Dare.

It was brazen, shameless, this dooming myself. Why did I do it? Because I didn't fucking care. People already thought the worst possible of me-well, I hadn't killed anybody yet, but still-and it's not like my upbringing caused a sense, not any shred, of self respect.

And they knew. No one expected any less. Though Clyde went on smirking at the power I had just given him. He leaned back into the bottom of the couch, sitting with the rest of us on the floor, and contemplated, thinking of what horror I would be forced to submit myself to next. I say forced, though I wasn't physically forced in any way, because I had agreed to play the damn game and that meant agreeing to its twisted and limitless rules.

His face lit up with his newfound idea of torture, and he blurted it out with a short laugh.

"Kiss Craig."

Stan spluttered, and the rest of us-Craig, Token, and I-were silent. A moment passed in which we waited for Stan's infamously weak stomach to get the best of him and Clyde watched me with a raised eyebrow.

Unable to look at his expression of superiority anymore, I turned to look at Craig, who watched the coffee table impassively, about as active and lively as a statue. He was impermeable, unreadable-I wished he would just flip me up and tell me hell no and to fuck off, but.

He at last, under our audience's careful scrutiny, raised his head, dark cerulean eyes locking on mine, cold as ever. And he gave this-this almost imperceptible nod, intended obviously for me and only me, a calculated, miniscule, stutter of his chin. I moved forward on the pale carpet, crawling clumsily to sit directly in front of him. He remained where he was, staring me down with his arctic gaze, deathly still.

I took the initiative. Bracing my hands on his thighs, I leaned forward, pausing a few inches from his face and waiting. He returned this action, bringing his lips forth in a fluid motion so that they were just almost on mine. But not. We sat there, each of our bodies and heads entirely tense and rigid, waiting for the other to crack in a silent competition. Whether winning was kissing him before he did or pulling back first I did not know, so I just stared at him.

Half of me wanted to just go ahead and get it over with; half of me refused to lose to him. I watched his parted lips uncertainly, feeling the warm breaths that whistled through them.

I broke first.

I lunged forward for his mouth, lips colliding with nothing when he drew back before any contact could be made. He-he almost smiled, if that was possible for him, as if to make fun of how utterly embarrassed I was as we both waited for the room to explode in 'Kenny you fag'.

I didn't know if the color had drained from or risen to my face, but I was humiliated beyond everything. Shouldn't have been, considering everyone well knew my habits, doing anything with any girl and/or most guys without thinking twice about it, but this was Craig fucking Tucker.

God.

Everyone was silent, turning towards Craig, who looked entirely unfazed, his achingly soft-looking lips forming around a single word.

Dare.