Oh, man, I’ve got a funny story about this one. I wasn’t planning on ever posting this because it’s utter shit, but I lost my cellphone on New Year’s Eve, and it turned up in Craig’s Hospital on the other side of town. That’s totally a sign, don’t you think?? So now I have to share it. XD I’m afraid to go against a fabulous coincidence like that.

Warnings: crack, CraigxTweek, CraigxThomas, bitch fighting and lots of language. A few lines of StanxKyle at the very end, because I couldn’t help myself. Sorry about the characterization; I rarely write Team Craig exclusively, so the personalities are pure conjecture. Please enjoy! I would love some feedback on improving this piece of crap!

Comeuppance of the Cart God

With the exception of the Great Cheesy Poof Famine of 1998, all junk food-related disasters in South Park could be traced back to a single stand in the mall. It stood between Burger King and Harbucks, glistening coldly in the shade, its umbrellas vibrant as the bloodiest of wartime sunsets. Everyone who sampled its wares was digging his own grave. It was sweet poison, ambrosial and deadly, drawing unsuspecting shoppers into its pulpy iced palms.

It was the orange smoothie cart.

“Are you crazy?” Tweek cried when Craig called him up. “No one buys those anymore! No one who wants to live!”

Craig was unconvinced. “That’s all superstition, retard.”

“It’s not! Remember when Cartman told everyone in the mall to go there for free cars? Nineteen people got trampled! And Kenny McCormick got squished by the elevator for going against its demons! Ever since the company turned the machine into an actual stand, terrible things have been happening there. People stop acting like themselves! Best friends turn into enemies, then gain ten pounds in each thigh!”

“Hey, we have good metabolisms,” Craig said. “And we’re not going to end up fighting. You, me, Clyde, and Token are super cool with each other; we’ve only fought twice since elementary school.”

“You don’t understand! The smoothie stand--”

“But I need to go shopping for my cousin’s birthday. Come with us, Tweek, it’ll be really boring without you.”

Tweek faltered, his heart pounding a little faster in his chest. Craig wanted him there. He would actually be aware of his absence if he chose not to go. It was the most honest attention Craig had given him since his twelfth birthday, when they had accidentally brushed lips during Suck and Blow and stopped talking to each other for a month afterwards. Since then, they’d been ridiculously platonic. Tweek didn’t bump him around the halls anymore, and Craig didn’t acknowledge their friendship. Hearing it now made Tweek feel giddy for no explicable reason. “Well…I-I’ll go, then, I guess. But we need to be careful. No drama or anything like that, alright?”

“No, no drama,” Craig agreed. “See you there. Oh, and Thomas is coming, so be sure to bring that sweater he left at your house.”

“Wait, what?”

But Craig had already hung up.

“Gah!” Tweek slammed the phone back into its cradle, nearly cracking it in half.

Of course Thomas, his least favorite person in the world, would be joining them. The curse of the smoothie cart was already working its terrible magic. Craig and Thomas had been friends ever since Cartman’s failed stint on Dateline, and although Craig insisted that their relationship was casual, Tweek had once found a whole stack of Thomas’s underwear in his locker. “I was just doing his laundry,” Craig had explained. Laundry, indeed! Maybe the laundry they had dirtied during a passionate bout of love-making. Lying assholes.

Tweek seethed. Who the fuck did Thomas think he was, anyway, securing a place in their group through a stupid neurological disorder? Being unintentionally foul-mouthed wasn’t cool, it was irritating. Especially when you were around people you didn’t know. Especially when every accidental, “Aw, fuck!” made Craig sigh and squeeze his legs together a little tighter.

--not that this was about Craig. Oh, no. It was about Fuckshitbitch-Thomas.

Standing there in the kitchen, Tweek seriously contemplated calling Craig back and telling him where he could shove Thomas’s laundry. But the idea of the two of them sitting together in the food court infuriated him even more. Scowling, Tweek grabbed his jacket, flinging open the front door and peering down the street at the bus stop. It was freezing outside. He stopped, remembering what Craig had asked him to do, then dismissed it and locked up the house behind him. Thomas could go for a day without his stupid little sweater.

Right away, the orange smoothie karma bit him on the ass: Thomas arrived at the mall shivering uncontrollably, so Craig took off his letter jacket and bundled it cozily around his shoulders. “You can borrow it; I don’t mind the cold,” Craig said kindly. “That color’s good on you, anyway.”

