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Thomas had fucked up.. again.
He had waltzed into his friend's house, confident that he was not going to be a complete freak tonight, drunk on the knowledge that he was going to blend in with his semi-normal peers. He had sampled some odd tasting alcohol from a cheap, plastic red cup, and had tried his best to socialise with his fellow classmates.
It had worked, to an extent. His tics had been reduced, almost subdued by the mild effects of the alcohol, but he knew it was too good to be true. Now—he was sure of it, positively convinced—that everyone at the party thought he was some kind of freak that couldn't hold his alcohol.
As he sat on the dirty concrete curb, he didn't dare look back at the party. He knew what they were thinking; he was labelled as some freak, some outcast that couldn't even mix in with other people properly.
He blinked hard, and fought away the tears. He brought a hand to his chest and tried to rub away the alcohol that was staining his shirt, but it was no use.
He sniffled, once, twice, and wiped at his cheeks furiously, drying the pool of tears gathering on his lower lids.
The last thing he wanted was to be known as some cry baby.
He could feel the alcohol seeping in through his shirt, and made a grimace at the feel of the sticky liquid touching his chest. He peered down at the ugly stain and frowned—that was one mark that he didn't think would ever come out of the material. He would have no choice but to discard his shirt.
His bottom lip trembled; he loved this shirt.
He let out a long sigh and brought his knees closer toward his chest, resting his chin on one of the denim legs. His arms came around to hug his legs, tugging them closer in order to provide some sort of comfort.
He felt.. weak, useless. He tried to ignore the hurt blooming in his chest, the same hurt that make his heart weep with misery, but it was easier said than done. His mind kept on replying the events like some kind of dirty limbo, taunting him with the rewind that lead him to flee the party, embarrassed, and end up perched on a slab of concrete right outside the house.
How could he have let this happen? How could he have messed up so badly?
He tried to focus on the loose gravel pressed beneath his shoes, but his thoughts were a whirlwind of agony; he couldn't help but feel guilty, he probably ruined Tweek's party—
A hand landed on his shoulder.
"Shit!" He squeaked, his muscles twitching and jumping at the sudden, unexpected touch. On instinct, he threw a hand over his mouth and flattened his lips, the thin red flesh restrained with his palm. He refused to let any more sounds escape his mouth.
He was such an idiot—how could he ever think that he could possibly be anything more than a twitching freak?
"Hey,"
That was Tweek; that was Tweek's voice behind him. The tone was warm and soft and perfect—it was a surprise to hear such a pleasant tone being directed at him, but it wasn't an unwelcome one.
Thomas liked Tweek; he was a good friend, one that wasn't afraid to stand up and fight for what he believed in and, in his heart, knew was right. He was hard-headed, but knew when to give people some space. He was determined, but knew how to pick and chose his battles. Tweek was jumpy and somewhat paranoid at times, but that only made him aware of other people's discomfort and limits. Tweek understood Thomas—he knew when Thomas's anxiety was through the roof, (even when Thomas tried to hide his feelings) and made sure that he was okay.
Tweek was passionate about the things he loved; he was brilliant and awe-inspiring and so.. so Tweek.
He meant a lot to Thomas—how could he not fall head over heels for the blonde?
Thomas sunk his nails into his flesh, and stared up at Tweek; he was smiling a gentle smile at him, an expression brimming with softness and affection gracing his features. The blonde stepped forward, lowering himself down so that he could join Thomas on the concrete sidewalk.
Tweek had set himself down too close—their legs brushed with the proximity, and Thomas felt his cheeks burn with a hot blush. It felt as if there was electric in the atmosphere between them, it felt as if there was a blazing electricity in his chest.
He muttered a faint reply.
He wanted desperately to gush out an apology and beg and beg and beg for Tweek's forgiveness. He didn't want to lose the blonde, he wouldn't be able to bare it if Tweek never wanted to see him again. He wanted to confess to Tweek that the only reason he even came to the party in the first place was because he wanted to impress the blonde.. and he didn't know how else to do it.
