” Clyde’s tinny voice exclaims from the other line.
Once Craig’s eyes adjust, he sees Clyde’s handsome face scrunched in anger. His soft, brown hair appears wet from a shower, and his round, brown eyes are glazed with what he assumes is the beginning of fury tears. He signs, “What happened?”
“It’s fucking Anna,” Clyde seethes. Craig is unsurprised that he called him at 10 o’clock night to complain about his overbearing girlfriend—it had become an unspoken, unpleasant ritual. “She doesn’t want me to go to Cartman’s party Sunday because she won’t be able to be there, so she told my dad there was going to be drugs! Like, what the fuck, man?!”
Craig stifles a laugh at the pettiness of not only Clyde’s dilemma, but his significant other. There had been countless other occurrences very similar to this of her attempting to control Clyde’s ever move. He grunts incessantly about it any chance he gets, and then seems to magically forget in her presence—which Craig supposes he cannot be entirely blamed for, as Anna is an extraordinarily attractive person.
“What kind of drugs?” he deadpans, readjusting into an upright position.
Clyde scoffs, “Like, cocaine and shit. Now Dad won’t let me go! It’s an apparently very believable lie thanks to Cartman’s mom’s presence on Crack Whore magazine.”
“She is a staple of the genre.”
“I just don’t even know what the fuck to do about this… I mean, this is insane, right?! She’s being insane!” Clyde rambles, fiddling with something out of the frame, “I don’t understand why she doesn’t trust me! She already has the passwords for all of my social media, she knows my class schedule, she takes my diary in the morning—”
“Wait, what?” Craig stops him, perking his head to the new ridiculous term of their relationship that he had been previously unaware of, “Like, your journal?”
“Yeah,” Clyde confirms, gaze still cast away from the video chat.
Craig lets his eyes roll, “Dude, that is really fucked up. Your therapist gave you that so you could have a place to be completely authentic.”
“Well, I mean, I still write whatever I want! She just likes to keep up with my thoughts and feelings, too.” The brunette defends, then shifts the focus back to his main grievance. “I just wish that was enough, bro.”
“Nothing will be enough with her, dude. She’s a succubus.” Craig retorts. He curses those unwanted feelings that begin to bubble up in his chest.
Craig isn’t sure when these protective, possessive feelings for Clyde began to tug at his heartstrings, but after a while, he decided to stop denying them to at least himself (and inadvertently let them slip to his good friend, Tweek, in a fit of rage at something horrendous Anna had done). He harbors feelings for Clyde that go beyond just friends, but it’s an impossible desire when Anna is in the picture at the very least. Instead of acting on his attraction, he buries it and masks it with unwavering (albeit unenthusiastic) support for him in all that he does—including, unfortunately, the horrendously toxic relationship he had gotten himself into.
Clyde laughs at the terminology and rolls his eyes to Craig’s depiction on the screen. “I think I’ll just go anyway and wear a disclaimer that says ‘do not put me on your Snapchat Story, my girlfriend will slit my throat’.”
Craig snorts, “And how are you going to make sure that everyone fights their small-town gossiper genes and doesn’t just tell her?” Clyde lets his head fall forward onto his desk, groaning dramatically. Craig grins at his mass of messy brown hair, wishing he could run his fingers through it. He continues tactfully, looking down again. “Why don’t you just break up with her? If you’re unhappy…”
“I don’t know, man! I just feel bad…” his friend exclaims.
With the liberty from Clyde’s big, puppy-dog stare, Craig scrunches his nose distastefully. “What is there to feel bad about? She’s a horrific cunt and a terrible girlfriend.”
“Normally I would defend her honor, but I don’t have the energy right now.”
A moment of silence passes over the call, rendering Craig discomforted and slightly guilty for coming down hard on Clyde girlfriend—though she most definitely deserved the insults, and worse. Clyde has always had a struggle in relationships; he always gets himself into the worst situations by being too kind and naïve. He also developed strong abandonment issues from losing his mother at a young age, so he would cling onto these relationships, even if he felt and acknowledged the toxic effects of them.
While these factors are not way brought about Craig’s recognition of his romantic feelings for Clyde, they certainly caused his desire to be with him to intensify. Now, not only is his best friend extremely cute, charming, fun, and genuinely good, he is also being treated like garbage, and it would be so easy for Craig to swoop in and become a far superior partner to him. He’s fantasized incessantly (perhaps obsessively) of different scenarios in which he would do just that—many of which feature him chewing out Anna.
“So, have you started the Spider-Man DLCs yet?” Clyde inquires.
Craig is eternally grateful for the topic shift. “Not yet, I’ve been busy with stupid marching band.”
Clyde sniffs, “Lame, dude. What’s more important?!”
“It feels wrong to admit, but definitely not Spider-Man.”
“Well, you need to play it as soon as possible because Black Cat’s storyline with Peter is fucking wild, bro!”
All of a sudden, it is midnight, and Clyde and Craig have been discussing the PS4 exclusive Spider-Man game (Clyde enduring significant teasing for having been and X-Box fan in their youth) and much more for two hours. Craig only notices the time after swiping away a Facebook notification. He groans, “Fuck, dude, we need to go to bed.”
“Oh, shit! You’re probably right, we have the game tomorrow!” Clyde agrees. He lifts his cell phone from its perched position on his desk and Craig watches him stand. “See you at school!”
“Night,” Craig returns, pressing the ‘end’ button on their video chat. He drops his phone against his chest and lets his heavy eyelids finally fall. Despite his exhaustion, his brain forces him to dwell on how easy and natural it is to have a two-hour discussion with Clyde about everything and nothing.
As he drifts off to sleep, the thought remains fresh in his mind.
_
Craig breathes a sigh of relief when he’s finally able to take the weight off of his feet—although it is merely to fit on an uncomfortable, metal bleacher with a sousaphone wrapped around his torso. He lifts his feathery shako from his head and is reminded of the sweat caking his dark fringe to his forehead. He wishes he could also give himself a break from the massive instrument clinging to him, but the last time he did so, one of his moronic classmates kicked it on their way past him and made it go completely out of tune—which was not good at all, seeing as he is the sole sousaphone performer.