Tweek’s hands tightened to fists in his pockets. He wondered what Thomas would look like in black and blue.

“Hey, thanks for inviting me, guys,” Thomas said. “Shit! Ass-blaster!”

“No problem, we’re glad you’re in town again,” said Token. He was studying a directory on the wall, tracing a path between the map of shops. “Okay, so Craig needs to pick up a birthday card and some movies. I wanted to stop by the bookstore…Clyde needs some better dandruff shampoo…”

“What?” said Clyde. “I didn’t say that!”

“…and then we wanted smoothies. So, Hallmark, Suncoast, Waldenbooks, and then we’ll take the escalator in Sears. Tweek, Thomas, did either of you guys need to get anything?”

Thomas twitched. “Sh-eeit!”

“The bathroom’s on the first floor,” Tweek said promptly.

Craig interposed himself immediately. “Tweek, Thomas has this disease called Tourettes syndrome,” he explained. “It makes him say stuff like that, but he doesn’t mean it. It’s a neurological thing. He can’t control what he says.”

“Yeah, really.” Jesus Christ, did Craig think he’d been living under a rock for the past seven years or something? They’d only been hanging out with Thomas since they were nine. Token, who probably had more brain cells than the rest of them put together, looked at him oddly. Thomas gazed fixedly at the floor.

“I’m sorry. Let’s just get this--shit! Asshole, shit!--shopping done.”

“God, it’s even cooler in public,” Craig said, his voice husky.

Thomas snickered, then smiled up at him gratefully. Craig smiled back. The music actually swelled over the mall’s PA system, what the hell. Token lifted an eyebrow, and Clyde casually scratched his head, showering them with a mood-setting screen of dandruff.

Enough was enough. Under the guise of double-checking the directory, Tweek pushed between them and stomped down furiously on Thomas’s sneakered foot.

“Aaah, cock!”

“Sorry,” Tweek said cheerfully.

Thomas finally looked up at him, squarely meeting his gaze. “No problem,” he said, his face calm and unreadable. Then, after a measured pause: “Asshole.”

Tweek stopped.

“Come on, let’s move,” said Clyde impatiently. “I need to be home by dinner.”

“Alright,” said Tweek. He glanced back at Thomas, distrustful, but Thomas was already walking away, Craig’s hand resting lightly on the back of his jacket.

It was the most agonizing shopping trip of Tweek’s life. Craig insisted upon opening every single birthday card in the Hallmark store, then he scoured the bargain bin in Suncoast while Clyde questioned the employees about movies. (“So what was the one where those guys went around busting ghosts?” “…Ghostbusters.” “Oh. How about that one about the pirates of the Caribbean?” “I think it was called Brokeback Mountain, dude.” “Cool, I’ll check it out!”) Thomas got them kicked out of Waldenbooks for swearing, and Clyde got them kicked out of Bath and Body for knocking over a perfume display. By the time they reached the smoothie stand, Tweek was a complete mess.

“This whole trip is doomed,” he whimpered, seizing Token’s arm as he started towards the cart. “No, don’t! Everything has gone wrong so far! It’s just going to get worse, we’re going to fall into the juice-maker or something, or--”

“I want a smoothie,” Token said.

Clyde spoke up. “You know, maybe he’s right. We did almost die on that escalator.”

“I don’t care!” Token bellowed, snapping. “I’ve been with you morons for three whole hours! I smell like old books and J-Mart and vanilla shampoo! Death by juice-maker sounds great right about now! Do whatever you want, but I am getting a goddamn smoothie!”

“Aah, oh god!” Tweek covered his eyes.

But Token stalked over to the stand and ordered his smoothie without incident, and when he sat down at a table, the ceiling didn’t cave in on him or anything. Tweek watched in horrified anticipation. Tentatively, Clyde followed, and was met with equal success. Then Craig dug out an extra five to pay for Thomas’s, and Tweek rushed forward before he thought to stop himself, and the three of them made it to their chairs without killing themselves. Tweek was quivering and the smoothie felt like an urn in his hands, but he was alive. They were all alive.

“Wow, these are really good,” Clyde said, sounding surprised. “Why haven’t we had them before?”

“Because Tweek thought they were cursed,” Token said.

