Work Text:
Music is such a funny, personal old thing. What one person may find melodic another will find boring. Where some lyrics will stir one person’s soul, for another it will bring about a rolling of eyes. Where a child may hear the latest hot shit, an adult will hear literal shit. But then that is the nature of something as personal and subjective as music. No one has a perfect or terrible taste in music. It’s individual and undefinable and meaningful to each and every person.
Except in Craig Tucker’s case. Tweek suspects that Craig Tucker is the exception to the rule because his taste in music is diabolical.
Tweek is by no means a musical expert. He can play a decent piano, but he’s otherwise largely indifferent to most music. Songs don’t really speak to him or touch on some special place inside him. They provide background noise in place of silence and sometimes they can get his foot tapping and head bobbing. Very rarely they can let him vent his feelings, but he really has to be in the right frame of mind for it, lest the pressure send him into a nosedive.
On his own personal journey with music, it’s Craig’s taste in music that’s really got a reaction out of him. Largely because it’s an affront to humanity.
Tweek doesn’t honestly know where it comes from. He’d blame Mr. Tucker but even he comments on Craig’s taste. Mrs Tucker has gone as far as apologising to Tweek before over the noise that’s been seeping out of Craig’s room. Not that Craig gives a shit. Clyde had accused him of being a middle-aged dad over his taste in music back in Middle School and Craig had simply shrugged and flipped him off. He’s also had groans and eye rolls and ‘dude, seriouslys’ whenever his phone has been set to ring in class but Craig shrugs it all off. He likes what he likes, he always says. Tweek doesn’t have the heart to argue that no one else likes what he likes. If Craig is happy then… Tweek can… live with it?
It’s love then that drives Tweek to be crouched on his knees in his bedroom, fiddling with a device from the Dark Ages. He doesn’t mind the effort he’s making because, yeah love, but the music that he’s downloading and struggling through is seriously making him consider ending his otherwise blissful six year relationship with Craig.
So far his research has largely come from memories that he’s selectively censored. He’s had to delve into past events -make-outs in Craig’s room, adventures in the woods, Craig humming in his bass tone- removing the mental block he’s put on them. The results are scrawled down on a crumpled piece of paper left on his desk, a loose collection of lyrics because fuck if he knows what those monstrosities are named.
There’s barely a knock at his door before it swings open wide, causing Tweek to squawk in surprise and almost twitch his way into destroying his work so far.
“Hey, Tweek!” His dad says far too cheerfully, a mug cradled in his hand, curls of steam drifting up lazily.
“Dad!” Tweek bites out, voice breaking a bit. “Damn it, I said to knock!” He bites back the rest of his response. There’s no point in arguing that he could walk in on anything because he has walked in on anything. Curious forays into porn, hastily cancelled masturbation, Craig’s hand down his pants and -the worst yet- Tweek arguing with himself aloud over whether he wanted to take Tweak or Tucker as a surname when he marries Craig.
“I did,” his dad responds nonchalantly. “What are you up to with all of this equipment?”
“I’m recording a tape,” Tweek says, frowning and kicking off a wire that’s ensnared his leg.
“A tape?” His dad says, looking genuinely interested. He walks over, crouching into a squat and places his mug on the floor by his foot.“I thought you kids wouldn’t have even heard of tapes,” he says, eyes on the tape recorder as he traces a finger over it, no doubt reliving memories.
“It’s not like it’s a choice,” Tweek huffs as he moves to sit on his computer chair. He double-clicks on another song title and commences download. “I needed to order a tape recorder, and some stupid lead to connect to another stupid lead to connect to my computer.”
“Why?” His dad asks. Tweek is surprised by his interest. Usually he’s breezed out by this point.
“Um,” Tweek starts, feeling a little flustered by the attention. “Craig’s just got his first ever car and it’s a total piece of crap. It’s so old that it doesn’t even have a CD player, let alone digital radio or anything else. It’s just got a tape player. But he’s so proud of this stupid car because he saved hard for it, so I wanted to give him some music to listen to.”
His dad looks up at him from his squat and for a moment there’s something warm in his eyes. Tweek shifts uncomfortably, unused to such open affection. “A mixtape, huh?”
“A… mixtape?” Tweek repeats back, the word unfamiliar on his tongue.
“Hmm,” his dad hums. “In my day, we used to make mixtapes for the person that we loved. It was a personal gift where we’d put our feelings into songs and record those songs for the girl or boy we liked. Usually it was a pretty big sign that you wanted to date or were serious about someone. Sometimes mixtapes would be refused because it was a big deal.”
Tweek stares at him, considering that. Whilst he wasn’t really thinking about putting his feelings into the songs he’d picked, he’s at the very least stopped to consider what songs Craig likes or might like. And listened to a lot of bad music in the process.
“You know, I made one for your mother once…” his dad says, looking off into the middle distance with a soft expression.
Tweek swivels in his chair, looking over at him cautiously. He hates how he’s almost hopeful that his dad might share something interesting and insightful for once. Experience tells him that he shouldn’t, but despite his occasional paranoia, he is an optimist.