Why South Park even has a marching band is beyond him. With all three grades at the high school, there are only 30 members. This is a laughable size compared to larger counties they would compete again, some of which have upwards of 200 marchers. On top for this, they are absolutely horrendous. Even with the fearless leadership and high musical IQ of Craig’s good friend Token, as their drum major, they could not hold a tune or effectively stay within the proper formation to save their lives. The pitifulness of the ensemble was perpetuated by their four-person color guard—all of which were beginner sophomores that Craig did not know.
“Hey,” a voice snaps Craig from his bitter trance. He peers over to find Tweek with a red Powerade in his hand, “you better drink this, you look like you’re about to die.”
“That’s because I am,” Craig informs him. He scootches down the bench to make room for his friend, taking the beverage gratefully. “Thanks, man. Why is it so fucking hot? It’s Colorado.”
Tweek narrows his eyes, “How many times do I have to tell you how strong the effects of global warming are on the climate and temperatures?”
“Hopefully never again.” Craig deadpans after draining half of the sports drink, the response coming out as an unattractive gasp.
The blond shakes his head at him before gazing out onto the field, where their school’s offense had lined up to receive the first kick-off of the game. “I don’t understand why they make you practice the whole routine right before the game. As if you’ll forget it all by halftime.”
Craig snickers, “It really wouldn’t surprise me if we all did, but it is super annoying. They just want to torture us as much as possible.”
“I also really don’t get why you want to be a part of this thing if you hate it so much. I told you, you should quit and be a stagehand for Drama Club! We really need a few more competent people.” Tweek says, advertising for his extracurricular activity for what feels like the millionth time.
Craig groans, “Didn’t you just convince your dumb boyfriend to join?”
Tweek grins, “Yes, and he is loving it! I happen to think you’d be really good with all the technology.”
“Well, my mom already paid $900 for me to do this. And I’m not wrapped around your finger like Kenny is.”
Tweek pouts a lip, teasing, “You used to be.”
“Fuck off,” Craig laughs, “The Asian girls made me do it.”
Craig half-listens to an anecdote of Tweek’s when his eyes find number 33. He watches Clyde intently as he squats perfectly still in I-Formation, ready to run the ball as far as possible before being tackled by defenders. While it always makes Craig nervous to momentarily lose track of the green jersey reading Donovan in the mass of players, he is generally very impressed with his footwork and ability to barrel through defenders like a chaotic bowling ball. Through Craig’s fragile understanding of the game of football, he knew that Clyde was good at what he did—though vastly overconfident. He once made the team’s quarterback, Stan Marsh, laugh so hard water shot out of his nose after he referred to himself as the “white Bo Jackson”, and was then accused of grotesque blasphemy from the rest of his teammates.
When all that his friend says in response to his retelling of how he and his boyfriend were told off by their history teacher for making out by Kenny’s locker was a Wow, cool, Tweek figures that he has zoned out to pay attention to the South Park Cow’s starting running back. He rolls his eyes, “Did Clyde tell you about not being able to go to Eric’s party?”
Craig wants to scream at the reminder, but instead mumbles, “Yeah, I heard. Fuck Anna.”
“She’s such a bitch,” Tweek continues, linking his arms over his chest and keeping an eye on Craig. “Do you think he’s going to finally end it anytime soon?”
“Fuck if I know.” He replies shortly.
Tweek wants to press on further, but the defeated slump of Craig’s shoulders tells him it’s a topic for another time. He frowns and plants his gaze onto the sport game unfolding before them. Being friends with both Clyde and Craig was one of many reasons he wishes his friends could come together and admit their obvious feelings for one another—another being he feels unnecessary guilt for being in a happy romantic relationship while is best friend is single and pitifully pining on a boy who is taken. Clyde’s slew of toxic relationships despite being an incredible person has mad Tweek absolutely bitter of anyone of his love interests that aren’t Craig Tucker, who is equally brilliant and would be a much more fit partner. It was such a saddening, frustrating position to be in; it also felt like being caught in the plot of a cheesy teen drama.
When half-time draws near, Tweek excuses himself to go find Kenny and Kyle somewhere on the other side of the student section. The marching band migrates in single file down to the field in preparation of giving a lackluster performance while the athletes recuperate. Craig shakes a leg on standing up, his only means of straightening the leg of his dress pants that had bunched up, as his hands are preoccupied with his instrument and the bottle of Powerade Tweek had left behind.
Craig ignores a lecture from Token about the importance of staying on their dots and tortures himself with watching Clyde and his busty cheerleader girlfriend interact. Their right hands are clutched together, and he is smiling down at her as she ruffles his sweaty brown hair. It feels like willingly catching himself on fire; merely looking away would douse the white, hot anguish engulfing him, but he does. He even watches as she brings him down to her level for a chaste kiss, even though he thinks he will explode.
He can’t pretend to be shocked that a gorgeous, popular football player would choose a beautiful, fit cheerleader over a gangly, recently-braces-free band geek who was nicknamed Big Tuba across the entire student body—even if Clyde had just come out as bisexual to him a year prior. It made sense logically, statistically, and in terms of every trope in every film or show of all time. Most of the time he can accept this and contain his feelings below the surface.
Tonight is just not one of those nights, for whatever reason.
Craig feels like breaking down through the entire performance. He still manages to execute his movements and tempo to near perfection, a testament to his talent considering the furious tears that threatened to pool in his eyes each time they detected Clyde watching intently from the bleachers. Frustration joins the onslaught of emotions, which comes from him being angry with his inability to just find a new person to be hopelessly in love with.
When the performance and the South Park victory finally ends, Craig immediately darts off to the place behind the bleachers where he leaves his sousaphone case, not waiting to make the walk with Token as he usually does. He wishes to disappear from the face of the earth itself, but he will settle from beating a hasty retreat from the large gathering of his peers for the time being.
The entire drive home in solitude the ringing of his phone interrupts his Spotify playlist. By the end of it he declines seven calls—one from Tweek, one from Token, and five from Clyde.
At least Clyde would notice is he disappeared.
