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There's flour covering every surface in the kitchen. It covers the counters and floors like a fine layer of snow. There's a clean spot on the table where the flour's been haphazardly swiped to the floor by an arm. Bowls, measuring cups, and dirty whisks lay abandoned on the counter. It's a mess, to say the least.
The kitchen door swings open, and in comes a young man, clothes dusted in white powder. His hands are occupied with baskets of produce, so he shuts the door with his foot, hopping along the dirty floor. His groceries are carelessly thrown onto the counter.
"Hhhhh, so much to do, so much to do," the man, Tweek Tweak, mutters. He rubs his eye with the palm of his hand, groaning. There's always so much to do around here but so little time to do so.
It's hard living on his own in the middle of nowhere. He's responsible for everything - making sure the place is heated, making sure he's eaten today, making sure there's enough money to last the winter-... He's young, not even twenty-one yet, and he's living on his own.
Even so, living on his own has its perks. For one, he's not forced to do a job he hates. Baking is fun, and everyone in the nearby town seems to enjoy his sweets. It pays rather nicely, too. He enjoys the freedom. He enjoys being away from his parents. He doesn't miss hearing, "It's for your own good, Tweek. Do what's best for the family," every five seconds. He misses his mom, but the pros outweigh the cons, and he still has a lot to be thankful for.
He lets out a heavy sigh, throwing some firewood into the kiln. He's got bread to bake this morning to bring into town and sell.
The boy jumps at the sound of a bowl clattering to the ground in the kitchen. He spots the bowl lying on the floor, spinning just slightly from how it had fallen. He looks around and sighs upon not seeing anyone. You're just being paranoid, Tweek.
He begins to think he wasn't being paranoid after all when a cold steel blade is held against his neck. He lets out an involuntary 'gah!', hands flying up in surrender. The wooden spoon that had been in his hands falls and clatters against the ground.
"I'm going to put the knife down, and you're going to turn around slowly. Understood? " A voice comes from behind him, nasally and monotone.
Tweek nods slightly, still wary of the blade against his neck. The weapon is removed, and Tweek gulps. He turns around, eyes squeezed shut in terror, hands still up in surrender.
"Nghhh, I just bake pies, man!" Tweek shouts out, body starting to shake a bit.
He gathers enough courage to open an eye, an uncontrollable gasp escaping his lips at the sight of the man. His intruder is tall - definitely taller than Tweek, that's for sure. His nose sits on his face crooked. What worries Tweek the most are the injuries covering the man from head to toe.
His olive skin is bruised in many places. His left eye seems to be healing from a black eye. Blood stains his clothes, smeared across his tunic. And the man seemingly hurt his ankle since he puts all his weight on one foot as he stands in front of Tweek.
"Jesus, man!" Tweek can't help but exclaim, eyes practically popping out of his head. "What the hell happened to you?"
The black-haired man in front of him grits his teeth. He points his dagger in Tweek's direction, scowl on his face. His gums are bloodied too. "Doesn't matter. Now, you're going to give me your money, and I'll be on my way."
Tweek's brain doesn't even seem to process the threat as he's too concerned with the shape the man is in. He shakes his head 'no', arms slowly lowering to his sides. "Even if I gave you money, you wouldn't make it to the next town - not like this."
He of all people would know. The next town over is a long journey just by foot. It's why he only ever goes into town once a week to sell his baked goods.
In front of him, the man's face flashes a shocked expression before returning to his usual neutral. He opens his mouth to say something, but Tweek cuts him off, moving around in the kitchen.
"Go sit down! You're gonna bleed everywhere!" Tweek exclaims, searching his kitchen for something. "Wouldn't be surprised if you passed out! Just, argh! Go sit down in the living room! Where did I put that damn rag?"
The man, too seemingly stunned to say anything, leaves the kitchen.
_____________
It's sometime during him wrapping the intruder's bloody knuckles that he realizes the situation he's in. He's just allowed a mugger (and most likely a hardened criminal) into the comfort of his own home. He's literally bandaging up what very well could be the hands of a killer. He jumps slightly at the realization, avoiding eye contact with that man.
He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, head twitching to bump against his shoulder, before blurting out, "Tweek. My name, that is. It's Tweek."
The man's charming blue eyes narrow into slits. He's silent for a minute before offering up a name. "... Feldspar."
Tweek has to stop himself from laughing at the name. His choked out laugh becomes disguised as a cough. The name's so obviously made up, but Tweek will let it slide. For now. Feldspar, as he seems to be called, does not seem amused.
"Jesus, man, what are you even doing here?" Tweek asks, taking a wet rag to the man's face. Feldspar winces as the cloth touches an open wound, and Tweek gives a small 'sorry' in response.
It's surprising to even see another person just wandering about in this area. It's not like it's a densely populated town or anything. He lives in the middle of a fucking forest, for crying out loud! No one just comes out here because they feel like it.
