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This was it.
This was the day that Tweek finally stopped pretending to be something that he was not, despite his naive attempts to claim otherwise. He was not a liar, and he was not a coward—he cared about Craig with all of his being, and he would not subject Craig to this farce that they had created anymore. Neither one was to blame,
(South Park had wanted, needed, to believe in something made out of love, out of the utmost care between two people.. but now? Now that they were older—wiser?—they needed to work this thing out for themselves, without the influence and interruptions of loud faces hovering above them)
But they needed to talk; they needed to talk about a lot of things that, if dwelled upon for too long, would send Tweek's stomach knotting into tiny, little pieces of dread. He was sick of pretending to care about Craig; he was made ill with the thought that he had to force himself closer, and closer to his partner, when he was already impossibly smitten with the other male. Craig had set the bait, and Tweek was powerless to resist his draw. Tweek already cared deeply about Craig, the blonde already loved Craig more than a friend, and so much more than a lie.
He didn't want this fib, this.. knowledge hanging above their heads like a dark cloud. He wanted to show Craig that he cared his way, not because someone else told them to.
He was ultimately left with little choice; he would have to talk with Craig about this, pour his bleeding heart out to his (Fake? Pretend?) boyfriend before he set himself alight with the pressure. He didn't know what was going to happen, and he didn't know what Craig was going to say—but he knew that they would have to talk about where they stood with each other.
If they still stood together.
The disappointment was almost too much for Tweek to bare. He wanted to carry on like this, live a pretend fantasy for the rest of his life if that was what it took to stay with Craig, to just.. be with him. But Tweek knew (despite the fear of crushing rejection) that he couldn't live like this anymore. He needed to tell Craig how he felt, and he needed to tell him now.
(Before his fear got the better of him)
"Craig," Tweek kept his voice level, his eyes focused on the deep azure abyss staring back at him. Craig's interest piqued, and the stunning, mesmerising orbs pooled in a darkness that took Tweek's breath away were focused on his line of sight. Tweek cupped Craig's attention like a thirsty traveller dining on a fresh river bed, and Tweek tried his utmost to stay cool under the pressure.
"We.. we need to talk,"
Now he really had Craig's attention.
Craig drew in a breath, and let his lunch fall from his fingertips. "Am I in trouble?" Craig smiled a beautiful smile, but lines of worry—creases of dread and fear and trepidation—drove shallow valleys into the features of his face. Craig kept his tone light, casual, but Tweek observed the way Craig's fingers drummed against the table, the way he held his muscles back from reaching a cigarette and setting the stick alight.
Craig was nervous, but pretending that he wasn't. Tweek would have thought his mannerisms cute, but at the moment? Tweek was scared—he was terrified. He didn't want his heart to pulverise underneath the possibly foreboding rejection, but he had promised himself that he would talk to Craig.
And he wouldn't break that promise.
"No, of course not," Tweek lowered his gaze, unable to look Craig in the eye any longer. Craig frowned at the motion, and snaked his hand forward until his warm palm lay still and gentle on the upper side of Tweek's hand. Tweek turned his hand over, and interlaced their fingers together. He wanted to savour the feel of Craig's skin against his own, he wanted to ration every last ounce of care that Craig had to give—just.. just in case.
"But—" Tweek hesitated for a moment, and couldn't quite find the words in order to continue. He chewed on his bottom lip, a thin stream of air departing from his nose in a sad, wounded rhythm.
"Tweek?" Craig tightened his hold, and leaned forward. "Is everything okay?"
No, no it wasn't.
"Craig," Tweek took a breath, and let the words fly from his mouth. "I want to start dating!" Tweek took another breath, and another, and another—until the courage, as fleeting as it was, returned to him. "I want to date you, for real this time,"
Tweek didn't look at Craig, and Craig didn't—couldn't—stop looking at Tweek.
"Tweek—" Craig's voice was neither condescending nor exasperated, it was akin to a breathy laugh that sent Tweek's heart beating into a flurry of adoration. He felt his cheeks burn with a red, hot poker of fluster, but the flush felt like a welcome day of sun shining upon an icy ground. "We're already dating, my love,"
(My love?)
Tweek was scorched with a chaotic tornado of rose and heat and blazing, untamed embers licking a merciless trail of warmth on his pale complexion. Tweek let himself smile, and then laugh a confused, happy laugh that was contagious and completely irresistible to Craig.
Craig smiled, his eyes glowing with a warmth that Tweek always seemed to bring out of him. "We stopped pretending a long time ago,"
Their lips met, and Tweek let himself bask in a familiar kiss.