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i.
There’s a heavy storm outside his window; flashes of lighting bouncing of the walls of his bedroom; his lunar phase poster illuminating with each bolt. Stripe #4, old in age and scared to death, bounces between his hands, under his leg, and then, up the back of his shirt.
Craig laughs, the guinea pig’s sputtering, tiny paws tickling his spine as he scampers up it, and through his neck hole. Craig catches him, bringing him to his chest. He runs his fingers through his dense fur, murmuring assurances.
“Craig--jesus!--are you even listening?” he hears his boyfriend yelling through the phone that’s plopped on his bed.
Craig picks the phone up, facing the camera of their facetime call on himself and the guinea pig. He focuses the camera, to the best of his abilities, on the guinea pig on his chest. He’s still smiling from being tickled, and just the overall company of the small pet.
“Tweek he’s so scared. He needs me right now,” Craig explains, staring fondly at the guinea pig in his hands.
“You’re insufferable. Why do I ever tell you anything?” Tweek groans.
“I’m paying attention to our child,” Craig responds, glancing at his boyfriend in his forest green apron and big, crazed dark eyes. “He’s terrified, Tweek. Don’t you care?”
Tweek sighs, making some irritated, exasperated noise before running a hand through his hair. “You know I care! Don’t say I don’t care!”
“You care too much,” Craig mumbles, sort of under his breath, sort of not.
Thunder claps, and Stripe #4 is once again running laps, making Craig grin as Tweek yells, “Don’t. God! At least I care about my boyfriend, unlike some people!”
Craig meets his boyfriend’s eyes through the front camera and deadpans, sighing. “I do care, Tweek. I obviously care.”
“You goddamn show it real well, man,” Tweek grumbles. “God, I, nnngh, called you on my break to release some work stress, and you just make it worse!” He’s grabbing his hair once more.
“Honey,” he softens his voice, “I need you to stop pulling on your hair because I’m not sure if I could still be with a bald man.”
“You’re hilarious.” Tweek hisses. “Augh! Just play with your guinea pig.”
“Oh, he’s just mine, now? That’s how you’re gonna be?” he backfires. “Well, Stripe and I don’t need this,” Craig plays, knowing Tweek is just being melodramatic and Tweek. “Isn’t that right, little guy?” he coos to the guinea pig once again in his hold.
“Mmmmh!” Tweek yelps. “You’re seriously insufferable.”
Craig hums, “you know I’m just messing with you. I would still date you if you were bald. You’d still be hot,” he looks up to see if he’s made Tweek blush. He has , meaning Tweek’s not actually mad. Or maybe he so is , that he’s turning red. That also happens, but that’s only when he’s super pissed, and Craig definitely hasn’t pushed hard enough for that to happen. “But you should definitely keep the hair because the whole unheaved, bedhead thing you’ve got going on is definitely hot.”
Tweek is covering his face with one hand now, his face bowing down. He can tell he’s smiling. “Stop. You’re annoying. Don’t get all cute now.”
“I thought you always thought I was cute?” Craig pouts, unsure if it will even mean anything, debating on if Tweek looks up.
Tweek does look up though. Whatever bad voodoo was swirled up in him before is being replaced with admiration and fondness. “Don’t pout at me.”
“Then say you think I’m cute,” Craig demands, still pouty and wide eyed. He adds on, “All the time,” as an afterthought.
“If you make me say it then, nnngh, it doesn’t really mean anything.” Tweek pauses. “I think you’re a dick all of the time.”
Craig pouts further. “Then why are you with me?” he questions.
Tweek smirks. “I like dicks.”
They both laugh, and the joke clears the air. Craig asks what happened at the shop that mad Tweek so upset as Stripe #4 scurries all across his shoulders and head. Thunder claps in the background. His lunar phases poster lights up. Craig is content.
ii.
“What are you looking at?” Tweek demands.
They are at the Chili’s in Denver. Ever since Craig got his license, every time he is allowed to borrow his mom’s car, he takes Tweek on a date outside of South Park. Tweek doesn’t drive (“car accidents are the leading cause of death among teenagers, Craig. It’s way too much pressure!”) ‘It’s nice to get away from the ongoing gazes and “awes” of all South Park residents. It was nice when they were younger; people always tossing them money and covering their meals, but now, it’s only “awe i’m so happy you two are still going,” and being called “couple goals,” and other random bull shit Craig doesn’t care about. He only cares about South Park’s town people if they’re throwing him money for being gay.