Feldspar flips him off, causing Tweek to glare at him. They lock eyes in some sort of unspoken staring contest before Feldspar looks away with a sigh. "Just passing through. Trying to make it to the next town and needed some money for. You were the first house I've seen for miles."
The man swears when Tweek's fingers brush against a hidden bruise. "Gah! Sorry, man!... A-And you could've just asked for food instead of breaking into my house! I'm literally a baker!... Nghhhh, none of this explains why you're so beat up, though."
He shrugs, blue eyes cast downwards. "... Some people don't like me, I guess."
Tweek turns his head to look at him. Feldspar's still on his couch, body tense and hunched over. His eyes are unfocused, staring distantly at the bandaging wrapped around his wrist. There's blood still streaked against his hairline, ankle lifted off the ground in a funny little position. Tweek purses his lips and takes the man's other hand into his own, inspecting the bruises there.
"... You're welcome to stay here until you're better," Tweek offers, his eyes suddenly deciding Feldspar's hand is the most interesting thing in the world. "And when the time comes, I'll give you some money to make it on your own."
He thinks he can manage. Might have to up the amount of goods he sells in town, and he might have to live off fewer meals for a bit, but it's worth it. He'll make it work.
"I-... " Feldspar cuts himself off, squeezing the man's hand. " Thank you. "
_____________
Tweek never realized how lonely he truly was until Feldspar came around. It's always been him against the world. His dad's voice echoes in his head: If you want something, you've got to work for it, Tweek. You can't just expect someone to give it to you. So he learned. Learned to live by himself, learned to work.
The workload gets cut in half with Feldspar's company. The man insists on helping him out-
( "-for fuck's sake, Tweek, I literally broke into your house and tried to rob you. The least I can do is help out-")
-and it's odd at first. He's no longer alone, no longer left to carry everything by himself. Feldspar silently vows to help out, even with his messed up ankle (Tweek knew he should've checked it out sooner, but Feldspar had refused). Although the thief is horrendous at baking, he rather enjoys cleaning. Tweek can actually see his countertop for the first time in years.
Feldspar's quiet, but his presence is surely felt. He says nothing when baking alongside the blonde, merely letting their elbows knock against each other when he's allowed to mix ingredients together (that's the extent of what Feldspar can do when he's allowed to help bake). Their fingertips brush against one another's when passing each other in the kitchen. He may not speak often, but Feldspar laughs. He snorts, and one time, Tweek got him to make the most obnoxious giggle that left Feldspar blushing red to his ears.
It's… nice.
Tweek doesn't seem to think it's weird that he's let a thief into his home. They've formed a sickeningly-cute kind of domestic relationship with one another. He wouldn't trade it for anything.
There's times when he remembers this sort of bliss can't last forever. Feldspar will heal eventually, and he'll be on his way. No more shared meals or whispered secrets in the dark. He'll be alone. Again.
But then Feldspar wipes the flour from Tweek's face with a content smile on his lips, and Tweek decides those thoughts can wait for another day.
_____________
The thief shares his real name one muggy summer night in bed.
During their relationship, the black-haired male had progressed from sleeping on the couch to sleeping in bed alongside him. It started with a nightmare Tweek had.
He'd awoken screaming, throat burning, tears in his eyes. Feldspar was right by his side when he awoke. They were hand in hand, and Feldspar had spoken so softly that night in kind, gentle words. He had squeezed Tweek's hand, helping him regulate his breathing.
Tweek had matched Feldspar's breath with shaky inhales and stuttering exhales, clutching the man's hand as if it were his lifeline. When his breathing evened out, tear tracks were left on his cheek, and his face burned in humiliation. No one should see him like this, but here Feldspar was, holding his hand.
"Nightmare," Tweek had told him, loosening his grip on the man's hand.
Feldspar's face turned into a funny little expression. When asked about it, he avoided Tweek's face, thumb lightly rubbing circles into the blonde's palm. "... I get them too."
Somehow, they'd ended up sharing Tweek's bed. Neither was comfortable with letting the other sleep alone that night. Or the next night. Or for the next week. Then weeks turned into months, and the seasons changed, and Feldspar was still there, curled against Tweek's body in bed.
He shares his real name in summer.
They're facing each other, and the thief has Tweek's hand tucked under his cheek. They're both on their side, curled into each other, foreheads barely knocking against each other with each breath. Their faces are illuminated by candlelight, bodies covered in Tweek's white sheets.
"You asked me my name a while ago… " Feldspar trails off, eyes suddenly finding the corner of the room far more interesting than the conversation at hand. "But I want you to know my real one."
There's a funny look on the man's face before he's screwing his eyes shut, then he's pressing his lips against Tweek's. The blonde's startled at first, but he makes a sort of breathless laugh before kissing back earnestly. The black-haired male pulls back, whispering against Tweek's lips. "Craig."
Tweek giggles, elated. "Hi, Craig."
Craig smiles, crooked teeth on full display, and all is right, if only for tonight.