A/N: Hurrah this chapter only took me forever to do. Unfortunately this means, I'm going to be really slow with updates. School's a killer.

This is going to be a POV story (it will switch off between Clyde and Craig - first chapter is Clyde), and I have to apologize, I switched between past and present tense a lot in this chapter because I couldn't make up my mind, so, hopefully some day (soon) I will go and fix it (I'm pretty sure it will all be in present tense, though). I didn't specifically cite the pairing(s) in this story, just because it's like a mild spoiler I guess, but really it should be pretty obvious what's going on.

T for language and whatever. Slash in this story so if you're not cool with that, sorry.

I never thought I was going to end up one of those people with a safely routine life – with a predictable, but good life. I mean, seriously. I know in elementary school I basically thought I was God's gift to the human race and that my life was epically awesome, but in elementary school nothing really seems to count. When you're little, you're so busy making up other worlds and lives you don't bother to think about your own. Which is nice, there's that whole ignorance is bliss thing. I didn't really start thinking about life, about my job and a family and surviving outside of high school without a tax-free ten-dollar-a-week-allowance, until high school. Around the time I realized I was gay. Okay, really, it wasn't "about" the time, it was the exact time. A realization like that, your whole view sort of changes, like you were walking and then the whole world gets tilted sideways so everything is skewed and kind of falling away from you. A family - would I get a family? Would I still have my family, what would my parents think? My friends? Could I get a job? Would anyone like me? When the most prominent gay figure in your life is your 4th grade elementary school who went through multiple mid-life crises, many of which involved sex changes and sexual identity issues, it's really no wonder you might end up with such a frightening view of homosexuality.

I came out on accident. It was 11th grade, and I had gotten stuck in the Technical Research class, which was basically a class where you researched for the sake of research. Our teacher had given us some lame assignment where we just had to do a powerpoint about whatever the hell we wanted and present it to the class. It was my turn to go, after Cartman's long powerpoint about Hitler and his theorized relationship to Jesus Christ, so basically, just more of the same bullshit from him. My topic was about homosexuality in Ancient Rome - not because I'm a fag or something, seriously, we were just studying Ancient Rome in World History so I thought it'd be easy because I wouldn't have to do more research. Really. I didn't even think it was that weird until after I was done. I got some sad applause from the few kids who were still awake (namely Pip and Gregory, something wrong with the Brits I guess) and went back to my seat, behind Cartman.

"Alright, Kevin you're up next," said our teacher after a slight delay. I don't think you should be allowed to teach a class you won't even pay attention to. Two seconds later, Cartman's hand shot up."Yes, Eric, what is it?"

"Uhm, yea, I was just wondering if I could change seats 'cuz I'm totally not cool with having Clyde-queero oggle my ass all day."

I want the world to crack open and swallow me whole. It shouldn't have even bothered me. I mean, it's Cartman for Christ's sake. He stopped getting classroom-wide laughs for all his stupid shit after fifth grade. But even the quiet snickers I could hear behind me were enough to cause my face to heat up, like the world really did decide to drop me down into hell, only it took the rest of the class with me.

"Shut up," I said, but the words could hardly make it past the choking embarrassment in my throat.

"Oooh, now I'm real scared. What are you gonna do, Clyde, pound my butt all night?" mocked Cartman. The laughter was increasing, I could feel it crawling into my ears and echoing around my head. It was all I saw as I jumped up and, without thinking about how stupid it was and how dumb I was acting, ran out the door.

Most people will disappear to the bathroom to cry (and, embarrassingly enough, I could tell from the clawing, burning feeling in my throat I was on the brink of tears) - if you're a girl that is, or Butters. But I was trying to avoid the whole being a total gaywad thing, which was going fantastically so far, so instead I ended up hiding out beneath the bleachers. It was December, Christmas vacation was in just another week and already a soft smattering of snow was beginning to fall. Beneath the bleachers the snow fell in neat little lines, as divided by the gaps between the long benches. Lines that I kicked and smeared over as moved to sit in the middle, directly beneath one gap so that the snow would land and stick to my hair. When I was little, and I still thought snow was cool even though it was basically a constant in my life, I was always fascinated by the way hair just seemed to draw snow to itself. When I went inside I used to rush quickly to the mirror, so I could look at the snowflakes still stuck to my hair, before they all melted.