“Nothing,” Craig returns his eyes to his boyfriend’s. “I spaced out,” he shrugs, blankly, picking up a tortilla chip and scooping up some queso.
“It looked like you were staring at someone.”
Craig bit into the chip, deadpanning at his boyfriend. “I just spaced.”
Tweek hums, like this isn’t a satisfactory answer, dipping a chip in the salsa dip beside the queso. Craig honestly doesn’t have the patience or desire to fight with him right now. He just wants to enjoy their peace and quiet outside of South Park.
“What were you thinking about?” he inquires.
Craig blanks. He honestly isn’t even sure; it seemed so unimportant.
“I don’t know. Nothing?” he offers, sort of impatiently. Tweek is so… clingy, sometimes.
“It’s always nothing,” Tweek complains in a mumble, a strain in his voice.
Craig just shrugs, and hopes that they can get past this to enjoy their night away from South Park.
iii.
A blonde head rests in his lap, his eyes almost shutting, Tweek’s spotify playlist playing softly off the bluetooth speaker in Craig’s room. His door is slightly open (a policy his parents enforced a couple years prior; after they started doing stuff--Craig’s not sure if that was them being lucky to get the unsupervised time prior, or a cause-effect kind of thing.) The day’s warm, warm for South Park, and yet, they’re inside, indoors, quiet and motionless.
Craig’s eyes flutter shut, just to open again a moment later at the sound of Tweek’s voice.
Tweek’s scrolling on instagram; he’s probably been on there for the past twenty minutes, stalking and refreshing, scrolling through the explore page. Tweek posts a lot for someone weary of privacy from the world and government, and all that crap.
Most of Tweek’s instagram is full of baked goods he’s made, or coffee art, or models he’s done, or Stripe, even, and also there is an abundance of Craig.
Craig’s instagram is boring.
It’s got pictures of Stripe, a few of Tweek, and a couple of nature. Ta da!
Truth is, Craig doesn’t care much about social media. He doesn’t really give a shit about how Kyle spent his Saturday night, or what girl Kenny is dating now. It’s all a bunch of bull shit to him.
“Stan and Wendy are ice skating.”
“Glad we aren’t. Wendy always manages to act like she owns the fucking rink, and Marsh is obnoxious wherever he is.”
“They’re kind of cute,” Tweek counters, as if not even hearing what Craig just said.
“What?” Craig asks. “Tweek, they break up all the time.”
Tweek shrugs. He shows him the picture on his phone. Stan posted it. 23m ago, it reads. The caption states, “made infinity loops with my forever today.” Then there are a variety of stupid emoji’s, including a red heart and a snowman. In the picture, Wendy is kissing him on the cheek and Stan has his eyes closed. There are apparently a few pictures, Craig realizes, as Tweek pans over to the right twice more. In the next, they are both just smiling, and in the last, someone took a picture of them on the rink. In Craig’s opinion, the last is the best. He should have made that the cover photo, but he supposes Stan is dumb, and knows nothing about photography.
“I like Wendy’s better; it’s less gushy,” Tweek then proceeds to pull up Wendy’s page. Craig is not sure he even follows her.
Wendy’s picture is of them standing in front of the ice rink. Someone must have taken it. It’s a lot clearer and better angeled than Stan’s photos. She’s only posted one, the caption reading, “Stan Marsh always melts my heart” with no emojis to follow it. Craig has to agree with Tweek.
“Yeah, I like her post better, but … I still hate them both.”
Tweek shrugs, sighing. “It’s just nice to see you know? I mean, nngh, they are cute. It’s cute. ”
Craig furrows his eyebrows because he doesn’t know when Tweek became so infatuated with the couple. “We are cuter,” he argues, running his hands through Tweek’s mane.
Tweek looks up at him, his head still in his lap. He puts his phone aside. “The world wouldn’t know though. Y-you barely post anything of us.”
So that is what this is about. With an eyeroll, Craig groans, “Tweek are you serious? Our relationship literally began because people thought we were cute together--and we weren’t even together,” he states. “The world definitely knows.”
Tweek smacks his lips together. He grabs Craig’s other hand and pulls it over his chest. “I guess. But you still never post about us,” he has his eyes locked on his hands.
Even though Tweek’s not looking, he finds himself shrugging. “I don’t post much of anything.”