“We’ll get diarrhea,” Tweek insisted, which didn’t sound exactly right to him, but he still felt something disastrous looming in the near future. Orange was the color of traffic cones. It meant danger, for Christ’s sake. Why couldn’t anyone else feel it?

“It’s okay, Tweek,” said Token. “We’re fine.”

Clyde looked into his cup. “I like the little white fleck things they put in these.”

“What little fleck th--oh, sick!”

Tweek cast a quick sideways glance at Craig, then froze. Craig was sitting with his chin cradled in his hands, his glazed eyes fixed lovingly upon the person in front of him. Either ignoring or unaware of his admirer, Thomas was stirring his smoothie carefully with a spoon, lifting it every once in a while to check its consistency. “Shit! Yeah, they’re really good,” he said. “I think they’re best half-melted. Fuck, shit! You know what I mean?”

“Half-melted-fuck-shit,” Clyde repeated agreeably. “Absolutely.”

Thomas wrapped his lips back around the straw and sucked hard. Craig raptly watched the orange liquid rise in its plastic confines, his eyes wide. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face. Thomas peeked up at him questioningly, an amused quirk arching his eyebrow. His lip turned upwards into a puzzled smile.

Go fuck your mother! Tweek screamed mentally, drawing in a deep breath to tell him as much. What came out was somewhat different, as he actually possessed a filter between his brain and his mouth, but the central message remained the same: “Thomas, why do you come visit us so much? Aren’t there better things you could be doing?”

Thomas blinked. Craig blinked. The moment was broken, and Thomas looked at him, caught offguard.

“Not real--cock, cock!--not really.” He paused. “Why?”

Tweek felt his eye twitching. Token shot him a warning look, kicking his ankle under the table, but he ignored him. “Because we have a preexisting hierarchy here among the four of us, and you’re changing the dynamics,” he said, struggling to keep his voice neutral. “We’ve been friends for years, and then you come waltzing in, not even caring about who does what and who’s responsible for who and…and who pays attention to who…”

“Uh, god, I’m sorry,” said Thomas, looking confused. “I mean, I didn’t realize it was so--cock!--important to you--”

“I didn’t say it was me!” Tweek said quickly.

“So you--shit, piss--don’t have a problem with me?”

Tweek clenched his fists. His fingernails dug into his palm. “N-no. No, Thomas, I don’t have a problem with you.” Whore, he added silently.

“Alright,” said Thomas. Everyone waited a beat before going back to their drinks, grateful that the crises had been adverted. Thomas’s eyes lingered on Tweek’s again. “Dick-licking buttfuck,” he said, very softly.

“What!” Tweek yelled, leaping to his feet. “What did you just call me?”

“Dude, it’s cool, he has this disease called Tourettes,” Craig explained helpfully.

Tweek turned on him. “Goddamn it, I know that!” he screamed. “So what’s your fucking excuse, Craig, mental retardation?”

“Watch the language, young man,” scolded one of the employees at the concession stand.

“Gaah!”

“Huh?” said Craig.

Peacemaker Token scrambled loudly to his feet. Everyone else stood up instinctively, Tweek included, their chairs screeching against the tile. “Gosh, it’s getting really late,” Token said with false surprise, glancing quickly at his watch. It was exactly three-fifteen. “I think we should start heading home now. Do any of you need rides?”

“Me,” said Clyde. “Tweek?”

“I’ll take the bus.”

Clyde nodded. “You, Thomas?”

“Nah, I’m going home with Craig,” Thomas said. “He’s got some of my laundry.”

That did it. Something inside Tweek snapped. Physically. Or maybe it was sound of him crushing his cellphone to pieces in his palm that caught everyone’s attention, but they all turned to look at him, and as soon as Thomas was facing him at an accessible angle, Tweek slapped the smoothie right out of his hands.

The cup bounced off the back of Clyde’s chair and splattered against one of the empty tables to their left. From somewhere behind them, the janitor swore colorfully, then all movement in the mall seemed to come to a complete halt.

Ten seconds of utter silence.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Thomas demanded finally.

For the first time since they’d met, his swearing was unmistakably deliberate. Clyde and Token’s jaws dropped in perfect synchronization, and Craig’s eyebrows shot up.

“Because I want you to go home,” Tweek said. For the first time in his life, a strange, dizzying calm was washing over his body. He’d never had such an adrenaline rush before, and it was even better than being drunk. “I wish you’d just take your stupid filthy mouth and your stupid filthy laundry and get out of our lives. Leave me alone. More importantly, leave Craig alone; you’re fucking up a seven year work in progress. Do you get what I’m saying or not, dickweed?”

