Work Text:
The door to Tweek Bros. Coffee chimes open, and then closed. Again and again.
With each customer the crisp fall breeze blows its icy breath around the shop. Tweek shivers after the twentieth bell in as many minutes. He scratches absently and cracks his elbow as he bustles behind the counter.
Two lattes, a drip blend with room left for cream, and whatwasthelastone? Shit. He glances over at the order list screen while noting that Machine #2 needs to be cleaned thoroughly in the next ten minutes, or else. Ah, it was a venti double-ccino-with-extra-kick, how could he forget? His hands fly over and grab the biggest cup he can find.
“Hi, what can I get for you?” His dad’s calm voice floats over the low murmur of conversation that the building only seems to amplify.
The response is deep and nasal: “Um. Caramel macchiato, please.”
Tweek files the order away already starting the froth and trying to figure out where the hell he left the fucking caramel sauce before the order even appears on the screen.
When it's up he yells: “Caramel macchiato for Craig!” shrill and hoarse over the din. He falls back into the flurry of filling orders before he notices.
The old blue chullo appears before the rest of him, bobbing over the gaggle of people waiting by the counter. Craig is tall, a few inches over everyone else, just like in high school. A little thicker now, but only so much that he looks healthy instead of rail-thin. The denim bomber around his shoulders fits him snug now, and he has to be what, twenty-two, twenty-three now? Same as Tweek. They were in the same grade, after all.
“Venti Americano for Erica!” He shouts, as he and Craig make eye contact.
Tweek swallows hard.
“Hey,” Craig says, bored and flat but the crinkle in the corner of his eye and right above his lip tells Tweek he’s in kind of a good mood. “You still work here.”
Tweek scratches his -- messy, frazzled, unkempt, dirty -- hair. “...hi. A-and uh, yeah. You’re back in town?” He winces when his voice cracks on the last word. He sounds even more hoarse than normal today.
Craig frowns and Tweek panics -- WasitsomethingIsaid?
“Yeah uh, for a little while.” Craig lifts the coffee to his nose, testing the heat. Calm as ever, and Tweek takes a breath until Craig says: “We should hang out sometime.”
“Um!” Tweek flexes his fingers, swallows his anxiety, looks anywhere but Craig’s face. “Yeah! I--”
A hand taps on his shoulder and Tweek yelps, jumping so high he might leave the planet and ramming his elbow into the person behind him. It’s his father, now hunched over and clutching his stomach. Tweek’s skin itches already from the maroon wool of his sweater.
“Two orders of triple shot americanos, son,” He says, face pinched but voice serene, and steps away.
Tweek scratches his shoulder. “S-sure.” He breathes a few times, trying to calm his frantic heart. When he looks back to Craig, he’s frowning.
“Sorry its -ngh, kinda busy right?” Tweek runs a hand through his hair, tugs on the ends.
“No problem.” Craig shifts away. His dark eyes dart around like pinballs, analyzing Tweek like he’s trying to scan the image into his brain. “See you, I guess.”
“See you,” Tweek waves, and gets back to work.
On Sunday, Tweek stares at the drink in his hand. A caramel macchiato, C-r-a-i-g scribbled in his own stunted chicken scratch along the side label. He hadn’t even noticed until Craig was standing in front of him, eyebrow raised, impatient in the late morning lull.
“Can I have my coffee now, dude?”
Tweek looks up. It's still weird to see him here. Older Craig, the one with a little stubble on his jaw but those same eyes, that same frown. They haven't talked much -- well, at all, really -- in the last four years, but. It's not really a big deal. They were close before, sure, but Tweek’s not one to keep in touch. He can’t stand the pressure of regular conversation with long distance friends, and Craig, well. Craig's not one to talk at all.
“Since when do you like coffee anyway?” Tweek asks because well, he’s curious.
Craig shrugs. Wraps his fingers around the side of the cup. “It’s not really coffee. It’s like ninety percent sugar.”
Tweek shrugs, “You’re not wrong,” he concedes, wiping down the counter with a terrycloth. He spilled some cream earlier, shaking too much.
Craig lingers. Finally, he says: “Come sit with me, dude.”
“What?”
“Like… sit. Over there.” Thumbs over his shoulder, in the vaguest direction of the booths by the window. “There’s like no one here.”
Tweek shrugs. “OH uhh yeah let me just-- shit.” Whythefuck? Does he really want to talktome? He twitches. “Let me.. askmydad real quick?”
Craig nods, and Tweek beelines to the office.
His dad’s doing paperwork, but Tweek doesn’t bother knocking. He shoves his head inside the doorway and cranes his neck around the jamb. “Hey dad can I go on break? Like, five minutes.”
His eyelid flutters, and his dad catches the movement.
“Something wrong? You took your medicine this morning, right son?”
He clenches the hand that’s still out in the hallway. He’ll be lucky if it’s not bleeding by the time he’s done with this conversation. “Nah uh. Ngh- I mean yeah I have but -- Craigishere.”