“Nnggh, well, I post of you,” Tweek counters. “I post about you all the time!” he argues, throwing his hand back and sitting up. He sits beside him now, pulling up his phone to show him his instagram, which, he is right, is full of Craig. Craig didn’t even really realize how much he was featured on his social media up until this point.
Craig huffs out a breath of air.
“Fine. I’ll post one right now.”
“No, that--augh, that doesn’t count.”
“Yes. It does. Let me take a picture of you.”
Tweek grumbles, and says it should be of them both, but eventually he just complies and poses with a stony expression. He is sort of glowering, but Craig puts a black and white filter on it, and it works.
After he does it, he tells Tweek to check instagram.
With a groan of irritation and defiance, Tweek checks.
The caption says,
I want everyone to know that Tweek is the cutest (and most attention seeking) boyfriend there will ever be. No contest
“Augh!” he squeaks. “I’m not attention seeking,” he frowns at his boyfriend.
Craig grins and leans in to kiss him chastely, pulling him on top of him so they are both laying down again, Tweek’s head on his chest. “Relax. It’s cute.”
iv.
Tweek <3 (4:31 pm): i miss u alreaaaaady
Craig (4:34pm): it’s been like 5 mins since we saw each other babe
Tweek <3 (4:35pm): more like 20. :(
Tweek <3 (4:39pm): do you not miss me!?!?!1111
Craig (4:41pm): of course i do
Tweek <3 (4:42pm): you better
V.
“Will you come to the store today?” Tweek asks during lunch, twirling the school’s spaghetti. He hasn’t taken a bite in the last five minutes, but has proceeded to toy with it.
“I can’t,” Craig answers, eyeing his own food. A half eaten, stale garlic bread slice, mushy green beans, and the same spaghetti Tweek has. “I told Clyde I’d play baseball with him and the other guys.”
They sit alone at lunch; well away from all their obnoxious friends. They both like it better this way. They’ll occasionally sit with the others, but it’s rare.
Tweek sighs. “NNgh, okay. Don’t you--don’t you hate baseball? And other guys? Who is going to be there?” he inquires, setting his fork down. He’s looking at his food, obviously disappointed.
Craig shrugs, even though his boyfriend isn’t looking. “I’m sure everyone you’d expect.”
“You hate everyone I’d expect,” Tweek points out. He looks up, and with that glint of hope in his eyes, he already knows what he’s going to request. “Can’t you just skip?” he predictably requests.
Craig sighs. “You know I would much rather be with you than those dumb fucks,” he grabs his boyfriend’s hand underneath the table. Tweek is still frowning though,--pouting?-- with those dark doe eyes of his. His hand feels limp beneath his own. “But Clyde will go nuts if I don’t go.”
Tweek sighs melodramatically and entwines their hands, but he’s still frowning. “You’ll be there all night?” he asks.
Craig shrugs. “Long enough. I have to be home for dinner and curfew.”
Tweek looks down into his half eaten food. “Will you call me tonight then?” he asks.
“Yeah, babe, of course.”
At this, he finally offers a semblance of a smile.
- I.
Some remix of a popular Post Malone song vibrates throughout the house. A cluster of teenagers hang around him on a pitiful, disgrace of a couch. He’s got Bacardi in hand, and someone is yelling something about taking shots.
Butters sits next to him with his canadian girlfriend, her arm around his, and his lips on her neck.
It’s awkward. Also. Where is his boyfriend? Craig gets up and walks away, but a hand pulls on him all a sudden. He almost loses his balance and falls.
It’s Clyde.
He’s got this urgent look on his face, and a bottle of beer in hand. “Craig! Play beer pong with me and Bebe.”
He considers it a moment before shaking his head, “nah, I gotta find Tweek.”
“Yeah! He can be your partner!” Clyde exclaims, throwing up both hands in victory.
Craig just grunts, and pushes Clyde away. He trudges through the living room, and into the basement, gripping on the walls and railing as he almost plummets down.
Downstairs, there are a few bodies--not Tweek--gathered around a TV, controllers in hand, some war game flashing in front of them. “Anyone seen my boyfriend?” Craig yells out.
“He’s on the other side,” Stan Marsh yells out, not even looking away from the screen.
Craig stumbles to the other side of the basement--God, Token’s house is fucking huge--and finds him. He’s sitting around a deck of cards, Kenny, some girls from their school, Jimmy, and a couple theater kids by his side.