Now there's going to be snow all over me - soaked through the seat of my pants, stuck to the back of my J-Mart jacket, creeping down my bent over neck, because I've bundled myself up like I do when I'm home–home, not at school, not just outside the school, which begs the question, what am I doing?

I realized I had basically blew it. Cartman was just being a jackass, cracking gay jokes like he always did. But to react? To run away and cry like the fucking fag I knew I was, like they all knew I was now...I wanted to just sit there forever and let the snow freeze over me. Being remembered as the creepy little snow-statue was looking better than being the town fag at this point. I couldn't imagine what people would think, I mean, it was junior year and that's basically one of the worst years to suffer huge friendship-break-ups. Everyone's already cemented themselves into groups by then, it's impossible to make new friendships. Bebe...shit, Bebe would know now...I'd been telling myself for a while that I was going to tell her, but...

"You're more of a fag than I thought." I started, jerking my head up to look for intruder, and found Craig, sauntering towards me with his ever-present 'fuck the world' look. "Or else you wouldn't be hiding here acting like a pussy, right?"

I said nothing, only watching as Craig slowed by me. He stood for a moment, looking down at me while I stared back up at him, before he finally sank down to my level, tugging his hat tighter onto his head.

"You know you can't let that fatass get to you," said Craig after a minute, "I mean, sorry to sound like our esteemed school counselor, but really. That's all Cartman does. He just eats shit and then throws it back up on people."

"How'd you know where I was?" I asked instead, my head still sunk into my arms so that my voice was muffled in a way reminscent of Kenny and his elementary school parka.

"I had to sort of look around for a bit, I thought you might have been crying in the boy's bathroom but it was only Butters."

"You're gonna miss the rest of Tech Research..."

Anything to avoid the real topic of conversation. I looked to see Craig leaning back, his hat accented by scattered snowflakes, "Nah, I'm going home after this. I got 'sent home early.'"

"What'd you do, flip off the teacher?" I snorted, turning my gaze back towards the ground.

"No, I punched Cartman in the face. And apparently our school has a 'no violence towards shit heads' policy that I was unaware of."

"Wha, really? Why?"

"I don't know, it's as much a mystery to me as your repressed homosexuality is to you, I bet."

I blushed, "I meant why'd you punch him."

"Because he was copying my math homework," supplied Craig sarcastically, "Why do you think?"

I hadn't said anything, because I couldn't think of anything that could match the grateful pounding in my chest. Craig was standing by me.

"Look," he said, and I was surprised to feel a hand on my shoulder, because the closest Craig got to people was his fist in their face, as demonstrated by Cartman, "If it's any...help, or something, you're not alone." And then the pressure on my shoulder was gone, and I looked up to see Craig walking away.

I hadn't realized at the time what exactly it was that he meant when he said "you're not alone." I had just thought that he meant he wouldn't abandon me or anything. But nearly one year later, I was surprisingly shocked to find I was wrong, and now, eight years later as I'm getting out of bed, Craig's sleeping form stretched out next to me, it's clear what he meant.

I'm not happy to be up - I don't understand why my alarm clock is ringing. It's Saturday morning, it should be off. I'm slamming down repeatedly on the clock, wondering why it won't shut the hell up when I realize the shrilly ring that woke me up doesn't sound like my alarm clock, so much as it does a phone. In my defense, I'm not very clever this early in the morning, and did I mention it's Saturday? I'm torn by my body's first desire, which is to stay wrapped in the warm, safe sheets and attempt to fall back asleep, and my second desire, which is to just shut up the goddamn phone. I wait it out, letting the answering machine take the call, only to hear the phone start ringing two seconds later. Grumbling, I get up, trip over the sheets that my ankles have ended up tangled up in, and move over to the corner of the room where our phone is. The only phone jack in our room is in the one clear corner, and we're too cheap to buy an extra little table for it to stand on so it's just sort of there in it's own little no-man's land.