Thomas’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

“Good,” Tweek snapped, turning away.

Yeah, turning away. Which meant that his back was exposed. Which meant that he didn’t see Thomas’s lips draw into a thin, furious line, and he definitely didn’t see him wrench Token’s smoothie out of his grip and heave it at his retreating head.

Splat.

The smoothie hit him square in the neck and dripped down into his collar. He was too surprised to even squeak. It was only when he smelled the oranges that he registered the fact that it was in his fucking hair, the bad luck potion, the curse in the form of a tasty carrot-colored beverage that went straight to your thighs.

“Oh, Jesus!” he screamed, beginning to tremble. “Get it off of me!”

Token started towards him with a napkin, torn between horror and hilarity. “Uh, just stay still--I’ll try to--”

“Aaah, no, you’ll get cursed, too!” Hysterical or not, Tweek was no asshole--he wasn’t about to intentionally share his impending death with anyone else. Except for…

Thomas floundered. “Um, I…oh, cock!”

Tweek turned towards him. Smoothie dripped down his shoulders, spoiling the menace of his stance a little bit, but there was no discrediting the sincerity in his eyes. He took half a step backwards and seized one of the extra-extra large cups, brimming with a good 64 ounces of orange slush. Thomas whimpered and backed into the cheese and sausage cart. His right hand curled absently over a block of Colby-Jack, and after a panicked pause, he raised it in defense.

“Stay away from me, Tweek, or I’ll--ass piss!--I’ll--”

Tweek hurled the cup at him. Thomas squealed and dove out of the way. The smoothie twirled like a ninja star and plastered Clyde from head to waist, catching him with his mouth open and everything. Token and Craig scattered without a second’s pause, shamelessly scrambling for cover, and Thomas began pitching cheese wedges at him with all his might.

“Ow! Ow!”

Tweek covered his face against the shower of pasteurized Provel and grabbed another cup, running on rage. This time, he hit Thomas dead on as he turned around for more ammunition, leaving a very satisfying Thomas-shaped imprint against the cart. Thomas choked and sputtered. Tweek threw another smoothie. This one was a medium, but it got the whole left side of his face. “Coward!” Thomas screeched, smoothie flying as he moved. “Fight me like a man, assfucker dickshit!”

He didn’t need another invitation. Screaming, Tweek launched himself at Thomas, who tipped backwards and hit the sample tray of cheddar cubes on toothpicks. They flew through the air and skewered the tabletop under which their friends had taken refuge. Token and Clyde wailed in each other’s arms.

“Oh my god, guys, that’s enough!” Craig hollered, crawling out. “Someone’s going to get killed!”

“As long as it’s him!”

“Shit! Fuck cock-shit! Bring it, bitch!”

Thomas slapped him across the face. Tweek slapped him right back. Thomas started to slap him again, decided it was redundant, and grabbed him by the collar instead. They stumbled and rolled around on the tile. Neither of them were landing many punches, but it was the principle of the thing.

Tweek was in the process of choking Thomas with a string of link sausage when Craig finally seized his arms, hauling him away. Tweek shouted and kicked, but Craig was pretty damn strong. Either that, or hugely determined to protect his innocent little Thomas from any further harm. His rage doubled.

“This isn’t over, asshole!” Tweek screamed at Thomas. “I’ll die before I see you with him! You’ll die before I see you with him!”

“I’m straight, you cocksucking psycho!” Thomas yelled back.

“Me?” Craig abruptly lost his hold on him. Tweek thrashed away, starting back towards Thomas, but Craig’s next words stopped him: “Are you talking about me, Tweek?”

Tweek turned on him, getting right up in his face. “Of course I’m talking about you! Are you deaf? Ever since we were nine, you’ve ignored me to hang out with him! Inviting him to our movie nights! Asking him to go shopping with you! Oh god, I even saw his laundry at your house and in your school locker, Craig, explain that for me! Anyone with half a brain could see what you two are really doing when you say you’re ‘going to the Laundromat!’ Do you know how much that hurts? Not only are you in love with someone else, you’re lying to me about it!”

“Tweek!” Craig shouted, pointing.

“God! And now you’re getting mad at me for just saying what I--!”

