Work Text:
The skeleton looked rather unhappy sitting at the dining table. Gloomy mist girdled around it, and Tweek gazed at it with a deep frown creasing his face. It stared back at him through shadowed orbits.
Tweek leaned back on the rugged chair and a squeak crashed through the deadly silence of the room. “Alright, you won!” he said, folding his arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes at his company. “I hope you are happy.”
The skeleton indeed seemed a bit happier. Its skull tilted slightly to the left, towards the door.
“Don’t hurry me!”
Tweek grabbed his wallet from the table and pushed himself up. The yellow beam of the old pendant light cast eerie shadows across the skeleton’s smug bony face. He clenched his hands and his nails dug into the soft skin of his palms. He crossed the room, the stench of stale air irritating his nose, and glanced briefly back before stepping outside.
The skeleton was smiling at him.
“At least ventilate the stupid room while I’m away,” Tweek muttered and slammed the door behind him.
The loud bang echoed through the empty corridor of the thirteenth floor. Dust drifted under the flickering lights and the unwelcoming doors of the neighbors' apartments stretched out in both directions. Muddy shoe prints trailed across the dark maroon carpet. The color of old blood spilled under Tweek’s feet. He closed his eyes and started counting to calm himself down. He got to seven and then yelling from the flat next door broke his concentration, and he sneaked closer to hear them better. The woman was screaming at the top of her lungs, accusing her drug-addict boyfriend of cheating. The man, as always, denied it. Tweek rolled his eyes. Of course the boyfriend was lying. Tweek had seen him entering the apartment with his little mistress whenever his girlfriend was at work. Tweek felt sorry for her, but he had learned to stay out of other humans’ lives.
The woman started to scream about the underwear she found under the bed, and Tweek’s eyes opened wide. He pressed his ear even closer to the dirty wooden door, his heart beating rapidly against his chest. There hadn’t been anything this exciting ever since those brainless junkies blew their apartment up. But that was in April, and now it was the middle of January. The woman yelled again, telling the man to ‘get the fuck out’ and this was Tweek’s cue to keep moving. He rushed towards the staircase. There was no way he would get inside that deathtrap called the elevator. No, not in a million years. He had already survived three decades without ever using them, and he wasn’t planning to start now.
Outside, tall buildings and city lights stripped the night sky of all its twinkling stars, and only the somber full moon broke the eternal darkness of the heavens. Tweek puffed out a weary breath, cursing himself again for moving to such a soulless place. Too noisy, too dirty, and too crowded. He missed the peacefulness of the quiet and secluded towns, but the folks there got easily suspicious of him. Staying invisible was easy in a big city, and when you are a witch living with your best friend, whose soul is trapped in a skeleton, hiding becomes a priority. Yet… He missed the snowy mountains and the starry nights. And the old days when Kenny still had flesh on his bones and was a little less cursed than he was these days. Life was much easier back then.
He sighed, pulled the hood of his shirt up, and started down the street. Midnight was around the corner, not the best time for a stroll, especially not in a neighborhood well known for being the nest of the thugs of the city. But what could he do? He was never good at saying no to Kenny…
Tweek took a left turn, leaving the main street behind, entering an alley filled mostly with small stores and abandoned buildings. Everything was the same as always. Everything, except… He stopped, and his eyes shifted to the shop window on his right. Warm beams of light seeped through the freshly painted white shutters. He raised an eyebrow. That was new. He had walked in front of this building numerous times before but the place was always closed. It used to be a second-hand bookshop; at least, that’s what the old shop board used to say. Tweek’s eyebrow dropped, knitting with the other into a frown. Curiosity got the better of him, and he inched closer to the window. If the lights were on, someone must be inside.
Dozens or more tiny tables scattered across the floor with various shaped and colored chairs surrounding them. A huge counter sat at the back of the room, and— He caught something in the corner of his eye. Tweek turned away from the window just in time to see a shady man running towards him. The smell of puke and alcohol infiltrated his nose and before he had a chance to react, the man’s fist smashed into his face. Tweek’s breath caught in his throat. The force of the hit pushed him against the shop’s window. Pain spread through his nose and left eye as a laugh, harsh and hysterical, hit his ears. His head hurt. Tweek forced his eyes to focus.
The man was an ugly bastard with a crooked, yellow smile and a greasy, pox scars-covered face. Not even Tweek’s blurry vision could make him less grotesque.
“Fuhh…erh,” Tweek hissed, tottering away from the window.