"What?" I snap into the receiver, sitting against the wall. In the corner of my eye, I can see Craig's still sleeping body shift over, his legs already starting to take advantage of my absence and invade my side of the bed. Fantastic, I think, but I can't help but smile. The man can sleep through basically anything, including the yelling and hitting of an upset boyfriend. I can tell you that for a fact.

The loud "GAH!" on the other end of the phone is enough to jolt me awake a little more than was necessary. I stare at the phone, trying to remember just where the hell I'd heard that voice before. All I have to do is bring the phone back to my ear, and it all comes rushing back, "...and I thought 'Jesus this is a bad idea! Who knows what's happened they could be government slaves now or something!' but in case if you weren't, I thought you might get mad if I came back and you didn't know and, Christ! I don't want you guys to be mad!"

The strained voice, the breathless tone, traced with the occassional high-pitched caffeinated squeak that skipped an octave above his regular pitch. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. "Tweek!" I shouted into the phone, not having to worry about Craig waking up because, like I said, it's Craig.

"AH!"

"Holy - ! I haven't heard from you in forever," I laughed, wondering briefly if I was still asleep. Then again, if anyone was going to send me a frantic call this early in the morning I guess I should have realized it'd be Tweek Tweak.

"Ehn, Clyde?"

"Yea man," I breathed.

"Is, is Craig there?"

"He's still asleep," I reply, feeling a little miffed that Tweek's first thoughts after talking to me seem to be something like 'why is this not Craig.' Then again, Craig's the one who's been keeping in touch with him after all these years. "And trust me, there's no way he's waking up anytime soon."

"Okay, um–arg! Alright well, uh, can I tell you something and you can also tell him?"

I shift position, staring up at the ceiling. There's a weird stain up there from when Craig had the 'genius' idea of having a beer gun fight by filling up water guns with beer. Just the thought of all the cleaning from the morning after is enough to make me shudder. "'Course Tweek," I say, "What's up?"

"Um, I'm coming back?"

"Dude no way! How long are you staying for?"

"Er, forever? Or until I get sick of South Park again? Jesus Christ, I dont' know!"

Now I'm definetley awake, "Woah, you're coming back, like, for good?"

"Gahn! Should I not!?"

"No, no, it's awesome! I just can't see what makes South Park better than Washington DC."

"Wha...what makes South Park better!? Than Washington!? Do you know what Washington has? There are politicians all over the place! Not to mention all these protests and, and frighteningly liberal people and Jesus, the politicians! With their cellphones! There are cellphones everywhere Clyde I swear I'm going to die of radiation poisoning or something! And food, people sell food off the streets! And oh God, the homeless people and the – the – there are people who play music all over the place! Right in the street! Everywhere!"

I laugh. It's the first time I've heard Tweek's ridiculous spazzing out in such a long time, I had almost forgotten what he sounded like. I can just picture him on the other end, getting tangled up in the phone cord as he freaks out about politicans.

Tweek moved out to DC sometime after dropping out of college, when his dad, Mr. Tweak, decided to expand his business. With Washington's addiction to political scandals and expensive coffee, Mr. Tweak had reasoned it would be a good place to open a second shop, and Tweek had quickly volunteered to go run it. It was weird how Tweek had basically jumped at the opportunity to move halfway across the country.

"Where are you staying?" I asked.

"I found a small house -- ack! spider!" The line is filled with a small series of cries and exclamations, from which I can only deduce a small battle to reclaim a pair of socks which have been covered in spider webs is taking place. "Sorry, sorry about that," pants Tweek on the other end, "But uhm, yea I found a house, it's on the same street as Tweak Bros. so that's good 'cause then I won't have to commute and kill the planet."

"Yea, good poi-" I start, the end of my sentence cut off by a huge yawn, which sends Tweek into hysterics about how I'm boring him and how awful he is and how he should really just hang up, "Okay, okay, hold on."

"Seriously! I don't want you to fall asleep with the phone or something and then never hang up and leave the line busy and miss important stuff!"

"When are you coming back?"

"I'm getting there tonight, at like, ten or something and then I'm gonna go see my parents and stay with them until the moving truck comes."