_
Homecoming paraphernalia had been invading the hallways all month. A buzz of excitement for the event resounds through the student body, but Craig is unable to experience it. It is his senior year of high school and the last time he has gone to a dance with a date was in the eighth grade—and it was at the tale end of his awkward relationship with Tweek. To say he feels sorry for himself is an understatement. He had remained downright miserable since that game that his emotions got the better of him. He wants to be surprised by his inability to come out of the slump, but he supposes three years of harboring romantic feelings for your good friend is long enough to send anyone spiraling into a deep pit of depression. Especially when that person is constantly at your side, prattling on about being in a relationship with and going to the dance with someone else.
_
“Knock-knock,” a familiar voice sounds from the other side of his opened locker. Craig retrieves his copy of The Kite Runner and his English journal swiftly, shutting the locker to reveal Clyde on the other side. His handsome face is contorted into an expression of distress—an expression he wore quite frequently these days thanks to Anna. “Guess who’s pissed at me.”
“Your dad.” Craig guesses as he twists the lock knob.
The pair begin striding toward their shared English class as Clyde huffs, “I mean, he is perpetually, but no. Anna’s all mad at me because I told her I didn’t want to do red for Homecoming.”
Clyde’s petty issues with his girlfriend are by far the last thing Craig desires to discuss in the moment. He instantly tenses, remaining silent as his friend blathers on, “I told her—Bebe says I’m an autumn and red washes me out! I asked if we could do an orange instead, since its kind of close, and she refuses. I even said we could try pink, and she is just bitching about how I never do what she wants and I always argue with her and make her life harder than it needs to me,”
The brunette barely pauses to take a breath as they approach the classroom. They inadvertently brush through the threshold together, their bodies colliding momentarily, making Craig’s heart flutter. The feeling sends a domino effect of frustration and angst through the rest of his body.
“Dude,” Craig interrupts reflexively in the middle of another one of Clyde soliloquy-length complaints about his girlfriend. He feels incredibly rude the minute the stamen leaves his lips, but he cannot stop himself: “I really don’t fucking care about your stupid shit with Anna right now.”
Clyde opens and closes his mouth a few times, visibly offended by his friend’s brashness. Craig doesn’t give him the chance to respond before slumping to his desk in the back of the room. He is suddenly extremely grateful for assigned seats as Clyde is forced to situate himself across the room as their teacher begins their lecture.
Every second of the period, Craig can feel a piercing, brown stare attempting to cut through his resolve from across the room. He only allows himself one glance back through the entire forty-five minutes of discussing their assigned reading and continues to evade Clyde’s advances on their way out of the room.
“Craig!” A particularly attention-drawing call for him finally stops him on his route to his next class. Anger rising in his chest again, Craig spins on his heels to face the confused Clyde, who tosses his hands in the air and spouts, “What the hell is your problem, bro?! Why are you acting like such a tool?”
“Maybe I just don’t want to hear your ridiculous drama with your terrible fucking girlfriend anymore,” Craig shoots back venomously. Heat rises to his cheeks and he senses that he the tight lid her generally keeps on his emotions has been pried ajar and will continue to overflow onto Clyde, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to just break up with her. She makes you miserable and you can’t stand each other! If you’re not willing to do something about it, I’m done listening to you bitch.”
Clyde scoffs, easily reaching Craig’s emotional level after thirty seconds of the altercation, “That’s not fair, man! She doesn’t make me miserable—”
“Yes she does, you idiot,” Craig interjects, taking a stride closer to his friend so less spectators will notice their disagreement. His dark eyebrows are knit together in a combination of fury and concentration on not allowing himself to melt into putty from gazing into those big, brown eyes. “You do nothing but whine and moan about all the fucked up shit she does to you. I am tired of hearing you complain about it when all you have to do is end it.”
“C’mon, Craig, you know it isn’t that simple! She would be crushed if I just ended things! And I don’t only complain about her, there’s plenty of nice things we say about each other!” Clyde presents his faulty reasoning with little passion in his tone.
After a lifetime of memorizing the curves of the boy’s face, it takes no effort to detect the uncertainty of Clyde’s words. Craig clenches his jaw, “If you want to lie to yourself, that’s fucking fine, Clyde. But I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.”
With that, he pivots, ready to storm off down the hallway. He is jerked back into Clyde’s vicinity with a hand wrapped around his wrist. The shorter boy had used his momentum against him, and he is easily yanked back into the conversation.
Hazel and brown connect again, this time effectively removing the air from Craig’s lungs. He abhors the way it feels like the stars have aligned every time this happens. He and Clyde are neighboring constellations that belong beside each other in the cosmos, reflecting one another’s shine.
His mouth feels dry when Clyde keeps his hand where it is, clutching his appendage in attempts to keep him from bolting away and sighs, “Why are you being like this?! You’re supposed to be there for me! You’re supposed to be my best friend!”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to be your best friend!” Craig snaps, instantly regretting it.
Clyde is taken aback, seemingly shattered by the implication of Craig’s words. “You don’t want to talk to me anymore? What did I do—”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to talk to you anymore, dumbass, I said I can’t be your friend—” Craig cuts himself off, the heart palpitating with unnatural speed reminding him that he is about to reveal his romantic feelings for his best friend, who is taken. He swallows the rest of his sentence and decides he can no longer bare the intoxicating sensation of their eyes swimming and their skin touching.
Craig yanks his hand away and averts his gaze. Despite the separation he remains caught in Clyde’s orbit when he asks gingerly, “What do you mean you can’t be my friend…”
The way he trails off tells Craig he already has the answer. The mortification takes over his desire to hear Clyde’s reaction, and he turns the rest of the way away, rushing off to his next class with cloudy eyes and an even more muddled mind.
_
Craig somehow manages to evade Clyde for the remainder of the school day and is eternally grateful for their conflicting obligations that keep them apart. While Clyde lifts weights in the shitty school gym with the team, Craig and the marchers take the football field for practice. He sits on the single row of bench that is usually reserved for the players coming on and off of the field, dejectedly sanitizing his mouthpiece as his peers chatter amongst themselves.
It doesn’t take long for his peaceful solitude to be impeded by Token and Tweek. Craig pays them one irritating glance, finding them both wearing athletic wear and sympathetic expressions. Without missing a beat, he grumbles, “No, I do not want to talk about it. Leave me alone.”