Richard blinks.
“You know like, Craig from s-school?” The fucking stutter. Damnit.
His father's eyebrows raise. “Oh. Of course.” He takes a long sip from the pristine white mug on his desk and clicks his pen, returning his eyes to his paperwork. “Just let me know when you come back. I’ll take it out of your paycheck.”
Tweek takes what he can get. If he slams the door a little roughly, he’ll blame it on a spasm.
He folds his apron and leaves it on the counter, tries to ungrind his teeth before he gets to the table where Craig is sitting. He’s got his chin in his palm, looking out the window.
His dark eyes fall on Tweek and latch on to the way his hands fiddle with the frayed ends of his shirt. Fuck, he knows. Tweek thinks, and then, Fuck him.
“You ok?”
“Yeah, you know how it is dude. My parents like. Freak me out a little.”
Craig takes a long drink of his coffee. Eyes bouncing around Tweeks face like they had a few days ago. Tweek wants to rip his eyes out of the sockets.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No I don't want to fucking talk about it, god. I haven’t -ngh- talked to you in like, years, dude.”
Craig’s face flashes: a deep frown, before the wall comes back up. “Okay.”
Tweek takes a deep breath, fingers tapping past his temples. They just started talking and he’s already pissing Craig off with his carelessness.
“Don’t pull that shit, jesus-- You’re still a fucking asshole. I’m just saying-- ngh, shit!” Tweek drops his head in his hands. His shoulders twitch involuntarily. He digs his fingers into his eye sockets and wills the tremors to stop: find your center, he tells himself. Relax. It’s just fucking Craig.
But whatifhethinks you’re ugly and whatifhe only wants to be friends and whatif--
“Dude.” Craig shifts in his seat. “Hey, sorry. Calm down.”
Tweek breathes in again. “Dad’s taking this break out of my pay. My real break is in like, three hours.”
“Fuck them, I guess.” Craig holds up a middle finger in the general direction of the office. “Why are you still working here anyway?”
“C-cant really do anything else, can I?” He laughs thin and scratchy, fingers tapping on his mug. “I mean they get my like, needs. It's not too much pressure.” He’s talking too fast, but he can’t help it. Craig’s making him nervous. “I mean it's not like Idon'twanttogo anywhere else! Or I haven't tried. It just neverworksout--”
“Tweek, hey. It's okay.”
“Jesusfuck I sound like a charity case-- Fuck.” He drags his hands down his face, breathes deeply. “Sorry, give me a second--”
Craig snorts, “Dude. It’s just me. You’re fine.”
Of course he would say somefuckingshit like that.
Tweek huffs. “Yeah,” He agrees, and drops his hands into his lap. Chews on his lip instead of his fingers, and decides a change of subject is in order.
“S-so what's up? Why are you back?”
Craig’s eyes roll. “I just missed South Park soooooo much--” His delivery cracks right at the end, and Tweek kicks him under the table.
“Bullshit! Don't be an asshole.” The sarcasm stings, but a smirk pinches Tweek’s cheek anyway.
Craig just grins that bored grin of his and then shrugs, tucks himself tighter around the coffee cup in his hands. Coincidentally, he leans closer to Tweek.
“I just graduated. Didn't know what else to do so here I am.”
Tweek hums into his mug. He remembers Craig went somewhere south. “Arizona, right?”
“Yeah, um.” He says. “Aerospace Engineering. Or something. ”
Tweek snorts. “Seriously?” and Craig frowns.
“Don’t laugh dude, what the fuck. Space stuff is cool.“
“That’s not what I meant -rrr, I mean. You didn’t get a cushy job offer right out of school or something?”
Craig shrugs. Looks out the window. “Didn’t work out.”
There’s more to it. The way Craig chews on the inside of his cheek, the way his eyes don’t settle on any one thing when he looks out the window. Tells Tweek knows because he’s one of the few people who’s ever seen Craig bothered.
He doesn’t press.
“You still hang out with those guys much? I see Clyde in here every now and then,” He finishes his mug, taps on the handle. He’ll have to get back to work soon.
“Yeah. I haven’t really talked to them much. Clyde and Token are coming back for the holidays though,” He says. “Dunno about Jimmy.”
“Mm.” Tweek fidgets. Craig is always calm and Tweek is usually calm by proxy, but awkwardness presses itself upon him. There are things he’d left unsaid from the last time they saw each other before Craig left for college, and for right now, they hang at the forefront of his mind. Not quite on the tip of his tongue.
He gets the feeling that Craig is not so different.
“I ngh- I should get back to work,” He says.
Craig comes in again the next day. And the day after that. For a whole week Tweek sits with Craig while he drinks his coffee and loses half an hour from his paycheck.