He hoped that if Tweek saw he could be normal, if the blonde saw Thomas surrounded by people without his anxiety flaring up, then, maybe..
Thomas severed the thought.
There was no way that Tweek would like him now, not after he caused a scene and ruined Tweek's night.
The words swirled around in his mouth, but he didn't have the courage to utter them. He was delusional, deranged into thinking that Tweek actually wanted him here.
Pity. That's why Tweek had invited him to his house; he had invited Thomas out of pity, and nothing more.
Thomas hated pity—the glances brimming with shame and disgust were worse than the humiliation.
"Thomas,"
He braced himself for the inevitable. Here it was, the I-never-want-to-see-you-again's, the why-did-you-even-come-here's? Thomas was more than familiar with the bitter irony of rejection, but that rejection, that soul-crushing dismissal coming from Tweek? His friend? It was going to hurt even more.
He willed himself not to cry.
"I'm glad you came here tonight,"
Thomas froze, blinking at Tweek several times. That, had caught him off guard. He was dumbfounded, his mind short-circuiting as he stared back at Tweek's glowing orbs with wide eyes. Had Tweek suffered a recent blow to the head? Tonight had been awful!
Tweek reached out with his hand and curled a loose strand of dirty blonde hair back behind Thomas's ear. Thomas flushed a deep crimson at the touch, but he didn't pull away. His skin rose with heat, a scorching warmth that touched his heart with a beating flurry; he tried not to melt into the touch, despite how good and how natural it felt to just let himself fall into the moment.
His hair was sticking up in every direction; he had tried to comb the unruly locks into an organised mess, but both he and Tweek knew the futility of that feat.
Thomas wanted to pull that hand back onto his flesh, but he stopped the impulse from becoming reality. Was this some kind of twisted trick? A cruel dare? Tweek meant a great deal to him.. but he didn't want to get his heart shattered.
He continued to stare—he was a blushing mess, and his slightly parted lips exuding his tepid breath didn't help.
Tweek's laugh was soft, his eyes warm and oh so perfectly gentle. "I know it wasn't exactly ideal.."
Tweek made a vague motion toward his wet shirt.
"But I was hoping that you'd show up," Tweek, a dust of pink caressing his milky cheeks, turned to face the quiet street. Thomas caught a glimpse of the rosy hue spreading across Tweek's face, and his stupid heart almost burst itself out of his chest.
Holy fucking shit.
The profanities bubbled up to the forefront of his mind, spilling untamed glee into his veins. The realisation was both terrifying and the best thing that had ever happened to him; Tweek liked him, and the blonde wasn't trying to hide or conceal it. Tweek Tweak actually liked Thomas—he really did like him back!
Thomas had the sudden urge to leap up and jump into the cool, night air, the delight a wind of joy beneath his soaring wings. He felt as if he could just take off and fly into the atmosphere—guided soley by the warmth boiling over in his chest—without a care or worry in the world to hold him down.
He was ecstatic, the relief and disbelief almost too much for him to handle, but he remained firm, and grounded himself back into reality. The mild throb of teeth sinking into his bottom lip helped him to keep his grasp on the moment.
He wanted to make sure, he needed to convince himself that this wasn't just some taunting dream. He took a deep breath—hesitation lingering around the edges of his mind for only a mere moment—before placing his hand over Tweek's.
Their skin connected with delicious friction, electricity igniting beneath the scorching heat of their touch. Tweek turned his head to stare back at him, his cheeks erupting with a flurry of pink. They gazed, deeply, into each other's orbs; Thomas's heart was drumming against his ribcage with crazy fervour, his palm growing clammy with the prevalent anxiety running through his every nerve.
His mouth felt dry, his throat stuffed with cotton wads of fear.. but he refused to back down, he denied his anxiety the power to taint his resolve.
After the night he had experienced—what did he have to lose?
The globes of emerald glimmers were impossibly tender—Thomas let his guard down, and allowed himself to melt at the look, allowed himself to feel.