They roll their eyes in unison as Token begins, “We just wanted to say that Clyde is feeling really badly about all of this… he had no idea you feel this way about him.”
“Illuminating, thank you.” Craig mutters.
Tweek narrows his stare. “Anyways… He really wants to talk to you. Will you stop dodging his calls?”
Craig grants him a lethal glare. “Does it look like I want to talk about any of this with any of you right now—especially him?”
“Clearly not, but you sorta have to, man,” Token replies with a shrug. “I mean… you kinda dropped an a-bomb on the guy.”
Scoffing and dropping his head, he returns to the task of rubbing his mouthpiece clean. An entirely new wave of frustration washes over him when the object is snatched from his hands. He sends an even more wrathful glare to the culprit, who speaks before he can reprimand him, “Craig, I know that this is really hard for you and I’m sorry, but please consider trying to talk this out, okay? Clyde is your friend—”
“Didn’t he tell you what I told him? I am done being his friend. I can’t do it anymore.”
Tweek falters, twisting his lips into a frown. “Is that really how you feel? You just don’t want anything to do with him anymore?”
Craig shrugs, “I don’t fucking know, man, can you please just leave me alone? I don’t want to talk about it.”
Token puts his hands up, gesturing for submission, “We’re just trying to help, man, not piss you off. Clyde’s just trying to make sense of it all, and he can’t really do that—”
“Well it’s a good thing that not everything revolves around Clyde, isn’t it?” Craig spits back, rising to his feet. “You guys are doing such a great job playing devil’s advocate! Thanks so much for comforting the person who just accidently told his best friend—who has a goddamn girlfriend, mind you—that he’s in love with him! I’m doing just fine, thank you so much for asking!”
With that, he snatches his mouthpiece from Tweek’s grasp and storms off the field. He’s not sure where he is going, but he knows he can’t be around anyone right now.
Of course, instead of finding solitude, he finds the girl’s volleyball team heading toward the back door of the gym for practice. He almost manages to make it through with passing smiles and waves to everyone, but he does not get passed his friend Nichole without his turmoil being detected.
“Craig, what’s wrong?! You look like you’re about to cry! Are you okay?!” She exclaims, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he does everything in his power to reign back in his emotions.
At her words, however, he comes completely undone. His bottom lip quivering, he replies without his usual mask of sarcasm or apathy for the first time. “No,” he huffs simply, falling against her support.
Nichole wraps him in a hug, heart clenching at the first time in their multiple years of friendship that she has seen Craig in this state. He remains on the verge of tears as he sniffles miserably. He sighs, “Can we talk when you’re out of practice?”
“Of course!” She assures him as they withdraw.
Craig nods dejectedly, telling her that he will text her. He decides to tell the band director that he has come down with an illness and he needs to go rest.
Thankfully, she buys it and allows him to leave the field (only when he made her uncomfortable by describing the color of his nonexistent vomit). He ignores the apologetic gaze of Token as he packs up his sousaphone and drags it back into the band room.
_
Tweek: Please call me when you can )): I’m sorry we made you upset. Love you
Tweek: Or just come over
Clyde: Plz call me craig. We need 2 talk
Clyde: Plz stop ignoring me!!!!
Token: Sorry for making you upset man. Hope you know I’m on your side!
Clyde: Craig plz I cant take this
Nichole: on my way!! 😊
Craig ignores all messages aside from Nichole’s, who earns a quick Ok.
He waits in his living room for Nichole to knock on the door. Though a large part of him wishes to climb the stairs to his bedroom and hibernate until he turns forty, he also wants to express all his pent-up emotions verbally. It’s been a very long time since he’s done that.
When the doorbell chimes, he forces himself off of the couch crosses the room to invite his friend in. A concerned, slightly sweaty Nichole is at his door with a smile. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Craig drones, stepping aside to let her pass. They meander back toward the sofa, claiming seats opposite each other.
Craig attempts to start the conversation a few times, but proper use of the English language escapes him. Noticing her friend’s inability to begin the discussion, she does, “So, what’s bothering you?”
Another long pause follows the inquiry, and his heart palpitates at the knowledge that he probably seems incredibly annoying. He never realized how fucking hard talking can be.
Somehow, eventually, he manages to get out, “I guess I sort of… told Clyde that I like him today.”
Nichole blinks at him in surprise, “You like Clyde?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I should’ve mentioned that.”
“Might’ve been helpful, but it’s fine.” she giggles, then shifts to face him more directly, “How long has it been going on?”
The question is innocent, and to be expected, but it causes the knife to twist in the swollen cavern of his stomach. Inwardly, he acknowledges that a part of him as always loved Clyde, and that love has transformed over time. Around three years prior to his breaking point was when he first realized that his feelings for Clyde were no longer platonic.
“It’s been a while… One day we were hanging out and I just noticed that I really like to touch him… because, you know how he is always all over people and has no boundaries. I was thinking that if it were anyone else, I would probably hate it. But with Clyde… I look forward to it…” Craig trails off, peaks up at Nichole. “I know that’s really gay, sorry.”
“I was sort of expecting your crush on a boy to be gay, Craig,” she assures, but quickly adopts a caring, serious expression, “So, how did you tell him?”
Craig sighs, “It sort of just slipped out… He just always goes on and on about everything with Anna to me and I just couldn’t fucking take it anyone. It feels like such a blur already, but I basically told him he needs to break up with her because he’s miserable and if he doesn’t I do not want to hear him complain anymore, and he said he thought we were best friends and that’s when I told him I can’t be his friend… and ran away.”
“Damn, that’s rough,” Nichole exhales. She moves a comforting hand to Craig’s knee before amending the declaration, “but, I think it was really brave of you. That must have been really hard to put yourself out there like that!”
“Not really… also, did you not hear the part where I ran away?” Craig titters.
Nichole perks her head to the side. “How do you mean it wasn’t hard?”
“I don’t know, it just slipped out. I guess I had just been holding it in too long.”
She nods, “Well, I still think it’s brave. Maybe it was just what you needed to do after all this time.”
Craig wishes he could disagree, but he knows she is correct. Something within him broke down overtime as the wear and tear of his emotional stability was repeatedly abused by Clyde’s toxic relationship being thrown in his face. It was unfair on so many levels, so much so that the pressure caused him to boil over like a teapot.