“There was something about those songs…” he muses.
“What songs did you pick?” Tweek asks.
“They were like… a warm hug that smells like your grandmother’s baking spices, nostalgic and comforting. They pulled you into a world of memory and playfully invited you to dance with them, losing yourself and your worries along with them.”
Tweek makes a frustrated noise. “Well then, how did mom react to the mixtape?”
“Hmm?” His dad says, dreamy.
“Mom. How did she react to the mixtape?” Tweek asks again.
“Oh. I don’t remember,” his dad responds dismissively. He shrugs for good measure and takes a slurp of his coffee. “You should give it to Craig at the store,” he suggests.
“Yeah, no thanks,” Tweek grimaces.
“Okay,” his dad says around a blithe smile. “I’ll leave you to it. Remember that you’re down on the rota tomorrow evening.”
“I haven’t forgot,” Tweek sighs. He watches his father leave, feeling a small amount of relief when he’s alone and able to concentrate on his task again.
His eyes slide from the doorway to the tape recorder. It’s a monstrous device from another century (literally). He’d had to purchase it through eBay since Amazon hadn’t had much on offer, and even the local thrift stores hadn’t held any. It’s junk for all extents and purposes, but if it makes Craig smile for even a moment then it holds more far more value than the seventeen dollars (including stupid leads) he paid for it.
With that thought fuelling him, Tweek assumes a grim expression and YouTube’s the next song. As he does, however, his father’s words come back to him.
His feelings into songs, huh? It sounds pretty sappy if he’s honest and the thought of filling a tape with love songs makes him want to be sick in his mouth. Still…
His eyes move back to the tape recorder.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to dot the odd song in there. Songs that even Tweek can enjoy.
—
Two days later, Tweek hovers at his front window waiting for his ride. His belly is full of coffee and despite the biting cold outside, he’s dressed only in a light jacket. Craig wants to go to the cinema to see the newest Marvel film, but since he wants to see it in 5D-super-awesome-o whatever, they’ll have to go to Denver instead of the Bijou. It’s a date, really, but they’ve been together so long that they don’t really explicitly talk about dates any more. Spending time together is just the norm for them, the pleasure of each other’s company a part of life.
He fidgets nervously with his buttons, despite the fact that one of them is starting to dangle precariously on a single thread. Craig’s car is a piece of shit and the last two times they went out in it he feared for his life. He’s not said anything about it per se, but considering Craig knows him so well, and the little gasps and jerks he can’t hold back whenever Craig brakes, it’s not a secret. He doesn’t mean to. Craig is proud of his car and he worked hard for it, so Tweek is trying his very best. He’s just also not convinced that it’s entirely roadworthy.
It’s started to snow outside, making Craig’s journey more precarious. He left some time ago and naturally will be driving more slowly, but Tweek suspects that it could be more than that. He tugs on the button again and this time it snaps off entirely. Tweek swears and runs upstairs to change into an old duffel coat instead.
Just when Tweek has convinced himself that Craig has crashed and died en route, and is considering whether he can possibly go on without him, Craig’s car rolls up onto the drive. He knows better than to toot because it makes Tweek jump out of his skin, even when he’s expecting it. Tweek sags with relief at the sight of him and nods firmly to himself. Craig is fine and that’s what matters.
Tweek doesn’t need to call out any goodbyes. Both of his parents are working at the shop today and the house is otherwise empty. He sends a little wave out of the window to where he assumes Craig is watching him and pats his pockets to double-check that he’s got his wallet and the tape. Then he moves to head outside, locking the front door behind him and heading over to the passenger side.
“Hey!” He says, jerking the door open and slipping into the car seat.
“Hey,” Craig smiles back. As usual, he courteously waits for Tweek to buckle himself in, check that the door is definitely shut, and press down the door lock. “Sorry I took some time getting here. There was a cow in the road. I think the aliens might have deposited it there.” Tweek meets his eyes and nods his understanding, before pulling on the door handle to make sure it’s definitely, definitely locked.
Craig watches him, waiting until systems are go before he moves to swivel round to face front again. Tweek stops him with a hand to his forearm. “Wait.”
Craig angles himself to face Tweek again. “What’s up?” He asks.
“I’ve got something for you,” Tweek says, lifting his hips to dig into his pocket.
Craig eyes the cant of his hips, eyebrow rising. “You want to christen the car or something?” He says suggestively.
Tweek fishes the tape out and lowers his ass back to the seat. “No, you fucking pervert. It’s like… minus a thousand out there and we’re on my drive. Here,” he says, passing Craig the tape.
“Dude, what the fuck is this?” Craig says, inspecting it. He reads where Tweek has used tippex to paint a white strip on the one side and written CRAIG'S SHITTY MIXTAPE in black ballpoint pen. “What’s a ‘mixtape’?”
“It’s something people used to do in the olden days for unappreciative assholes,” Tweek huffs.
“Did you make it?” Craig asks, still studying it.
“Does it look like I bought it?” Tweek shoots back.
Craig laughs at that. “Okay, fair enough,” he concedes. “Am I okay to play it now?”