It's weird. Like, reallyfuckingweird and if he’d been able to tell himself that this was going to happen a month ago he wouldn’t have believed it. But sitting and chatting with Craig about nothing -- he doesn’t mind it that much.
They’re different from elementary. But just the same. Sometimes, it’s like Craig’s never been away. He’s the same kid that used to get in trouble for fighting. The same kid he and Clyde and Token used to break out of detention for flipping off teachers and cursing in class. Same in the way that Tweek is still a nervous paranoid wreck, but only most of the time.
They’ve both just… shifted a little to the left. Tweek finds himself squinting, sometimes. Trying to find that one angle where Craig will be a clear picture again.
He works the night shift around the holidays. It pays more, for one. Plus, night shift at a coffee shop is like a free excuse to sit in a quiet room and read conspiracy articles on his phone for an uninterrupted eight hours. Well, it would have been uninterrupted, had Craig Tucker not walked in right at 9:58 pm.
Tweek bolts ramrod straight behind the counter as Craig’s slow lope brings him closer.
Ohgod did I do something? Tweek thinks. Why is he here whyisheHERE?
But then, he notices. Craig’s eyes are red-rimmed, a little puffy. Other than that, he’s normal. Blank faced. Voice maybe just a little more nasally than normal.
“Hey,” He says softly.
Tweek’s brows pinch in concern. “Hi.” He says. “The usual?”
Craig nods. He slides the drink around.
“That was... quick.” He blinks at the drink in his hand.
“I usually have one handy--” Tweek stops. “I-I mean, I drink them if you don’t come in. Not, uh, not that I’m waitingforyou to come in I just--”
“It’s fine,” Craig purses his lips. Tweek hopes it’s amusement, and not annoyance.
He folds his apron and leaves it on the counter, follows Craig over to their booth by the window. He doesn't even think about this anymore, it’s just something they do. Like it’s always been this way, even though it’s only been like, a month.
Craig doesn't really talk when they sit down. Tweek doesn't either; instead he twitches in the silence and tugs on his hair. Craig is listless, sure, but Tweek is ninety-percent certain he's the only one whose uncomfortable. Craig is just. There.
A few minutes of this and Craig reaches over, grasps Tweek’s wrist. He pulls it gently away from Tweek’s hair, wraps those warm fingers around Tweek’s hand before he blinks-- and realizes what he's done.
“Uh--” Craig starts, abruptly removing his hand. “Um. Sorry.”
Tweek blinks, a lot. He coughs. “It’s, uh. It’s f-fine dude.”
There's another long stretch of silence where Craig plays with the label on the paper cup.
“I'm sorry for never talking to you,” Craig says.
Tweek’s a little surprised. Still thrown off from Craig’s demeanor since he showed up, and maybe his face is a little hot. “Yeah?” He says, breathless. “I would say same but like, ngh. I hate talking to people long distance.” He fidgets uncomfortably.
“Yeah,” Craig sips his coffee. Looks away again. “I figured.”
“Are you fucking serious Kyle?” Stan clutches at his nose like it’s broken.
Kyle sneers, red curls bouncing around his face with every point of his finger. “Yeah dude, it’s a legit rule. If it bounces off you and back into the cup it still counts.”
“That’s total bullshit, man.” Token leans back on one of the boxes that line his basement.
“Will you guys fucking stop,” Craig shouts from the couch, reading his phone.
“Shut up Craig,” Stan bites back.
“Alright, Jimmy put one on the board for the Dream Team. The Freedom Pals can just make an epic comeback,” Clyde says, winking at Token, who rolls his eyes.
“S-sure thing, fella… fellaaah... friends. “ He says, and marks the chalkboard as he waits for next game.
Craig taps away on his phone.
yo
hey!
how is work
Several texts come back in rapid fire.
Ok i guess
a little busy
wyd?
Craig bites his lip.
chillin at T’s. Beer pong atm
sounds fun
“Dude, is that the boyfriend you’ve been so uptight about?” Token asks, standing on the other end of the couch.
Craig clenches. Sure, he and Rob had posted some pictures all over facebook, but that was more about Craig coming out than it was about Rob in general. They’d broken up months ago. And to be honest, they only broke up because Craig realized he didn’t give a shit about fucking Rob.
The guys have been cool about the whole, ‘Craig is gay’ thing in general, probably way more chill than they would have been in school. It’s the first question since they met up today about it. Thanks, Toke.
“Nah. Uh. We broke up like, a year ago.” He debates a bit before saying: “It’s Tweek. You guys know he still works at Tweek Bros?”
Clyde perks up, sipping a beer at Token’s other side. “Yeah dude, I see him every now and then. Blows my mind how much he’s mellowed out.”
“Well that happens when you’re not taking meth,” Kyle comments helpfully.
Craig elects to not say anything. He glares at the back of Kyle’s head and flips him off, but ultimately decides stuck-up bitch Kyle Broflovski is not worth fighting. He’s a stick figure just like his father; Craig would break him in two. And then get his ass kicked by Stan, who’s not as tall but has actual muscle.