He swallows hard, “But what happens now? How are we ever supposed to go back to normal after this?”
“I don’t know, I’m so sorry… but I do know that whether or not he feels exactly the same as you do, he does love you. He talks about you all the time and treats you like you’re the coolest person alive.” Nichole reveals, a smile ghosting her lips, “He’ll always really care about you.”
“I do have ten voicemails sitting in my inbox from him right now.” Craig tells her, his own amused smirk coming through.
She laughs at this, “At least you won’t have a hard time reaching him when you’re ready to talk about it all.”
A mere twenty minutes of divulging in the long withheld convoluted intricacies of his sexuality and feelings for Clyde later, there is an urgent knock on the front door. Craig finds this odd, as the only people who he would be expecting anytime soon (his parents) would not knock before entering their own home. He treks to the door and twists the knob, heart immediately dropping when he sees the cause of all of his unrest and inner turmoil.
“Hey,” Clyde’s voice tremors with a breathless quality. Deep concern is etched into his features, shoulders slumping forward in a combination of defeat and relief to finally have a hold of Craig. “Can we please talk?”
Craig’s tongue is tied behind the straight line of his lips. He wants to slam the door in his face and go back to talking about him to Nichole, but he is too caught up in wave of emotions to do anything.
“Hey, Clyde,” Nichole does the greeting for him, making Craig inwardly thank God for the support of his friend, “now’s not a really good time for him, okay? Why don’t you give some space—”
“Why can’t you say this to me, man?!” Clyde interrupts, addressing Craig still. “You didn’t have any problems talking earlier!”
“Are you fucking—” Craig interrupts himself, rage bubbling inside him. He glances down at Nichole and nods. “I got this. Thank you.”
Though the look of her face makes it quite plain that she disagrees with the idea, she takes he cue to leave and brushes past the both of them to get to her car parked on the street, leaving Craig alone with Clyde and his pounding heart.
“You gotta talk to me, Craig! You gotta tell me what’s going on!” Clyde continues to plead, gesturing to his left, “Will you please take a walk with me? I just really want to talk. I can’t go on with you ignoring me.”
Craig studies his face for a moment, cursing how difficult it was to deny him anything. With this as a factor as well as the knowledge that Clyde was not one to leave things alone, he puffs out a deep sigh, “I should have known you wouldn’t leave me alone.”
He catches the slight upward twitch of Clyde’s lips before he struts over to the sofa to retrieve the windbreaker he had thrown down earlier. He pulls his plain, black beanie from the jacket’s pocket after slipping it on and hides his almost-black hair away. He takes tentative steps out of the comfort of his home and into the outside world with Clyde.
The pair make it down to the sidewalk in silence, and Craig’s insides cannot decide to feel completely numb or on fire again. Clyde is thankfully maintaining a respectful distance for once when he says, “I’m sorry for snipping at you back there… It’s just been a stressful day.”
“Oh, how hard it must have been for you.” He deadpans, the same annoyance he felt earlier for Tweek and Token’s reactions rising to the surface again.
Clyde frowns, keeping his stare ahead. “Sorry… I just—I can’t not talk to you, okay? I know what you said changes things, but we can’t not be okay.”
“How does it change things, Clyde? What is going to happen?” Craig presses, heat from the flames within him roasting his cheeks.
The brunette wets his lips and shrugs. “I have no idea, I just know that it does… I mean, probably for you, right?” This renders Craig completely unsure how to respond, so he doesn’t. He allows his mouth to remain clamped as it desperately desires to. Clyde eventually continues rambling, as Craig predicted would happen if he stopped talking long enough. “It doesn’t change anything for me, man, I still love you and want to be friends with you and talk to you. I hope you know nothing will ever change that. I just… I want you to be okay.”
Craig’s jaw is set harder. Clyde is such an idiot—how the hell is he supposed to be okay when the one he loves is simultaneously telling him how much he means to him and rejecting him. He feels like screaming all over again.
“I wish that I could tell you how I feel, Craig… I—I feel like I could… I don’t know, I feel something… but I just, I can’t even think about it right now with Anna and everything I just…” Craig stops in his tracks. Clyde is quick to follow, peering back at his stone-faced friend. He back-tracks nervously, “I’m sorry, Craig, I really—”
“Listen,” Craig cuts through his blabbering in an even, cool tone. He has finally found his bearings in the conversation and he needs to express himself before he tumbles forward into another pit of immobilizing fear and despair. “I appreciate that you want to be my friend no matter what. I know you want to talk to me and for me to feel okay, but I can’t do either of those things. Not right now.”
“But I—”
“Especially if you aren’t sure how you feel about me,” Craig cuts in again. He lifts his eyebrows. “Is that how you’re feeling? Confused?”
Clyde gulps, whispers, “Yeah.”
“Then please stay away from me while you figure it out… You know how I feel.”
“Actually… I don’t know exactly how you feel,” Clyde tells him sheepishly.
Craig’s chest begins rising and falling more rapidly again as he narrows his eyes, “You really can’t gather that information based off of me telling you I can’t be friends with you?”
“I mean… it means you want to be more than friends, right?”
It takes everything in him to not slap this idiot across the face, knocking sense into him. Instead, he stifles a scoff and nods, explaining rapidly before his temporary ability to communicate expires, “Yeah, Clyde. Did you just want to hear me say it? I fucking love you.”
There’s an earth-shattering pause, and Clyde big, stupid, puppy-dog eyes are watery saucers staring dumbfounded at him when he continues to rant breathlessly without the consent of his logic, “I’m in love with you, and every time you tell me about that stupid bitch treating you like shit it kills me because not only does it just go to show you’d rather be with someone who doesn’t give a shit about you than me, but I also have to watch her walk all over you and use you and control you and make you miserable. I want you to be okay, and I know if I had the chance, I would do everything to make you beyond okay—happy. So… there you go. Now you know how I feel. And it fucking sucks, so please give me some space for a while.”
For the second time of the horrible day, Craig takes full advantage of the speed walking his long legs allow and he speeds away from Clyde. He feels a strange, numbing combination of vacant and full of raw emotions. He is utterly exhausted from everything he’s been through within less than 24 hours, and rather than dwell on it, he drops face first into his mattress and forces himself to take a nap.