The man snickered and flashed a pocket knife into Tweek’s face. “Gim’ you money.” He poked the tip of the blade against Tweek’s chest.
Tweek’s eyes dropped from the bastard’s face to the knife. Heat flushed at the back of his aching head, the rushing sound of blood pounding in his ears. His muscles tensed up. His leg flew up, hitting the man in the crotch. A scream. The knife pulled away from his chest. He stepped forward, hitting the man’s face. An eye for an eye. He hit him again. And again. Smash! Smash! Smash! His blood was boiling. His fist slipped on something wet. He saw red. The man cried. Tweek felt dizzy.
“Stop!”
Tweek’s arm froze in the air, only a few inches away from the man’s beat-up, bloody face. His stomach twisted into a tight knot. A third man stood on the street, his eyes, fixated on Tweek, who could only focus on the gun aimed directly at him.
Shit! He was in trouble.
The thug let out a screeching sound and sprinted away, only leaving bloody marks and his knife behind.
The third man didn’t move, still aiming at Tweek; only his cold eyes followed the runaway until he disappeared behind a building. Then his attention returned to Tweek, and his eyes widened. “It’s you.”
Tweek trembled. He stared into the abyss of the muzzle, and he knew a bullet was hiding in the shadow, ready to burst out of its casket. “I– I— It was self-defense!” The words came out in a shrill voice, and he pointed violently at the weapon. “He attacked me!”
The man lowered his arms and removed his finger from the trigger. “Wrong decision.” A small smirk appeared on his face.
Tweek’s shoulders dropped. The pain he had momentarily forgotten returned to his nose, and he reached up and touched it. It was swollen, sensitive, and warm. And wet.
“I’m bleeding…” Tweek muttered, looking at his bloody finger.
The man tilted his head, furrowing his brows. “Well… yeah.”
“Oh, God!” Tweek was shaking, staring at his blood. The sour taste flooded his mouth and he felt lightheaded. “I don’t feel so grea—” His eyes bulged, his stomach tightened and he hurled all over the ground.
“Shit!”
***
Tweek leaned forward, holding an ice-filled takeaway cup against his nose. Pink droplets of bloody water flocked together in a miserable puddle on the table beneath him. His head throbbed and the acidic taste of vomit refused to disappear from the back of his throat. For the umpteenth time since he crossed the threshold of the coffee shop – where the man with the gun just happened to work – he cursed himself for leaving his bag at home. He could have chugged down a healing potion and gotten over this already. But no, of course, he had to forget his bag the one day some bastard decided to attack him.
“How is it?”
Across from him, at the top of the table, sat Clyde; at least that was his name according to the nametag on his apron. By definition, he was a rather attractive man, with messy black hair paired with a five o’clock shadow stretched across a tight jaw and deep brown eyes sitting above a straight nose with a little silver ring poking through its right side. Broad shoulders and light skin. The perfect, boring magazine cover look: handsome but forgettable. Not quite Tweek’s taste, but definitely more enjoyable to look at than that shithead crook was from earlier.
“I don’t know,” Tweek admitted. He’d spent the last ten minutes trying not to think of his bloody nose. Bruises and broken bones, he could deal with those. Blood, not so much…
“Let me see.” Clyde leaned closer, gently pushing Tweek’s hand away, and after looking at it for a few seconds he puffed out a short hum.
“Is it bad?” Tweek’s voice pitched. He lifted his head and a drop of water slipped between his lips. Tension built in the pit of his stomach.
“You’ll survive,” Clyde said, but without any warning, he touched Tweek’s nose.
“Ouch!” Tweek shuddered and the slippery cup fell out of his hand. Melted ice skated into every inch of the table. “Gah! Sorry.”
Clyde waved it off, picked up a few ice cubes, and tossed them back into the cup. “Good news is that your nose is not broken.”
“What about the blood? Am I still bleeding?” Who cared about broken bones? Tweek certainly didn’t.
An ice cube slipped out of Clyde’s fingers, waltzing towards the edge of the tabletop, and fell to its death, crashing into tiny pieces on the floor. Laughter burst out of Clyde.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. You beat the living shit out of a guy who tried to rob you, and then you almost fainted because of a little nosebleed? You are funny,” Clyde chuckled and wiped his wet hand onto the dirty apron. There were smudges of coffee-tainted fingerprints and patches of spilled milk painted across it. “By the way, I’m Craig,” he said, offering his hand for a shake.