"Dude you have to come see us tomorrow then, okay?" I try to suppress another yawn, and fail.

"Augh! I'm hanging up now!"

"Okay, okay. Hey, don't freak out. And seriously, you're coming to see us. Have a safe flight, man."

"Ghn, thanks! You too - or, I mean, well, uhm, have a safe...day. Er...bye!" There was a sharp click, and the line went dead. I shook my head, still grinning. Trust Tweek to call you out of the blue and tell you he was moving back to South Park after not even seeing him for...I don't even know how long. I replaced the phone on its regular dock, and then made a colossal effort to rise from the floor. I looked towards the bed. Craig had rolled over diagonally onto his stomach, so that he basically enveloped the entire bed, like that big blob thing from that awful horror movie he rented last year. Craig had a special place in his heart for poorly-written low-budget horror movies of the later part of the 20th century, a special place I always grew well acquainted with every Halloween. I stayed standing, watching the small of his back rise and fall from the small push of his stomach with each breath. He had ended up winding himself about the crumpled sheets so that they spiralled up his leg and across his torso and arms, like some sort of kinky roman toga. It was funny to watch him sleep. With some people, mainly, the loud, obnoxious ones who are nothing but muscle and action and snide commentary when they're awake, the sight of them asleep is just such a contrasting image it's like two different people.

I was already up now, and since it seemed like too much of a hassle to get back the bed I figured it was time to continue my job-search, which seemed to have hit a dead end. In South Park, of all places. What are the odds. I moved into the kitchen area of our small apartment, grabbing yesterday's newspaper and settling down with a black sharpie. Spreading out the newspaper on the kitchen table and biting off the cap on my marker, I was reminded again of what an idiot I was after graduating high school. College? I'd thought. Like I just went through twelve years of the public education system and now I'm going to pay for at least four more years? I don't think so.

Well, good job past Clyde, because you really fucked present-day Clyde over, I mused while skimming over the want ads, which take up maybe half a page of our local paper. It's not like you really need a college degree to do anything in this town, but then that means that you're basically limited to living only in South Park, and some consolation that is. Craig doesn't care – it's part of the beauty of him, in how he genuinely does not care about anything. And then there's me, who's freaking out over whether I should submit a job application to Wall-mart, the grocery store, or both. At least I'm nothing compared to Tweek.

I swept aside a couple of beer cans that were covering the rest of the newspaper page, making a mental note that I'd have to buy more aspirin at the shopping mart later, before deciding to give up on the job search. Wall-mart and Food Plus, here I come, I thought as I made my way out of the kitchen and back into the bedroom to grab some clothes -- I don't even know what. Sadly, Craig and I had descended to the point of coupleship where we didn't even keep our clothes separate. Everything was just joined in one big conglomeration of dirty laundry. Occasionally I'd make an effort to sort everything all out and actually fold a couple of socks or iron a shirt or two, but Craig is a natural disaster in his own right. One pass through our room and everything's a mess again. After so many years of such behavior, I've basically resigned myself to living in a war zone for the rest of my life.

"Hey Craig, I'm going to the grocery store, I'll be back in like twenty minutes," I say to the air. I know he's probably still sleeping on the verge of death, but I like to just always feel like we're on the same page anyways. I turned to glance over my shoulder at Craig, who has made no response. Poking my head into the living room, I looked over the scattering of crumpled beer cans and bottles that had sprouted all over the furniture overnight. I didn't know how many people Craig had over last night, but either way, I was guessing he's not getting up for another five or six hours at least. Hell, Tweek might even have been able to make it back here and be all moved in by the time Craig woke up to start bitching about the killer hang over I knew he was gonna have.

It's cold out - surprise, surprise - so I grab a scarf and jacket on my way out the door. The sky is clear, leaving sunlight free to spill onto our dirty little town. Despite the brightness, it's still gotta be a few degrees below zero. There's something so wrong about having a sunny day that's still freezing. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I start the short trek to the local Food Plus, where I'm planning on dropping off my application and picking up aspirin and cereal, Craig's traditional hangover breakfast.