_
“What do you mean he isn’t coming?” Clyde demands, inadvertently clenching his fists against the cafeteria table.
Tweek shrugs, “He’s just not coming. He says he doesn’t want to.”
Of course, Clyde thinks bitterly. The one chance he thinks he will get beyond a fleeting smile or wave in the hall to have a real interaction with Craig has been completely squashed. It is only a few days before Homecoming, and he feels all of his excitement for the dance leak out like air from a balloon.
It’s been a few weeks since he coaxed a decent conversation from Craig. He does his best to understand the position Craig is in and how terrible and awkward it must feel, but more than anything, he misses him. Clyde had begun missing him the moment he walked away after confessing that he is in love with him and asking for space. He respects that space because he respects Craig, but he so badly wants to invade it.
It’s a bit alarming how much he misses Craig—it feels like a facet of his physical being had been detached. He is sure he would not even miss his right leg as much as he misses his best friend.
Clyde had begun to miss not only him, but everything about him. Each dumb comment he made or kept to himself was missing a punchy, borderline rude quip to balance it out. Each time he came across a hilarious meme or video, there was no one to share it with that he is positive would understand and appreciate it the same way Craig would. He even misses the sound of his nasally, monotonous voice, and the sweet smell of his coconut shampoo that wafts through the air whenever pulls his endless array of beanies off of his head.
How deeply he craves to be in Craig’s presence further complicates his already questionable feelings.
“This is your fault for being so damn lovable, Clyde.” Token chimes in jokingly.
Tweek and Kenny snicker in unison as Clyde remains completely unamused. He is almost annoyed at the comment—and he is definitely annoyed by how close Tweek and Kenny are. Kenny’s arm is linked around Tweek’s middle from behind, and Tweek has slung a leg across his thighs and periodically rests his head against his shoulder. He can’t recall the last time he and Anna were casually, sweetly entwined like that.
He wishes it were his leg pressed to Craig’s thighs.
_
It’s a long shot, but Clyde sends it anyways; and it takes him so long to come up with that almost everything is actually spelled correctly.
to Spaceman Craig: Hey. I’m sorry for reaching out to you when I know that you don’t really want to talk, but I just wanna say that I really hope u got to homecoming. Not for me or for anyone else but I know that you secretly really like to listen to the music and watch all of our dumbass classmates act stupid. I dont want to ruin oen of your last high school dances and I don’t want to be the one who comes between you and your friends. So if u want, I’ll even stay home so u can go and be comfortable. And for what its worth, i really miss you.
He slightly regrets sending the final part of the declaration but does anyway. He expects no response anyway; so, he is quite shocked when his phone chimes a few minutes later. His stomach drops.
From Spaceman Craig: go to homecoming. ill think abt it but idk. thx
Relief washed over him and continues to do so when another message comes through, even more unexpected.
From Spaceman Craig: imy too.
Clyde wonders if everyone feels this much relief and pure joy at an ‘I miss you’ text from their best friend. Or if it is normal to daydream about Craig in formal wear after receiving a picture from his girlfriend in her Homecoming dress.
_
Craig scrutinizes himself in the mirror. The ensemble he’s thrown together is an interesting culmination of formal attire from church, the previous year’s Homecoming, his cousin’s wedding, and the tattered, black high-top Converse he wears nearly every day (all of his dress shoes are pre-growth spurt or for marching band). After hearing of his change of heart to attend the dance, Tweek had threatened to burn any hat he put on his head, and he definitely believed that he would. He spent an absurd time carefully coming his thick, dark fringe to the side, hating it, and then readjusting to a more intentional bedhead look.
He lets out a breath as realigns his suspenders and questions for the millionth time if the yellow of his tie was a stupid color on him. He quickly runs out of time to change anything when he receives his fourth all-caps message from Tweek threatening him to come outside lest they be SUPER FUCKING LATE, which is for some reason Tweek’s greatest fear.
The second he pulls the door of Token’s sleek, new SUV ajar, his friend’s frantic shouting spills out, “What the fuck were you doing, man?! It’s going to take us forever to get through the line now!”
“Calm your fucking tits, Tweek, there’s only, like, two hundred kids in our entire school.” He snaps back as he climbs into the far back. It feels like a slap in the face for several reasons, the main two being that is easily the tallest member of the group and that he is the only one alone where he sits. Wendy is in the passenger’s seat adjusting her eye makeup in the flip down mirror, looking exceptional in the shimmery, dark blue spaghetti strap dress that mirrors Token’s navy tie. Kenny and Tweek link their hands together again in the middle row, wearing match black blazers and matching floral neck accessories, a tie for Tweek and a bowtie for Kenny.
Kenny turns to him and grants him a lazy smirk, “You look hot, Tucker. Are you ready to Pretty Woman Clyde’s ass?”
Craig furrow his dark brows, “What?”
Tweek snorts, peering over at his boyfriend, “I feel like I know what you’re trying to say, but it doesn’t really apply, love,”—he turns to face Craig—”It’s more of a Miss Congeniality situation, since Craig is the last person you’d expect to get dressed up to impress someone.”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t trying to impress anyone, it was for a mission.” Token chimes in.
Craig shakes his head, “Who the fuck said I’m doing this to impress anyone?” In unison, eight disbelieving eyes are on him. He rolls his, “Whatever.”
“Have you guys ever seen GBF? It’s actually sort of like that! Except, Craig was already out and Clyde’s bi and they’re going to end up together.” Wendy adds, making everyone chuckle.
Craig crosses his arms over his chest and slumps against the leather of the seat. “My life isn’t a stupid rom-com.”
“Just embrace it, stretch. And embrace Clyde tonight.” Kenny tells him, making an irritating smooching sound effect with is lips.
Despite his friends being absolutely stupid, Craig has to cover his lips. He is inwardly gushing about the prospect of surprising Clyde at Homecoming and sweeping each other off of their feet. The flicker of hope is swiftly extinguished by the remembrance that Clyde coupled up along with everyone else besides himself.