Tweek frowned. He read the nametag again. Slowly, this time. Dyslexia or not, it clearly stated Clyde.
“Oh, yeah. That’s my friend’s name.”
“You use your friend’s name?”
“And give his number instead of mine to any girl who flirts with me,” he said with a faint smirk. “What about you?”
Tweek’s frown deepened. “I don’t give my friend’s number to anyone.” Not that Kenny had a phone number. He didn’t really need one in his current state.
A sort of chuckle came out of Clyde, or rather, Craig . “Then what about your name?” A hint of amusement flashed through his eyes, and Tweek just noticed that the color of them was different. One blue and one green.
It tickled something inside Tweek, bringing up a dusty memory of a black cat with mismatched eyes. One blue and one green. A cat… Snow… Blood—
“Hey,” Cly— No, Craig interrupted his thoughts, leaning closer.
“What?”
“Your name?”
“Oh! Yes, sorry. It’s– It’s Tweek.”
Now it was Craig’s turn to cock an eyebrow at him. “And your real one?”
“Still Tweek.” Here he was again, feeling embarrassed of the choice his stupid parents made the day he had been born. There was no day he didn’t wish to change his name to something… more human . However, a witch’s name was not something that could be altered so easily. It was one source of his power, his connection to the enchanted world. The name he was called upon and the name that held his future. If he were to change it, it could mess with both his fate and his powers. So he remained Tweek. The boy was named after his parents’ coffee shop. The thought never stopped leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Wait, for real?” The look on Craig’s face was one of confusion rather than disbelief, but it quickly melted into another small smile. He smiled oddly a lot for someone who was sitting alone with a stranger, after witnessing a bloody fight. Although Craig had the upper hand with having a gun, unlike Tweek, so maybe he had all the right to smile as much as he wanted. The one who had the chance to have his head blown up at any minute was Tweek, after all. “How about a cup of Joe?”
Coffee wasn't a healing potion, but the closest thing to it in Tweek’s humble opinion. And a fresh cup of addiction sounded way too tempting to refuse. “I would love that.”
“Not to brag, but I make the best coffee in town.” Craig’s voice slurred over the sound of the coffee grinder.
“You sound pretty confident.”
A small chuckle. “I am. I know you’re gonna love it.” Craig looked at him, a playful grin plastered on his lips. His canine teeth were surprisingly sharp, almost animalistic.
Tweek’s mouth felt dry and he tore his gaze away from Craig, directing his attention to the shop instead. It had that whiff of fresh renovation stuck in the air: the smell of paint, glue, and polish, mixed with the unmistakable scent of coffee and pastry. Everything was clean and new. “How long have you been open?”
“Since six A.M.”
“No, not today, I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” Craig cut him short and poured the steaming coffee into a cup. “But the answer’s still the same. I just opened the shop today.” He looked back at Tweek. “I didn’t expect such an exciting first day, though.” He bit back a smile.
Heat tingled in Tweek’s face and he glanced away, staring at a puddle of melted ice onf the floor. What was wrong with him? No, better question – what was up with Craig?
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your day.” Craig placed the drink in front of Tweek. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, and you didn’t ruin anything. I was bored anyway,” Craig said and picked up the cup of melted ice. “As you can see, I wasn’t really swimming in customers.”
“Maybe because it’s the middle of the night?” Tweek snorted, and took a sip of his drink. “It’s good! It’s really good.” Probably the best he had ever had, and Tweek had drank more coffee in his life than water. It was a perfect cup of coffee. He sat a little straighter and swung his feet a few times under the table.
“I told you. I’m the best.”
“You weren’t lying,” Tweek said, taking another sip, the corner of his lips tipping to a smile. “I love it.”
Craig looked away, cupping the back of his neck as a faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “I-I’m glad.” He walked behind the counter, rolled his sweater’s sleeves up, grabbed a clean towel and wet it; Tweek followed his every move curiously. “Your nose, it’s still… well, dirty.”
“Oh, shit.” Tweek had completely forgotten about it. He was sitting here, talking to Craig with a blood-smudge, bruised face. Way to leave an impresion! His cheeks burned and he snatched the towel out of Craig’s hand, haphazardly trying to wipe his nose clean.
“Let me help,” Craig said, again with that strange half-smile on his face. He took the cloth out of Tweek’s hand, and pressed it gently against the bridge of his nose.