Token checks his phone, waiting his turn for the table. “You guys wanna go for more booze?”
“Sure dude,” Stan considers. “You care if we hang out for a while then?”
Kyle commiserates, “I’d give anything to stay here, man. My mom is like, already losing her shit.”
Token shrugs. “Sure, whatever.”
Craig’s thumbs hover over his unsent message. He decides it will be better to ask.
you wanna come over? To T’s
“You guys mind if I invite Tweek?”
Kyle scoffs. “You are free to invite your new boyfriend, Fucker--”
“He’s not my fucking boyfriend, jackass” He says, and flips Kyle off.
Token, however, looks at him with a funny little hmph. Craig ignores him.
He greets Tweek with a smile as he gets out of his vehicle, smile cracking into his cheek. Tweek’s car is the kind of truck that’s so tweek it makes Craig’s chest hurt.
It's an old beater. From the flaking, forest green paint to the fraying, ancient leather, it's a little worse for the wear, but has just enough character to set it apart. It runs like a champ and fits Tweek like a glove.
Craig’s a few beers deep already and pushes a cup full of mostly tequila and a little oj into Tweek’s hand. Tweek smiles at him -- a little toothy grin -- and Craig is on cloud nine.
He thinks fondly of that party after graduation, a farewell night for the last class of South Park High. The last time they saw each other. Tweek had smiled at him like that then, too. They’d smoked a couple joints and been inseparable all night. Craig left for college the next morning.
He frowns. Trailing behind Tweek all the way into tokens house and down into the basement, like a lost puppy.
They play beer pong in Tokens basement. He and Tweek start out, but after the first round he can tell that Tweek is just that side of twitchy and is a little overwhelmed. Tweek finds it too much. Clyde takes over and they sweep the Dream Team. Stan and Kyle win the final game, though.
Kenny cackles from the corner. If Cartman were here, they would be complete, but somehow Craig gets the sense that the Fatass wasn’t invited. Good riddance.
He grabs another beer from the fridge and drains it before the end of the game. Then another.
Craig realizes Tweek isn't there. Asks if anyone's seen him, wanders upstairs for another beer, and on the way back, spots him outside on the garden bench. His feet take him out the patio door.
Tweek jumps, obviously not expecting him.
“Are you following me dude?”
“Sorry. I can go if you want.”
Tweek shrugs. “Nah it's fine.”
Craig sits on the bench, leans back to look at the stars. His arm falls behind Tweek’s shoulders.
“So what's up dude. Why are you sitting out here, it's fucking freezing.”
Tweek laughs. “Yea I know. I dunno, man. Thinking about stuff.”
“Like what?”
“It's weird dude.”
“Try me.”
Tweek huffs.
“Like I think my parents are keeping me here against my will? Every time I try to get out something brings me right back. But I haven't figured it out yet. Like I know they need someone to run the store but I want to leave so bad it's like… shitty.”
Craig squeezes his shoulder. Pulls him in a bit.
“Thanks. Sorry for just unloading. Shit you’re warm.”
A low warmth blooms in Craig’s chest. He’s used to it by now, around Tweek. “Don't make it weird, dude.”
Tweek sighs. Fiddles with the end of his shirt with his free hand. “I don't even know why I came. Those guys don't like me anyway.”
“They like you.” He blinks. “Come on dude, we've known them since we were babies.”
“Yeah but they're like. Only there for the entertainment. The rest of the time they’re worried about me losing it on them.”
“What?”
“Clyde told me to my fucking face a couple years ago.”
“Seriously? That's fucked up. Fuck him, dude. I’ll punch him in his dumb face.“
“Why did you really come back here?” Tweek turns to him, grabbing his fingers though his hair. The conversation is stressing him out. Craig reaches up with his free hand to tug Tweek’s away. “South park sucks, dude. You should be like, doing space things. Building satellites to spy on people. Contacting aliens or some shit.”
Craig snorts. Chews his cheek.
“Yeah. Uh. My mom died. Two weeks ago.”
Tweek blinks. Turns to face him fully.
“Holy shit man, are you serious?” There is real concern in the crinkle of his brow, the frown of his lips. “I'm so sorry.”
Craig can’t handle it. He looks away. “It's whatever.”
“Dude what that is not a whatever kind of thing. Are you ok?“
He grimaces. This is not what he wanted out of this conversation.
“No. I dunno. It's fine.“
“You’re such a fucking-- gah!”
Tweek reaches his hand from around his mug, clasps it around Craig’s on his lap. Squeezes.
“Fine, be an asshole about it. If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here dude. “
Craig nods, unable to speak.
They sit for a while, out in the stars and the quiet. His mind wanders to the quiet nights in high school when he and Tweek were something-but-not, when they would go smoke behind the mall and get into trouble. Craig rubs his thumb across Tweek’s dry and knobbly knuckles, and notices his bottle is empty.