_
It is his fourteenth time glancing to the entrance of the gym in one minute. Clyde is absolutely obsessed with the possibility of Craig making an appearance at the dance, where he is feeling rather low despite having the gorgeously dressed Anna on his arm. They are surrounded by socialites from the top of the narrow South Park High School food chain—something that used to excite him, but now means absolutely nothing without the addition of his best friend making fun of everyone under his breath.
“Hey, are you okay, Clyde?” Stan asks after a sip of punch.
Clyde forces himself to look away from the door and at the face of his concerned friend and scowling girlfriend. He nods, “Yeah, I’m cool, I’m just waiting to see Tweek and them.”
“Gotcha,” Stan nods, also waiting to link up with his good friend, Kenny, who always smuggles them edibles for school dances. “You just look sort of depressed.”
“He’s been out of it all day,” Anna explains with a faux humorous tone, “C’mon, babe, let’s go get some punch! That will make you feel better.”
Clyde allows himself to be whisked away from Stan and a few of Anna’s cheerleader friends and toward the refreshment table. As soon as they are out of earshot from their acquaintances, Anna’s voice falls to a harsh whisper, “What the hell is wrong with you?! You look like someone ran over your dog.”
“I’m fine,” he shoots back, casually leaning away from her firm grip on his forearm. “I’m just looking out for my friends.”
Anna lets out an annoyed breath through her nose as she prepares Clyde a clear, plastic cup of the sugary, red liquid. He takes it from her and sips tentatively, still making no effort to keep his stare trained away from the entrance of the room that is packed with dancing, sharply dressed teenagers.
Unable to ignore her seething whispers even over the loud bass of the music, Clyde’s attention is ripped away again after a few more moments of apparently ignoring Anna, “What is your problem, Clyde?! You’ve been so fucking weird lately, what is going on?!”
“Nothing!” He exclaims, shrugging, “I’m just waiting for those guys! I’m not sure if Craig is coming or not, I just hope he does.”
“Who fucking cares if Craig comes or not? He’s been nothing but a whiney little bitch for the last month, I’m so over hearing about him constantly.” Anna rants, crossing her arms over her cleavage.
Clyde grants her a glare, “What? I don’t even talk about him that much!”
“Are you serious?” Anna scoffs, gesturing for emphasis, “I swear every other word out of your mouth is Craig! You need to stop worrying so much about that asshole.”
If this were a movie, Clyde feels that this would be the record scratch moment. Evidence of this accusation flash through his mind like a frantically cut montage of talking about, worrying about, laughing about, thinking about Craig. He notices for the first time his heart has been clenching, as he had gotten used to the feeling since Craig stopped conversing with him on a daily basis. He realizes he couldn’t care less about being on the ballot for Homecoming King, or how attractive Anna looks with painted lips and a matching scarlet dress, or dancing the night away to the playlist of songs he knew by heart, or anything that did not pertain to Craig Tucker.
“I’m actually relieved you guys stopped hanging out. He’s always been such an annoying loser—”
“Don’t fucking talk about him like that.” Clyde interrupts her, finally shifting his full attention to her.
She is taken aback by the assertion, “What?! He’s been acting like a dickhead to you for the past month anyways!”
“He’s not a fucking loser or a dickhead he’s…” Clyde can feel his chest rising and falling more rapidly now, hands clammy. “He’s just upset.”
Anna presses on, “Who fucking cares about that?
“I do!” He pauses, wetting his lips. “I fucking—you know what, Anna? We’re done.”
Anna’s eyeliner heavy eyes practically bulge out of her head, a furious flush immediately rising against her cheeks. “What?!”
“I’m breaking up with you. We’re done.”
With that, Clyde tries to turn away from her, but her hand quickly gasps his arm and coaxes him back, “You can’t do this to me! You can’t just break up with me during Homecoming! Who the fuck do you think you are?!”
“Not your problem anymore.” Clyde asserts with a sarcastic smile, jerking away from her successfully this time.
He takes a few strides away and hears her shout, “You’re seriously doing this to me?! After everything I’ve done for you?!”
Clyde scoffs, throwing her a disbelieving scowl over his shoulder, “Oh, kiss my ass! I’m going to go find the person who actually does shit for me and loves me. Fuck you.”
Returning to his journey out of the vicinity, still breathing heavily, he cannot help but feel immense relief. For the first time in his life, he stood up for himself, and he is confident in what he wants. He stalks purposefully toward the exit of the gym, ready to jump in his car and head to Craig’s house.
When he turns the corner out of the gymnasium, he sees a drive down the road won’t be necessary to find the other boy.
Craig is flanked by Tweek and Kenny, Token and Wendy trailing behind, all laughing at one another. Everyone seems to stop when they find Clyde pausing before them. When he meets Craig’s gaze, his insides effectively dissolve to mush—not only from how relieved he was, but also from how fucking hot Craig looks.
Clyde is breathless as his friend approaches him and ignores the wolf whistles from Token and Kenny on their way into the gym. Craig nods at him after scrutinizing his baffled expression, “Hey, man… are you okay?” He cannot take his eyes off of Craig’s long legs deliciously accentuated in black slacks that point straight down to the endearing edition of casual footwear. Clyde does not even realize that he is staring until Craig repeats the reiterates the sentiment, “What’s wrong?”
Blinking up to Craig, his heart flutters. He is overcome with relief that Craig ended up accepting his effort to get him to come to the dance. “Nothing! I just… I can’t believe you came.”
Craig smirks, “That’s what she said.”
The brunette grants Craig a wide smile, laughing lightly and pinching his eyebrows together, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just here to make fun of stupid classmates. Where were you going?” Craig quirks an eyebrow at the pair of keys in his hand.
Clyde glances down at his keys and then back up to Craig as he stuffs them back into his pocket with a jingle. He answers in a round-about way, “I broke up with Anna.”
It is Craig’s turn to appear caught off guard, “Oh… that’s awesome.”
“Yeah, it is,” Clyde agrees with a breathless laugh. “I was going to find you…”
“Oh,” Craig grants him one of those rare, genuinely happy smiles, rendering Clyde’s knees jelly. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, it is,” he huffs again. They stand there for a moment, gaping at one another dumbly, smiling and blushing. “Do you want to go in there with me? As like… my date?”