“If you insist,” Tweek replies, shrugging with a quick twitch of his shoulders. “It’s not like it's for a special occasion.”
Craig smiles warmly at him in a way that makes Tweek feel butterflies. He looks so damned appreciative despite having no idea how much or little effort Tweek put into the tape. Tweek huffs, annoyed that he’s grown flustered under that stupid smile, cheeks stained with a red blush. More than anything he’s annoyed that even after all these years, he still falls to pieces when Craig smiles at him like that.
It takes a few attempts to get the tape in correctly, neither of them used to it as anything more than a vague concept. They figure out that it’s a matter of finding the angle that fits and slotting it into place with a physical shove. It makes a clunky noise that’s almost satisfying and then, as Craig wrenches the car into reverse, the first, tinny notes erupt through the speakers.
‘Just when I believed I couldn't ever want for more…’
Craig’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open as his head whips around to face Tweek. A fraction of a second later, he’s grinning. “Dude! You didn’t!”
“Eyes on the road!” Tweek snaps. Craig obeys, still carrying his grin. “Hold on to the Night, Richard Marx, 1988,” he sighs. “And before you ask, if course I remember. That’s why I chose it.”
The rest of the journey to Denver is both fun and painful. It’s painful because Tweek has to listen to the shit that he’s recorded onto the tape. But he has to admit that it’s outweighed entirely by seeing Craig’s eyes light up at each and every new song that plays. After the first few notes or lines of each song Craig asks (eyes firmly on the road, Tweek is pleased to note) why Tweek chose it. Each time Tweek has a response. It surprises him a little because, even though he’d resolved to add in the odd special song when he was making it, he actually does have a reason for each and every song. Sometimes he’d simply heard Craig hum it, other times it was a crucial part of the soundtrack of their lives, and a few it was simply something that made him think of Craig.
They’re nearing the end of the first side when Craig pulls into the cinema car park. One of Tweek’s more inspired additions filters on as they circle around looking for a space.
‘If you’re gay then you’re gay…’
Craig almost stops looking for a space, glancing at Tweek and laughing.
“What is this one?” He chuckles, rising into another full laugh when the song refers to ‘gay, little babies’.
Tweek smiles, despite Craig’s lack of attention to his driving. “Something about it made me think of you, weirdly.”
It’s the last song on the side, and neither mind waiting for it to finish, even as Craig pulls into a space and parks up. It’s not until the tape runs silent for a few moments and then clicks that Craig looks up at him wearing a more than slightly impressed expression.
“You even timed it perfectly,” he says with a note of awe in his voice. He gifts Tweek with another adoring smile. “You never stop surprising me.”
Tweek looks away, cheeks flushing as he grows flustered. He tries to smother his smile behind his palm, but realises too late that Craig is watching his reflection in the passenger window. He curls the hand hiding his mouth until he’s giving Craig the finger in his reflection. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he mutters.
“You must really love me if you were willing to listen to all these tracks,” Craig’s reflection says around a shit-eating grin.
Tweek rolls his eyes and turns back to face him. “Yeah, there’s a whole other side.”
Craig’s smile dips a bit as surprise sets in. Tweek realises that the thought hadn’t occurred to him. His smile picks again up a moment later, growing larger and softer than before. “Must’ve taken you ages. Thank you, Tweek.”
The sincerity in his voice compels Tweek to lean over the central console. He reaches out with one hand and grabs Craig by the jacket, tugging him over to meet him halfway. Craig goes willingly, still smiling when Tweek smushes their lips together.
It’s over in an instant, Tweek’s hand in Craig’s jacket uncurling into splayed fingers that push Craig back.
“I might love you,” Tweek confirms. “But I don’t love your taste in music.”
For a couple of seconds Craig stares back at him stunned. Tweek knows it’s because he doesn’t use the L-word very often, despite Craig knowing full well that he loves the bones of him. It still makes an impact every time, especially when it’s off the cuff, which Tweek finds adorable.
The moment is broken when Craig shoves him playfully. “Enough of that. Let’s go and watch this dumb movie. Then I want to see what’s on the other side.”
Tweek groans and reaches for the door handle. Inside though, he’s thrilled and carrying a select bit of understanding as to why mixtapes used to be a thing after all. Maybe he’ll never find out how his mom reacted to his dad’s mixtape, but he suspects that if she was half as pleased as Craig is today, his dad would have been feeling what he’s feeling right now.
—
Two weeks later, Tweek isn’t as sure the mixtape was such a good idea after all. Whatever brownie points he’d scored with Craig and both sets of their parents are outweighed by how much their friends want to kick his ass.
“I swear to God, Tweek,” Clyde says leaning over the back seat to grip his arm. His voice is as tight as his grip and he’s clearly holding back sobs. “If I have to listen to Richard Marx one more time, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Driver decides on the tunes, man,” Craig says dismissively, finger jabbing at the rewind button. “Don’t like it, you can walk to school.”
In the blissful few moments of silence Tweek mutters: “If I have to listen to Richard Marx one more time, I’ll do it myself.”