“I'm gonna get another beer. Wanna come inside? Your hands are like ice.“
“I g-guess.“
He drives home that night a little buzzed. Thinking of the stars and the way the moon lit up Tweek’s hair, like he was the moon itself.
A week passes and the holiday and most of the friends who were in town go back to their normal adult lives.
Craig lays on his couch. Playing video games, being bored. Still in his pajamas.
On his phone are unanswered texts from both Clyde and Token, trying to convince him to come out to Skeeter’s. He has no desire to do anything but drink beer and scratch himself through his boxers when he so pleases.
hey
hi?
what's up? u ok?
yea lol. just bored a f
busy?
His fingers pause on want to come over
no just reading. can't sleep
He takes a deep breath. Presses send.
want to come over
Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, then vanish. It happens twice more before he actually gets a response.
sure
Tweek shows up awkward. Fidgets with his jacket, the end of his scarf.
“Hey,”
Craig plays video games for a bit. Tweek asks him questions, but largely seems uninterested, and keeps typing at something on his phone. It doesn’t take Craig long to get the message.
“Sorry, this is boring,” He sighs, putting down the controller.
“No ahh, it's fine if it makes you happy?”
“Sure you don't want to play something?“
“What if we watch a movie or something?”
“Ok, Which one?”
The answer, of course, is an old Terrance and Phillip they used to watch on sleepover nights with those guys. A tried and true classic -- Craig knows all the lines by heart.
Tweek snuggles under his arm like he had in Token’s yard. His breathing is calm, He doesn't twitch. For a while Craig thinks he’s asleep.
He looks down and finds Tweek looking back at him.
“Hey.“
“Hi.“
Their noses bump. A little further and their lips press together, soft and chaste. Tweek inhales sharply and Craig can feel his hands shaking so he grasps them in his own, just enough to be grounding. Tweek is bitter like the espresso he had on the way over. Sour too, like he didn’t brush his teeth this morning. Craig doesn’t mind. He didn’t either, and he doesn’t have a reason like the government put secret drills in my toothbrush.
Tweek shifts, kisses him harder, opens his mouth wider. Craig whines through his nose as a fire catches in his gut. He pushes forward gently so that Tweek is beneath him on the couch.
“Is this ok?” He breathes. The last thing he wants to do is go too far.
“S-shit, yes,” Tweek breathes and pulls him back in.
He runs his hand up the outside of Tweek’s thigh. The other winds its way through his hair, careful not to catch. Tweek’s hands are on his cheeks, the back of his neck, scratching against his scalp. Goosebumps crawl up his spine.
The stairs creak behind them. “Craig.”
He jerks upright. His dad stands on the landing, face blank as paper. His eyes are on Tweek.
They extract themselves from each other, careful but quick. Tweek knuckles go white as they clench on his knees when he sits up.
“Uh. Hey, dad.”
“Make sure you lock the doors before you go to sleep, son,” is all his dad says.
He goes back upstairs and the space between them on the couch feels like an ocean. Not again, he thinks. Not this time, too.
“I, ngh-- I should go,” Tweek mumbles.
“Ok,” Craig says, lead weight rotting in the pit of his stomach.
He follows Tweek out the door.
“You work tomorrow?”
“Yeah, d-dayshift.”
Craig nods. The moment passes. Tweek eyes him like he’s got a second head. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward.
“See ya, man.“ He says. Craig watches as he gets in his car and drives away.
He doesn't see Craig in the morning.
He doesn't see Craig at all. For the next few days it's like Craig never existed in his life. South park is back to normal. Normal meaning that Tweek is alone again.
He tries to console himself. Craig is in a weird place right now. He’s going through a lot of shit. Craig didn't know what he was doing.
He settles down in bed. Lamplight on, book in hand. There's no way he’s sleeping tonight. Too much to think about.
A sharp thunk on his window startles him so much he falls out of bed.
Whatthefuckisthat? Something’s trying to get into his window. Once, a similar noise turned out to be a frog. But this was much louder than that was.
He crouches beside his bed for a few more minutes, listening for any telling noise. He hears nothing. Until--
Another thunk startles him onto his ass. And another makes him cover his head, shortly after.
No, someone was doing this to his window.
He opens the blinds hastily, peers out. There’s nothing but the blackness of night. He’s pissed enough to power right through his fear but gets a few violent twitches in his hands and neck as retribution.
He yanks the window up and open. A chill breeze makes him shiver. Below him in his sideyard, is a wide, grinning face. Chullo pulled tight around his ears.
“Hey!”
“What the fuckareyoudoing!!” He hisses into the night, livid.
“I dunno!” Craig whisper-yells back.
Tweek slaps his palms on his face. Waves an emphatic get up here, you asshole, and steps away from the window.
It takes a couple minutes for Craig to flop himself through the window. Tweek shuts it forcefully, wrapping himself in his blanket.