“It’s a little late to ask that, don’t you think?” Craig questions, though he feels that he will burst at the seams.
Clyde pouts a lip, “Is that a no?”
Craig rolls his eyes and takes a stride forward toward him. He holds his hand out, still grinning down at him, “I’ve always found it pretty hard to say no to you.”
The decision to dump his girlfriend in the middle of a school dance seemed even less questionable to Clyde when he accepts the gesture and entwines their fingers. He has never felt such an intense combination of relief and joy as they start to the gym together, hand in hand.
Hesitation stops Craig in his tracks for a moment, “Aren’t you afraid Anna will go psycho on you? Or me? Or both?”
Clyde shakes his head, “I’m not afraid of anything with you next to me.”
Craig scrunches his nose, “Lame.”
“Get used to it! I have a lot of lame to catch up on, not talking to you in forever.” Clyde pleads his case as they continue tracing into the space together.
“It’s only been, like, a month. If that. And you still saw me every day.” Craig argues.
From not only his pushback, but also the way his shoulders tense, Clyde can tell that it is Craig who’s feeling a big afraid. He grins and drops his hand, replacing it with an arm around his slim middle. “Shut up. I missed you.”
Craig grants him a smile that means he missed him also. The pair quickly come across their small congregation of friends, earning four knowing smiles. Token wiggles his eyebrows, “Hey, lovebirds.”
Craig flips him off, which only brings on more heckling and another are wrapped around him from Clyde, who is beaming. Tweek places a hand on his hip. “So, can we finally stop pretending you two aren’t a thing?”
“I don’t know, Tweek, I think he’s probably still grieving the very recent death of his relationship with Anna.” Craig jests, glancing down at the boy attached to him.
Clyde hums, “Yeah, not even a little bit.”
Craig breaths much easier when Clyde hanging on him like a koala bear. It’s not that he isn’t used to being clung to by the slightly shorter boy, but the implication of his actions are outside of the bounds of platonic relationship. Though he was planning on going into the dance with a positive to let loose for the night he did not expect to end up with Clyde in his arms, feeling completely whole for the first time in as long as he can remember.
“Will you dance with me?” Clyde asks with a sweet grin when their friends flutter off the dance floor for the first slow song.
“Sure.” Craig responds simply, his heart skipping a beat. They make their way toward the heart of the gym where several other pairs are clinging to one another and swaying back and forth. Thankfully only one of the overwhelming amount of heterosexual couples are swapping saliva in full view of everyone around them—easy to ignore. It is easy to ignore everything around him anyway, with his long arms twisted around Clyde’s hips and the shorter boy’s arms wrapped around his neck.
Clyde cannot fathom what he ever saw in Anna over Craig. He plunges face-first into a deep, unwavering admiration for every feature of Craig face; his perpetually half-hooded hazels that fill with warmth when in contact with his undeserving eyes, the small hint of stubble grazing his smooth skin along his jawline and upper lip, and his dark, soft hair that had been styled into submission without the use of a hat for the first time in God knows how long. He cannot stop smiling at every new detail he falls for—his cheeks are sore.
The sway in silence for the song’s entirety, basking in the thrill of their newly developing relationship. A familiar, upbeat tune emits through the speakers next, and most couples separate to either wonder around and wait for a better song that know to come on or to dance in a less intimate fashion. Craig and Clyde don’t dare to separate just yet—only move a bit more loosely in conjunction with the mood shift.
Clyde hums the words under his breath, “And wouldn't it be nice to live together, in the kind of world where we belong?”
Craig interrupts him despite being pleased to hear his soft singing voice, “You know this song?”
“Yeah, it’s on one of your playlists,” Clyde reminds him with a smile. “It’s the Beach Boys, right?”
With an impressed smile, Craig confirms it, “Yeah, I just didn’t think you actually liked any of my music. It’s not poppy enough for you.”
“I don’t only listen to pop music, dude! It’s like… half of what I listen to.” Clyde assures him with a pointed look.
“And the other half is Post Malone, which is basically pop rap.”
“Why are you saying that like an insult?! He’s amazing!” Clyde asserts. They laugh together before he continues, “You know, you and him were what made me realize I’m definitely not straight.”
Craig lifts is eyebrows, “Me?”
Clyde nods. “Especially you. You were my first arousal boner.”
Craig’s eyes widen even further. “Okay, that’s a lie. You said Bebe was.”
“No, that was the lie. Remember Cartman’s party where we were all sleeping on the floor in his basement and we had to share a sleeping bag because I spilled Dr. Pepper all over mine? Yeah…” He made a popping sound with his mouth and rose his index finger. The revelation makes Craig bark a laugh. “That felt strangely really good to get off my chest.”
“I am very glad you confided in me. And, it makes me feel better about that fact that you’ve caused a number of boners for me.” Craig replies as he traces gentle circles against the small of his back.
Clyde smirks suggestively, “What about right now?”
“Not right now. Too many people I hate surrounding us.”
The smirk remains when he leans in closer to whisper, “What if I kissed you?”
Craig’s breath hitched in his throat. His eyes flutter at the closeness of the brush of their cheeks. He breathes, “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
Clyde needs no more encouragement. He cups the nape of Craig’s neck and crashes their lips together ungracefully. Craig grins at the clumsiness of the kiss and drags him closer. Their chests press together as they glide their lips along one another’s passionately.
“We need to do this later.” Craig concludes as a chorus of ooh’s and whoops sound around them.
Clyde shrugs. “I kinda like the attention.”
“Of course you do,” Craig chuckles before melting into another kiss on the lips. Nothing had ever felt so simultaneously amazing and overwhelming than finally kissing the boy he loves after years of believing he would never get the chance. They share sweet, chaste kisses and disregard everyone around them.
When Clyde draws back at the end of the third song they’ve dance to wrapped in one another’s embrace, he tells him, “If it wasn’t already clear, I’m also in love with you.”
“I gathered as much from you kissing me and getting boners form me,” Craig quips, but softens, “I love you, too.”
Clyde is giddy to hear those words from the other boy again and wraps him up in a tight hug. They continue to sway and kiss, Craig surprisingly uncaring of the publicity (and the utmost certainty that he will soon suffer the wrath of Clyde’s crazy ex-girlfriend).