A thousand stars exploded in his head as Thomas clobbered him from behind with a massive kielbasa. Tweek decided he was done talking. The last thing he registered before his world went black was Craig leaping forward to catch him, easing him to the ground, tenderly cradling him in the warm, familiar softness of his sweatshirt.

He woke up to the sound of something rumbling lightly in the other room. Water trickled delicately, gentle on his headache. There was a soft, floury poof of powder hitting liquid, then a click as a lid was snapped shut somewhere, muffling the machine’s calm pulsations.

Bleary and confused, Tweek rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. Something seemed…different. The room’s smells were not his own. And he was really cold. Especially--down there.

A second later, he was shrieking and thrashing around, completely awake--and completely naked. He scrambled to cover himself with his blankets, then cried out again when he realized they weren’t his at all. It was a nondescript set of blue sheets. A familiar Batman comforter was swathed around his body, though, and he recognized that immediately. His panic worsened. For some unfathomable reason, Tweek was sitting in Craig’s bed. He was sitting in Craig’s bed without his clothes or any idea what the hell was going on.

Craig pushed open the door without knocking, balancing a laundry basket on his hip. Tweek nearly had a heart attack. “Aaah! Oh god!”

“Hey, you’re awake,” said Craig.

Tweek grabbed a pillow and jammed it quickly over his hips. “Jesus, what the hell is going on?”

“Uh, let’s see,” Craig said. “We went out shopping. You and Thomas got into it in the middle of the food court, wracking up seven-hundred and fifty-three dollars in damages. Token handled it, but he says he wants to be paid back in your blood. And Thomas rendered you unconscious by smacking you with a sausage. I took you home, and you had smoothie all over you, so I washed you up and put you in bed.” He finally paused, his eyes going a shade darker as he lowered his lashes slightly. “You weren’t wearing any underwear, Tweek, you naughty thing. I had no idea.”

“What? I always wear underwear! The gnomes must’ve…” Tweek trailed off as the significance of Craig’s words hit him. He swallowed hard. “So you’re…doing my laundry?”

“Don’t freak out,” said Craig. “I meant it when I said that laundry is just something I do for friends.”

Tweek glared. “That’s a lie! You get some sort of sick pleasure out of it!”

“No, seriously! In itself, laundry is the least sexy thing in the world. Who the hell really wants to throw heavy wet clothes between a washer and a dryer? I’m allergic to Tide. It makes me sneeze. I only use it because it keeps my whites extra crisp.” He reached into the basket and held up a pair of socks for Tweek’s inspection. “See?”

“I bet you smell Thomas’s underwear before you wash it,” Tweek accused, batting them away angrily. “That’s what it is, isn’t it! You sicko! Pervy horndog underwear-freak!”

Craig groaned. “Tweek, oh my god.”

“Why don’t you just admit that you like him? He already knows, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, I told him he’s cool!”

“Especially when he’s lying naked in your arms or--”

“Damn it, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Craig interrupted angrily. “I was friends with you before I was friends with him; why don’t you believe me? It’s just some goddamn laundry. I thought we trusted each other.”

“I thought we cared about each other,” Tweek said, trying to sound pissed off, but he choked a little anyway.

Craig heard the hitch in his voice and paused. He put the laundry basket on the ground, nudging Tweek’s legs aside so he could sit on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said, after a very long pause. “You know elementary school? I was always getting sent to Mr. Mackey’s office for counseling, if you remember.”

“Yeah,” said Tweek. “Who cares?”

He shrugged. His shoulders were so graceful and well-toned, even through his t-shirt. “He stopped lecturing me by fifth grade,” he went on, haltingly. “He started actually counseling me, because he decided I was too fucked up to really discipline. And it actually worked. I mean, I told him my entire life story just to get him to shut up. So he studied me extensively and figured out my psychological profile. Basically, it says that I feel disconnected from the rest of the world, so I obsess over finding contradictions in other people. I like…think that paradox makes me real or something. I don’t know. He also asked me if my father ever stuck cupcakes up my ass.”

Tweek just stared at him. Most of that had gone over his head. “Jesus, why cupcakes? Why not muffins or jellybeans or pieces of toast or something?”

“You’re missing the point!” Craig yelled, blushing. He stood up and crossed his arms, facing the window so Tweek couldn’t see his face. “What I’m trying to say is…he could be right. About my paradox-fetish, I mean, not the cupcakes.”