"I.. I've been wanting to talk to you about—us, for awhile now,"
Thomas's heart leaped into his throat with an eager pounce; he shuffled closer to Tweek, letting the blondes wandering hand settle against his waist. The touch was comforting, reassuring, and Thomas found himself wanting more.
Their tepid breaths mingled in a cloud of steamy mist—Thomas fluttered his eyelashes at Tweek, his nails poking into the supple flesh of Tweek's hand.
He didn't think that he could be any more obvious. He knew what he wanted, what they both wanted; they didn't have to hold back anymore, they didn't have to pretend that their affection for one another didn't exist.
They just wanted to be with each other.
Tweek swallowed thickly, leaning forward as his pearly whites came to gnaw at his lower lip. Tweek had the same nervous habit as him, Thomas noticed.
Tweek was nervous.. because of Thomas.
And oh boy did Thomas get it; he understood what Tweek was trying to force out, he understood the fact that confessing your affection to someone was easier said than done. The crushing fear of rejection, the all-consuming dread of what-could-happen's, and the daunting, unbearable agony of being hurt by those closest to you.. Thomas got it, he really did.
That was why he was so afraid to tell Tweek how he felt.
Thomas closed the distance, and left a small peck on the mounds of reddened flesh that belonged to Tweek. His lips were warm, and held the distinct taste of black coffee—Thomas loved it.
"I like you too, Tweek,"
He wasn't afraid anymore.
Thomas smiled, and let out a breathy laugh. His laugh was that of compassion; Tweek appeared to be flabbergasted, his mind failing to catch up with the events that had just transpired. His once pale complexion had changed into a deep scarlet, matching the blush coated on Thomas's cheeks.
They were both a blushing mess.
A thin sheen of tears glossed over Thomas's vision, but he was far from letting misery push them over the edge of his lashes. He wasn't sad, or upset, or disappointed—he felt.. happy. He was overcome with a thick wave of happiness: it was festering in his chest at an uncontrollable rate, the joy consuming every inch of his being as it flowed through him without mercy.
The feeling was unfamiliar.. and scary, but Thomas welcomed it.
Maybe tonight hadn't been a complete bust after all.
Tweek shook his head to ward off the wonderful, absolutely brilliant remnants of incredulity and threw his arms around Thomas. A squeal left Thomas's throat as Tweek pulled his—Tweek held his fingers firmly crossed, he wanted, more than anything, for this to work—soon-to-be boyfriend close.
Tweek couldn't stop himself from smiling; his cheeks ached with the upward tug of his lips, his teeth flashing with his wide grin. Thomas let himself collapse against Tweek in relief; he pressed his face into the crook of Tweek's shoulder and inhaled deeply, letting the musk clinging to the blondes skin invade his senses.
The scent of green apples basking in a tub of black coffee was a scent that Thomas could get used to—it was Tweek's scent, and it was perfect.
The green shirt supporting his head felt like it was made out of bliss. Thomas let the fabric soak up his motionless tears, drying his eyes and wiping away any minuscule doubts that dared to loiter on his cheeks.
Tweek felt like a furnace; the arms coiled around his waist kept him caged to Tweek's side, filling him with the warmth of another human being. Thomas felt comfortable, almost too comfortable. They were still sitting on the dirty concrete floor, but Thomas couldn't find it in himself to care.
He never wanted to move.
Thomas tucked his head beneath Tweek's chin, quivering with sweet pleasure as nimble fingers played with his hair. A content smile danced along his features—he liked being held, especially by Tweek.
"Good!" Tweek pulled him closer, and Thomas muffled the sound of gratification rising to his mouth. "Because I'm taking you out for coffee tomorrow,"
His lids fluttered shut, his thick lashes tickling the blondes neck. He brought his hand to the back of Tweek and let his fingers tangle themselves in the material of his shirt, clenching the fabric with slight desperation.
Please don't be a dream, please don't let this be a dream—Thomas didn't want this moment to end, he was in heaven.
"It's a date, then!"
The party wound down behind them, but they didn't care to notice. They were sat beneath the faint glow of the stars, ensnared in each other's embrace.