Craig mirrors him, sitting on the bed with his legs off the side. He’s only wearing a raglan with his jeans, coat nowhere to be found. He smells like cheap beer and cigarettes.
“Hey,” He says again.
“Ngh, You just get back from Skeeters?”
Craig frowns. Sniffs his shirt, still damp from the snow outside. Getting Tweek’s bed damp.
“Shit.” he curses, slurring just enough to notice. “Do I smell that bad?”
“Yes. Where’s your coat?”
He shrugs. “Left it somewhere, maybe.”
Tweek huffs, leans back against his pillow and opens his book. He kicks some of the blanket towards Craig. “Take your shoes off and shut up. I was j-just getting to the good part.”
Craig obeys, kicks off his Chuck Taylors -- soaked to the bone, Tweek notes, before returning to his book.
He worms his way into the blanket, up to Tweek’s side.
Tweek’s right eye twitches. “What the fuck are you doing.”
“I dunno,” he says, pressing his face into Tweek’s shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”
Tweek dog ears, closes his book. Might as well just say it.
“Craig, I’m not gonna be your fucking! Argh, your fucking booty call.”
Craig straightens, leans back against the wall. Brows furrowed. The blank mask slides back over his face.
“You’re not,” he says.
He knows Craig. He knows Craig, knows that he doesn’t make house calls in the middle of the fucking night without a reason, without something being seriously wrong. Tweek knows that Craig doesn’t do hookups, or knows that he didn’t used to. He knows that Craig is unlikely to change. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the fragile way he feels when Craig looks at him. He says it anyway.
“So why crawl in my window when you couldn’t p-pick anyone up at Skeeter’s?”
Craig’s jaw clenches like he’s been slapped.
“I wasn’t -- I wasn’t trying to do anything at Skeeter’s. Clyde and Token --” He covers his face with his hands. “They took me out for a beer. Or five. I dunno, dude. We talked about… stuff.”
“Stuff?”
“Like, my mom and stuff, okay? And maybe you-- Is the interrogation over yet, fuck!”
Tweek blinks. “Don’t be an asshole dude. Keep your voice down.”
Craig flips him off. Dark eyes hard under the brim of his chullo. “Keep your voice down--”
Tweek slaps his hand over Craig’s mouth as the floor in the hallway creaks. They both go rigid. His eyes lock on the noise, attention torn between worrying about his parents finding out about his guest and Craig’s lips ghosting across his fingers.
A soft knock on the door, a soft voice. His mom, then.
“Tweek, honey? Are you alright?”
“Y-yeah, fine,” Tweet replies, moving off the bed. He checks himself over in the few steps to the door -- is his shirt rumpled? It’s always rumpled but is it too rumpled? Will she notice Craig is drunk in the five seconds he’ll have the door open? He’s twenty-fucking three, will he ever grow out of his parents having to check up on him in the middle of the night?
The door creaks open, and his mother peers up at him, her soft brown hair frazzled, dark bags under her eyes.
“Craig is here,” He explains. Craig waves wanly from his seat on the end of Tweek’s bed. “Sorry for- argh, for waking you.”
“Ah. Hello, dear.” She waves around Tweek, frail and faint. Her eyes return to her son for a brief moment before she shuffles away from the door.
“You boys don’t stay up too late now,” She yawns, wrapping her robe tighter around herself.
Tweek shuts the door behind her.
When he sits back on the bed, his hands are shaking. He might be breathing too hard. No big deal. Just a panic attack. He has them all the time. No big deal.
“Tweek.” Craig leans over, still slurring in a whisper. “Tweek, I’m sorry. Hey, it’s okay. Hey.”
A warm hand grabs his own. “Hey, look at me.”
Craig’s eyes are black holes, pulling him in inch by inch. Breathe, he says. Breathe with me.
He does. In, and out. In, and out. Craig tugs them both down to lay side by side on his bed, the full he’s had since high school just big enough for the two of them. He clutches one hand while Craig’s other rubs soothing lines up and down his back. His head rests against Craig’s collarbone. He can hear his heartbeat, right there. Right in front of him.
“Sorry about your mom,” Tweek mumbles eventually.
“It’s fine,” Craig says. “She was a bitch, anyway.”
Craig pushes open the door to his house quietly. The threshold groans as he steps across, but he does his best to turn the handle so it shuts without a click. Tricia was always better at it than he was, would vanish in and out of the house at will while they were in high school. But she left last week to go back to Boulder and Craig...
Craig’s still… here.
He steps softly, stretching out his weight across the creaky floor. His legs shake from dehydration but otherwise he manages. Take that, hangover.
“Morning, son.” He almost jumps out of his skin as his father calls to him from the kitchen. Settles his face into something neutral.
Fuck. Too late now. He forgoes all pretense.
“Morning,” He croaks, and strolls in with his hands in his pockets.