“Tweek!” he shouts, over the hum of the music blasting from the level above. “Babe. Where have you been? Why’d you leave me?” he nearly crashes down beside him on the ground, falling into his side. He wraps his arms around his narrower figure, and places his lips to his shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you evey-where,” he slurs into him.
Kenny eyes the seen with a look of amusement.
“AUGH--Craig. We’re playing blackjack.”
“Lemme help,” he whines, peeking over to look at his cards.
“Well, not anymore. I win,” Kenny reveals his cards.
“Fu--fuck you, Ken-Kenny,” Jimmy stutters, shaking his head aggressively and throwing his cards away.
“Hand it over, boys,” Kenny smirks as he grabs the handful of cash in the center of them that Craig is just noticing now.
“Fuck!” Tweek winces. “Dammit.”
“Awh, baby, did you lose?” Craig ponders, his arms still encircled around his boyfriend, his chin bent down on his shoulder.
“Kenny’s a fucking cheater.” Tweek hisses at the dirty blonde who smirks across from them, fanning the variety of one’s and fives in his face.
“I’m just good at the game,” he replies.
Tweek rolls his eyes.
“A--an--another round, the-the--then?” Jimmy suggests.
“You fucking bet!” Tweek counters, a darkness in eyes aimed at Kenny.
Kenny chuckles, gathering the cards to shuffle. “If you wanna fucking lose again, sure.”
Craig sighs. “Mmmm, babe, no,” he whines, nudging his head into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck like a cat. “Fuck this game. Let’s go dance.”
Tweek eyes him. The first time since he found his boyfriend, he spots a lightness in his amber eyes. “You hate dancing.”
“Nots with you,” he slurs, leaning forward to leave a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.
“ Craig,” Tweek warns, his doe eyes full of golden specks and lips so sweet looking. Craig cannot help it, he pushes his lips forward into his again, this time with a little more purpose and singe. Tweek melts into him this time around, kissing back with a certain kindle that reduces Craig to ashes.
They break up at a few whistling noises.
“Not here,” Tweek whispers, the one to pull away. He presses a hand to his boyfriend’s pink cheek.
Craig shakes his head. “Fuck them. Let’s leave.”
“Y-you telling you’re-re b-b-b-boyfriend to fu--fuck us, Craig?” Jimmy stutters, resulting in a range of laughter.
Kenny whistles again, laughing. “Damn. That w as pretty hot.”
Craig shoots him a glare and flips him off. He is pulled back into Tweek shortly after though, his boyfriend’s hand, which still resides on his cheek, angling toward him. “Just one more game, and we can.”
Craig groans and hangs his head in anguish, “fine,” he diminishes. He meets Tweek’s intent stare, and fond smile with the words, “but I’m staying. Right here. Withs you.” Tweek laughs at this and nods happily as Craig leans up beside him once more.
Kenny deals everyone’s cards right after.
Tweek wins the round.
As promised, he leaves with his boyfriend right after.
Hand in hand, they walk back to Tweek’s house. Tweek’s parents don’t really care what he’s doing as long as he makes it to his shifts on time. They even let Craig stay over, in his bed. They did lecture them both about “homosexal intercourse” and all its risks and warnings, and “you can die from this, boys, I mean it. Sexually Transmitted Diseases are a serious, life threatening thing. Safe sex is the only sex, otherwise. We won’t be paying for any bills regarding any Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Tweek, and those bills are very expensive. You will have to work your whole life away to pay those off. I’m just kidding son, but really. Safe sex. Promise me, boys that is the only way you’ll engage in it.”
Even though they are having sex, they told them they weren’t, and if they did, they’d be safe about it (they are.)
On the way home, they hold hands and Craig says he loves him so many times that Tweek loses count.
“Y-you’re kind of clingy when you’re drunk, man,” Tweek says.
“Clingy? I’ms, I am clingy?” Craig slurs. He shakes his head, “no. Nope. I just love you. I can’t tell you I love you?”
“AUGH-- that’s not what I said.”
“Well, I love you,” Craig stops, and cups his boyfriend’s head into his hands. He runs his hands through his hair, and for a second, Tweek thinks he’s gonna lean in for a kiss, but he draps his arms around his shoulders and brings him into him instead. “Tweek. I am so happy. I’m so happy you’re mine.”
“Nnngh,” Tweek murmurs into him. “And you think I’m clingy.”
Craig pulls away and grins fondly at him. Tweek grins back. Snowflakes begin to fall. The night curls in as they head home, falling asleep in each other’s arms, both clinging onto each other securely; never letting go.