It's almost eerie how totally normal the day is going so far. I feel like with the knowledge of Tweek's arrival, something should be different - the public should be rebelling, aliens should be discovered on the moon, I should get a job. Something that would just throw everything off. But nothing's happening, hell, I don't even feel different, I just feel like I should feel different.

A car horn honks right next to me, which, I'm sort of embarassed to admit, almost -- okay, it does, make me jump a foot in the air. On my left, a car that still glosses with that new, expensive-car shine comes to a smooth stop next to me, and as the tinted windows roll down it's hardly a shock to see Token grinning from the driver's seat. The faded blue scrubs bunched around his body seem almost a crime in the classy, dark leather seats.

He doesn't have to say anything, in two seconds I'm off the sidewalk, pulling open the door and slipping into the passenger seat, adjusting the scarf around my neck so I can speak.

"Turn the heat up, dude, it's freezing today."

"Still too poor to afford gloves, Clyde?" asks Token as he blasts heat in my face.

"We can't all be belabored with rich, overbearing families who insist on giving us cashmere gloves and Maybachs," I reply, picking up the application I had let drop on the floor before. Token snorted in reply.

"Well I know what to get you for Christmas - where are you heading?"

"Food Plus."

For some reason, Token found this amusing, "Nothing says domestic partnership like getting up early to visit the grocery store, huh? Got a shopping list with a cute little nature-themed watermark?"

"I'd like you to know that if you weren't driving right now, I'd totally punch you in the face." Token only laughed, stopping before a red light, "And really, I'm going to drop off an application."

"Application?" He turned to look at me, the same disapproval etched in his brow as I found in my mom's face when I told her college was a waste of time. "Like, for a job?"

"Uh, no college. Yeah, a job."

"I thought you were shooting for something better than waiting tables."

"Food Plus isn't better than stuffing hyperactive five-year-olds with pizza?"

"Barely."

"Well then it's still better," I muttered, before adding, "And it's a helluva improvement compared to unemployed."

"True that," replied Token, "You could always come work at the hospital, you know."

The hospital? Did Token not notice those four years I wasn't at college? "Uh, right, because people without degrees always end up as doctors."

"First of all, it's South Park, so you'd be surprised. And I'm not talking about doctors - pharmacy department could always use a few extra technicians."

"Oh God, wouldn't I have to like, fill up shots and stuff?" I asked, shuddering.

Token's laugh was deep and resounding, a comforting and warm sound in the company of good conversation, or easily condescending when mocking my fear of needles. Look, some people are cool with doctors drilling into their skin and sliding drugs and dead diseases into them, and some people aren't - like me.

"Thanks for the ride," I say as Token drives to a halt in front of the grocery store. The neon letters broadcasting "FOOD PLUS" at the top are mostly burnt out, so the title reads like "OOD PUS."

"No problem. Good luck with the job," he says, shifting the car back into drive when I stop him at the last minute.

"Oh, hey!" I say, just remembering, "Are you busy tomorrow?"

"I think Wendy's looking to rent Mary Poppins - she's on a nostalgic kick right now," he adds in response to my raised eyebrow.

"Okay, um, that's...that's really lame. But you should come by our place, dude, Tweek's gonna be there!"

"Wha? Craig's-twitchy-blonde-bitch Tweek? Thinks mouth wash is a government conspiracy Tweek? Hasn't phoned me up for years Tweek?"

"Do we know any other Tweek's?" I ask, mildly irritated by his first comment, "Yea, he's moving back tonight."

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, staring at the steering wheel, "Really?"

"Yeah really."

"Just when you think South Park's gonna be normal," grinned Token, looking back at me, "Sure, I'll be there tomorrow. See you then."

"Yeah, bye," I say, but he's already drifted across the parking lot. I turn and enter the Food Plus, which is, as always, embarrassingly empty. There's a few bored employees shuffling around the aisles, re-shelving and labeling products under the building's harsh fluorescent lighting. The front is still marked by a small assortment of glass cases that you could pop 50 cents into in exchange for a big sticker or small plastic dinosaur. There were still posters up advertising the Easter sale, which had been over five months ago. This place, it seemed, never changed. A concept which, as I slipped my application into an empty, grey tray, I realized could apply equally as well to me.