His father sips his coffee out of a stupid Terrance and Phillip mug Craig got for his eighth birthday. “Stay out late with the boys last night?”
Craig hums. He leans into the freezer -- thank god, there’s a single greasy egg-and-sausage breakfast sandwich left in the otherwise empty space. He snatches it out and trashes the box.
“That Tweak boy, too?” His dad asks.
Craig’s teeth grind together as he rips the plastic off the processed meats. “I’m not twelve anymore,” He spits, steamrolling right over the subtext. He flips his dad off while setting the microwave, and glances over his shoulder just long enough to see the gesture returned in kind as he leans in the ‘fridge for some water.
He pops the cap, glugs the water like a dying man. Leans on the counter while waiting for his greasy gut bomb to finish warming.
A smirk tugs at his dad’s face. “Knew that when the two of you tried to defile my couch.”
“Oooh my god. We are not having this conversation,” Craig scoffs, finishing the bottle. He crushes it and stops, as his father shuffles some papers he’s got stacked on the kitchen table.
Thomas looks tired. His rusted, curly hair clings to his balding head and his fingers tap against his temples. Heavy eyes pore over more forms and brochures spread across the kitchen table as he rearranges the temporary workspace.
“What’s up,” Craig asks, though he doesn’t really want to know.
The mug chinks against the table as his father puts it down, rubs his stubby fingers across his eyelids.
“I have to sell the house,” He says flatly. Fixes Craig with a look. “We’ve never been well off, son. You know that. And without your mother’s income, and all the expenses, I just… can’t make it work anymore.”
Craig’s universe zeroes to a single point.
This house. It’s the only house he’s ever known. The mug in his father’s hands. His mother standing at the sink, shaking her head, lips pressed in a tight line. Suddenly he is deathly aware of the silence in the rest of the house. A yawning void held above him only by some flimsy wood and nail, unable to be filled. A great emptiness that will crush him, eventually.
The microwave beeps behind him.
“Cool,” he says, shoving the sandwich in his mouth. “I’ll be back later.”
He slams the front door on his way out.
Craig does what anyone would do in his situation: He walks around. Cries under a tree near Stark’s pond, just like he had after his mother's funeral.
He ends up at the coffee shop. Tweek’s not there of course. He'd never been so glad to see a familiar face as he was when he saw Tweek a month ago.
He awkwardly says hello to Richard Tweek.
“Lemme get a caramel macchiatto.” Richard pays no more attention to him after his order is in his hands.
He sits there for a while and drinks it. He’s a pretty shitty friend.
Almost can feel Tweek next to him, he’s thinking so hard.
Tweek is next to him.
He jumps.
“Dude are you okay?” Tweek blinks at him.
“Huh? Yeah.” He says, and then: “No, uh, not really.”
Tweek bites his lip. “Okay?” He looks around, eyes bouncing around his skull like those rubber balls they'd bounce off the bricks.
“Come here.” He says, and drags Craig by the arm into the back of the shop.
It’s dingy in the supply closet. Craig remembers having to sneak Tweek out the back door so he wouldn't have to spend his whole school vacation working. He'd crash at Craig's house, and maybe they'd make out a little before Craig decided to ignore him for another few weeks. What a shitty fucking person he was. Maybe it's just all karma.
Tweek twitches in front of him. “D-dude, what the fuck is going on with you?”
“Um.” Craig gulps. Something burns, behind his eyes.
He clutches Tweek's shoulders. Reels them in, so his nose is in the crook of his neck. Squeezes tight.
“Uhh.” For his part, Tweek just lets it happen. “You, um. You wanna talk about it?” He asks, rubbing Craig’s back as his shoulders start to tremble.
Craig does his best to shake his head no. He can't speak.
He doesn't even know why he's crying.
Tweek taps his fingers against the counter. A catchy tune blares from the radio, and he swings a bit as he hums under his breath. Outside the late morning sun peeks over the buildings, casting the shop in a bright, blinding light.
He texts Craig, because of course he does. It’s all he seems to be doing lately.
hey dude
sup
u at work?
yea its slow. sunday always is
He sips his espresso. Tempered with chocolate. At least it wasn’t another caramel macchiatto. He’s had waaaay too many of those lately.
when do u get off
like 8 idk whenever dad comes in
pm???? that is a hella long shift
yeah
hang out after?
of course :)
Craig stands on the curb. Phone in hand, looking pensive.
“Hey,” he says, getting in.
“Hi,” Tweek says. His fingers tap like hammers on the steering wheel as he pulls away.
Tweek drives slow, cautious as ever. His eyes darting every possible direction. It’s closer to nine, on a Sunday. The town is silent.
“My dad’s selling the house,” Craig says without prompting.
Tweek reels like he’s been hit. “Shit, man. Fuck. That’s terrible.”
“Yeah.”
They stop at a stop sign.
Tweek’s fingers tap, and then stop. He looks over at Craig.
