Chapter Text
It was two o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Tweek and Craig came inside after hours of sledding on Phil Collins hill. The wind picked up, chilling them to the bone. Well, Tweek mostly. He was always the one who forgot his coat, hat, and gloves. Craig didn’t mind so much, though. That’s how Tweek was. There was no point in fighting it.
Besides, before they dated, Craig used to stay out longer than he wanted to anyway, hanging out with people he didn’t like because there was nothing better to do. Part of it was that he didn’t want to be lonely. Being lonely was what losers did, at least by the standards of fourth grade children. He wasn’t actually lonely. That much he knew. At one time or another. He loved his family and his guinea pig. He didn’t mind being by himself in his room before. He’d made his home a lonely place by naming it such, and so it was, limiting his enjoyment of being alone in his home.
“We should give Stripe a carrot,” said Tweek. “I can hear him squeaking from my room.”
“He’s getting fat,” said Craig, smiling.
“Argh. Guinea pigs are supposed to be fat.”
Tweek grabbed a single baby carrot and headed up to his room. He took care of Stripe on the weekends when his parents didn’t make him work, and Craig spent a lot more time at Tweek’s house because of it. That was fine. He hadn’t decided that Tweek’s house was lonely, after all.
They had a petty fight not too long ago. Tweek got it in his head that Craig only cared about the damn guinea pig, which is why he came over every weekend. Craig, wrongly accused, yelled “you’re right!” and left with Stripe in his arms, slamming the door behind him. He’d rather be lonely with Stripe then deal with this shit.
Fifteen minutes later he returned to Tweek, soaked in rain, his head held low, since it hurt more to be mad than it did to be together, and Craig didn’t want to do things that hurt if he didn't have to. Craig insisted it was for Stripe’s sake at the time. Stripe needed Tweek, he said. What he meant was that he needed Tweek, but it was too embarrassing to say, so he let his actions speak for themselves. He did care about his guinea pig, but he cared about Tweek, too, so he never walked out the door with Stripe in a huff ever again.
“Tweek,” said Craig, as he and Tweek strolled upstairs. “It’s so weird.”
“What is?”
“How well this guinea pig has us trained.”
“He doesn’t have us trained,” said Tweek. “He’s a guinea pig. He has to eat.”
“I know, but he’s always hungry, and he poops a lot.”
“What’s your point?”
Craig shrugged. “I don’t really have one. I just like talking about Stripe.”
“Ngah, OK,” said Tweek. They entered his room and offered their corpulent rodent a treat. Stripe crunched and chewed that baby carrot like it was the greatest gift in the world. As they did every Saturday afternoon, Tweek and Craig sat on the floor and watched their little buddy munch away. It was fascinating to watch, really.
Usually they didn’t talk much while Stripe had his treat, but Craig was in a strange mood all day. Out of the blue, he asked, “you think guinea pigs have names?”
“What do you mean?” said Tweek. “They’re called guinea pigs, aren’t they?”
“I don’t mean like the name of their species. I mean, like, OK. You know all the different ways Stripe can squeak and chirp and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, what if they have their own language? And gave each other names?” said Craig. “What if Stripe has a guinea pig name that's something else entirely? What if he isn't really named Stripe?”
Tweek looked down at the oblivious creature, chew chew chewing and loving every second of it.
“Agh. I don’t think he does.”
“Why’s that?”
“Ngh! It’s... I don’t think he sees things the way we do? I don’t know.”
“Sometimes I wish I knew what he was thinking,” said Craig.
“Do guinea pigs even think, though?” said Tweek. “Because I always thought they just kind of sat there.”
“Well, yeah. They do just kind of sit there, but think about it. There’s a whole world we don’t even know about happening inside that little guinea pig and I want to know about it.”
Stripe raised his head up, pausing for a moment, then resumed chewing.
“That’d be cool, I guess,” Tweek considered. “Still. I already like the Stripe that I know. I think the mystery makes him even cuter.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” said Craig.
The inner world of Stripe required no definition, for the moment it was given one, it would cease to be the boundless world that is Stripe. To put it another way, it wouldn’t be the true Stripe. To be given human traits is to be given human baggage, and Stripe didn’t need baggage. He needed treats and he needed company at a moment's notice. Such is the infinite wisdom of Stripe.