Tweek’s hand dropped. He scarcely dared to breathe. Craig’s moves were replete with unearned intimacy. The way he touched Tweek with no hesitation, how casually he talked to him, even though they were nothing more but two strangers, caught up in an unfortunate accident. There was no logical reason why Tweek stayed still, letting Craig do whatever he pleased, only that there was this familiarity that kept pulling on his heart.
“Why were you on the street so late, anyway? This neighborhood is notorious for being dangerous,” Craig said, brushing the towel over the tip of Tweek’s nose, his mismatched eyes lost in his task.
“I…” Tweek’s stomach fluttered. Again, those eyes… Just like that stray cat’s. “I was running some errands for my roommate.” He winced, though if it was because of the sudden dull pain caused by the pressure Craig put on his sore nose or because of the memory of the cat’s blood-soaked body, he wasn’t sure.
“Roommate?” Craig’s hand stopped. “You have a roommate.” He frowned.
“Yeah. Good guy. Not so talkative though, and well… Disabled.”
The frown softened on Craig’s face. “Oh. I see.” He continued wiping Tweek’s nose, clean, leaning even closer than before.
Tweek swallowed. Craig was so close, he felt the warmth of his body against his skin. Maybe at first glance, Craig wasn’t his type, but the more he looked at him the less convinced he was about just what exactly his type was.
“So do you live close by here?” Craig asked, brushing the towel against his lips.
The touch sent a shiver through Tweek. “Sorry, what?”
Craig pulled away, a smile stretching his lips. “You live close by?”
“We– Well, yes. Just a few blocks away.” He looked everywhere but Craig’s face; the crook of his neck, the creases on his shirt, the pale skin of his forearm— Then he saw it ; a long pink scar running from Craig’s elbow down to his wrist. “What happened?”
Craig tilted his head, subtle confusion sitting on his face, until he realized what Tweek was staring at. “This? It’s from an old accident,” he said, and ran his finger over the old scar. “I was a victim of a hit and run. Almost died. But a friend found me just in time and took me to the doctor.” He looked at Tweek and smiled a little. Appreciation and adoration reflected in his gaze. “He saved my life,” Craig whispered, never taking his eyes off of him.
Tweek’s mouth fell open. The room began to spin. Just like the cat he had found on the street when he was little. His parents would have never let him take a cat in, so he secretly fed him. Every day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon, until… Until it was hit by a car. But it couldn’t be… It couldn’t—
“Tweek? Is something wrong?”
Tweek shot his head up, locking eyes with Craig. One blue, one green. His insides trembled. It couldn’t be.
“I– I have to go,” Tweek muttered, his voice cracking. He felt sick again. His thoughts made no sense at all. He had to go home and talk to Kenny. He pushed his chair back and tottered towards the door.
“Wait, Tweek!” Craig grabbed him by the shoulder, his hand squeezing him ever so gently. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just… Gotta go.” He brushed Craig’s hand off, but couldn’t stop himself from looking into his eyes again. One blue, one green.
“If you, you know… ever want to have another cup of coffee,” Craig scratched the back of his neck, “I’ll be here.”
Tweek’s heart fluttered and he took a step back. Space, he needed space and fresh air to clear his mind. “Coffee… Yeah, sure. Will do.” He pulled the door open and stepped outside. “See ya!”
Craig smiled, but didn’t follow him onto the street. “Take care.”
Tweek nodded and rushed away, into the dark. At the end of the street he turned around and stared back at the coffee shop. Heaving and puffing from running, he clenched his hand around his shirt. But his breath caught in his throat when he registered the bright blue words written above the door.
BLACK CAT CAFE
“Wait… It can’t be…or can it?” He read the words again, over and over until they blurred into one big blue patch. He clapped his hand over his mouth and looked up at the full, fat moon. He was a witch living with a cursed skeleton, so maybe… His cheeks flared up, and his heart burst against his rib cage. Maybe there were some cats who had nine lives, and maybe one of them had one blue and one green eye.
***
Tweek dashed inside their apartment. His blood boiled with excitement.
Kenny sat at the dining table, the dim light giving him a rather sinister look.
“Kenny, you won’t believe it— My nose?” Tweek waved it off, hurrying over the table. “It’s nothing, but guess wha—”
Kenny’s head tilted to the side, black confusion pooling inside his eye sockets.
“Porn?” Tweek frowned. “What about po–” Then he remembered. The reason why he had to leave in the first place. “Fuck, I forgot to buy your stupid magazine!”