“You wanna go somewhere?”
Craig looks at him sidelong.
He thinks of Tweek at seventeen, flush faced from drinking and dancing, hanging off his shoulder at that last party before he left for school. The way he bit his lip, slurred words you wanna go somewhere into his ear.
“Sure, whatever.” He says, and the car rolls again.
He puts his chin in his hand and watches the countryside roll by. He can see Tweek’s reflection in the window. He stares at it more than the stars.
“Where are we going?” he asks eventually.
“My dad’s cousin has some property out here? I nguh- I started coming out here like, senior year. It’s amazing, I’m sure you’ll--”
Tweek cuts himself off with a strangled grumble. Craig is concerned.
“I’ll what?”
“You’ll love it.”
He turns into the open metal gate and Craig thinks that Tweek was right.
They park out in the middle of the field. The new moon is barely visible with its dark veil.
Tweek grabs blankets and a sleeping bag from the truck’s bed box. Lays them out in the bed, and they clamber in, cozy in the quiet, open night.
The plains stretch out before them, the mountains behind. Above the stars are bright as Craig has ever seen them, brilliant against the indigo blanket of the sky.
“I always wanted to bring you here,” Tweek says.
“It’s great,” He says, breathless.
Under the blankets, his hand finds Tweek's. It’s trembling. He strokes the back of it with his fingers, threads them together like Tweek is the last person keeping him tethered to the earth.
“Ngh- you’re gonnafuckinghate this--” Tweek takes a deep breath. Looks him straight in the eye and asks:
“What is this?”
Craig doesn’t follow. “This?”
“Like us, dude?
Oh. Tweek shuffles to look at him. Fingers still intertwined. “Cause I don’t want this to be like high school man, I can’t fucking do that again, I. I want something real dude, something like. -”
“Um,” Craig garbles.
“Shit,” Tweek curses. Lets go of Craig's hand and winds his fingers into his coarse hair, pulling on the roots. “Shit, shitshitshit. You-- don't. Fuck just. Forget I said anything ok?”
“Tweek.” Craig tugs his hands away. “I don’t want that either. I don’t want it to be like that either,” His chest is exploding
“A-are you sure dude?” Tweek twitches bodily.
He takes one hand and cups Tweek’s jaw, pressing their foreheads together. Tweek’s eyes are the deepest olive and Craig doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“Yeah dude. One-hundred percent.” Maybe he's never been more sure of anything else in his life.
He kisses Tweek, slow and deep. It’s different than their frantic makeout on the couch -- he tries to put the whole force of the pressure in his chest behind it. Tweek gasps, and clutches him tighter, shuddering. They have all the time in the world here, just them and the stars, and Craig gets this sense of rightness as Tweek’s hands fumble at the hem of his shirt.
Now he understands. Maybe here is where he’s always belonged.
Tweek sits on Craig’s bare mattress, fiddling with the loose strings. Craig putters around his room, filled wall to wall with cardboard boxes. The For Sale sign looms out the window, a vinyl Pending slapped over the top, almost menacing in the late afternoon shadows.
Craig whistles to himself as he packs his clothes, fine as ever. Tweek doesn’t know how he does it -- or he knows, really, that Craig is hurting pretty badly about it, and just manages to keep a straight face.
Without prompting, Craig says: “With the house and all I was gonna take a job,”
Tweek twitches. “Hn?”
“Yeah. Boeing has some good positions in, um. Colorado Springs.”
“C-colorado Springs?!” Tweek’s hands come up to his face. He shakes his head, trying to breathe. “F-fuck dude.” That would mean distance . Tweek's never been good at distance.
Craig doesn't say anything for a moment, but stops packing. And then:
“I want you to come with me, dude,” he says.
Tweek whips his head up. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He groans in anguish, fingers digging into his temples.
“I’ll help you with your parents. It will be okay.”
“ Ngh , no, nono--” He shakes his head violently. "My dad's gonna flip, he's gonna--"
“Tweek,” Craig puts down the shirt he’d been holding and wraps him up tightly. “It's gonna be okay. We can do this, okay?”
He thunks his head against Craig’s chest. Once, twice. This is what he’d always wanted. Why is it so terrifying, now that it’s in reach?
“Okay,” he breathes, “okay.”
Tweek looks out their window. The apartment is shitty, but it’s what they can afford, and he’s got a hot mug of coffee in his hands, so it’s not all bad. Early mornings are nice in the Springs anyway -- out the window he can see the plains rolling below them, peppered with urban sprawl.
In the bed behind him, Craig grumbles, upset about the open curtain.
“Want coffee?” Tweek asks, no sympathy.
Craig only grunts, nuh.
“Okay sleepy head.” Tweek sips his own espresso. The flavor explodes on his tongue. “If you d-don’t get up soon, I’m going to the store without you.”
Craig just flips the sheet over his head, and rolls over.