“And what the hell does this have to do with--”

“Listen, Thomas has a really dirty mouth,” Craig said. He spoke very fast. “He says the filthiest things ever, yet he’s super-nice and always takes really good care of himself. That’s really interesting, don’t you think? He can’t control his language, and yet he always wears…really clean clothes.”

Tweek struggled to wrap his mind around that. Understanding dawned on him very, very slowly. It was ridiculously convoluted, but that was Craig for you--Craig, who was about the most insightful stupid person in the world, just as paradoxical as you please. “I think…I sort of get you,” Tweek said uncertainly. “Kind of-ish. Thomas fascinates you because he’s…contradictory? Doesn’t that just prove that you’re as into him as I said you were?”

“No! I mean, you’re fascinated with coffee beans, but would you fuck them?”

Tweek considered. “I’ve actually--”

“Oh Christ, never mind,” Craig groaned. He finally turned around, his eyes grave. “Let me put it this way. His laundry is…material. I like that he’s complex, but half of it isn’t really him, it’s what he wears. He’s a good friend to me. But I can only be in love with someone who’s even more unpredictable. Someone who still surprises me…even after being friends for eight years.”

Quickly, Tweek did the math in his head. That’s how long he and Craig had been friends! But surely Craig couldn’t mean--

“Tweek,” Craig said quietly, sitting beside him and making his heart pound in his chest. Slowly, he inched one hand over Tweek’s, his fingers still soft and static-y from the laundry. His breathing was haggard. “Tweek, you haven’t fought with anyone since you and I went at it in third grade. I was pretty sure you would never get into another fight, ever. Especially since you’ve only grown like two inches since grade school.”

“Huh?”

“You’re short, I mean. And kind of pathetic and scrawny. And you’re spastic, and annoying, obsessive, neurotic…embarrassingly unintimidating…you need a brush in the worst way--”

“I hate you!” Tweek yelled, starting to stand despite his state of undress. “Why don’t you go find someone else to insult? I don’t have to listen to this--”

Craig abruptly tackled him back into the bed, shoving him against the pillows and rubbing his lips across his exposed collarbone. Tweek gasped, staring up into his eyes. Craig looked straight back at him, panting, then continued attacking his shoulders and neck with his mouth. His arousal ground urgently against Tweek’s leg. “Seeing you go psycho-bitch on Thomas,” he whispered, his teeth scraping against his jaw, “was really, really hot.”

That was all he needed. Tweek seized Craig by the face and dragged him close, kissing him with hungry desperation, securing his shaking hands in his belt loops to keep them still. Craig was just closing an arm around his naked waist when Tweek shoved him away hard, panicking as a realization hit him.

“Oh god, wait, we can’t do this!”

“What?” Craig practically screamed, his eyes crazed. “Why the fuck not?”

“The orange smoothie karma!” Tweek cried. “I crossed the Cart God! We ruined a medium and three extra-extra larges, oh Jesus, something terrible is going to happen to me or Thomas if we don’t--”

“Oh, the Cart God got his,” Craig interrupted. “After Thomas knocked you out with the sausage, he slipped in a smoothie and fell backwards down the escalator. It was awesome. He took out a whole row of soda machines.”

“The smoothie stand’s competition?” said Tweek.

Craig’s eyes widened. “Holy shit…yeah. I guess it was.”

Tweek thought about that for about half a second. “Okay, then, let’s go,” he amended, frantic, and flung himself back at Craig, who moaned into his mouth and crushed him against the mattress. Tweek fumbled to turn off the bedside lamp. The plastic laundry basket slid off the bed as they melted together into the darkness, gently spilling socks onto the carpet, where they remained in a neat, clean pile until the following morning.

Halfway across town, in the mall’s freshly-mopped food court, Stanley Marsh found himself staring at Kyle’s ass as he leaned over to buy orange smoothies from the cart vendor.

“They say these things are cursed,” Kyle said, grinning.

Stan swallowed hard. “Y-yeah,” he said, forcing a laugh, absently sipping from his drink as they searched for a quiet place to sit. Kyle’s hips swayed sexily as his walked.

“Oh my god,” said Kyle, stopping in mid-step. “What the hell happened to the sausage and cheese cart?”

End

Oh, god. Reviews would be amazing, but I totally understand if you’re wtfing at the pure plotlessness of it all. Thanks a million for reading!