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So far, college has been going a lot better for Tweek Tweak than high school had. There’s no Eric fucking Cartman around to be shitty about the way he looks for one. Nobody knows his story here. To a certain extent, he’s able to approach college like it's a fresh start.
There’s just one lingering reminder of how things used to be: this guy on his hall. His name was something bland and monosyllabic but Tweek hadn’t caught it. He’d been too distracted by this complete stranger’s excessive familiarity, his unprovoked concern: “Hey, have you been doing alright? No one’s, like, giving you a hard time or anything, are they? I know—uh, I’ve heard that can be tough.”
He’d asked this in the bathroom, no less, while Tweek was washing his hands.
Tweek was so flustered, he responded with something like, “Nnh, huh? Are you an RA? What can be tough?” Then he realized to what this guy must have been referring, mumbled that he was fine, and darted out of there.
Kenny just keeps telling him the guy probably thinks Tweek’s cute and wants to let him know he’s not going to freak out on him or anything. “Maybe he’s just awkward,” Kenny offered up after a particularly uncomfortable elevator encounter.
He’d told Tweek if he ever “needed anything” that he should feel free to ask. Needed what exactly, or why he should feel free to ask this weirdo in particular was never made clear to Tweek.
No matter how Kenny tries to frame it, something about this guy’s attention just makes Tweek uncomfortable. It almost seems like he wants something from him. He’s always looking at him during hall meetings.
When Kenny has to go back home over Thanksgiving break, Tweek assures him he’ll be fine doing his own injection three days into the week and a half long break. Why shouldn’t he be fine, just because he’s never done it before? He’s a grown adult now. Only kids are afraid of needles. It’s about time he got over it.
Only when the time comes to do it, his hands are shaking too badly, and he puts it off ‘til tomorrow. He’s so agitated that he tries distracting himself by going to the gym, doing some reading for a course he needs to satisfy his history requirement, and finally getting caught up on some anime.
It’s difficult to fall asleep, and he feels stupid being unable to simply administer his medicine himself. Kenny’s been doing it for him this whole time and it’s not like Kenny has some great wisdom or experience in jabbing people that Tweek lacks. He just goes for it. He vows to channel some of Kenny’s unearned self-assurance tomorrow.
And yet when tomorrow comes, he’s still too shaky, and being so upset with himself for his inadequacy certainly isn’t helping.
Letting out a frustrated screech and flinging the syringe aside, Tweek opts to go to the gym for a boost of endorphins, and then try anew once back home.
The gym is empty, and Tweek does his very simple weightlifting routine successfully, feeling powerful upping his weights on all three exercises without faltering or needing to decrease reps on any of them. He cools down on the exercise bike and thinks to himself that he’ll be able to jab himself easy, no problem. Why shouldn’t he be able to? There’s nothing that can kill his spirits now.
Sweaty and satisfied, Tweek dismounts the bike, gathers up his things, and makes his way back to his dorm, newly self-confident, at least temporarily.
Once inside the dorm, he gets in the elevator. He leans against the railing and closes his eyes to take a few breaths. When he opens them, it’s that fucking guy again!
“Augh! No! What are you doing here?” he squawks.
“You staying here alone for the break too?” the guy asks, like Tweek wasn't just rude to him, on purpose.
“Mhm!” Tweek replies tightly. He holds his duffel bag close to his chest. He’s got a secret weapon and he’s not going to let this weird guy push him around with his vague line of questioning any longer. If he says one more thing, just one more thing…
“You’re—are you doing okay? My name’s Craig, by the way.”
“Look, man,” Tweek says, unzipping the bag to dig around in it, huffing in frustration when his target eludes him, “my friend left me with some bear mace, and I’m not afraid to try to figure out how it works! So just, egh, back off—okay, dude?”
Craig blinks. “What?”
Tweek lets loose a growl from the back of his throat, and finally manages to pull the unwieldy canister from his bag. Kenny hadn’t actually left it for him—it was a gag gift from one of his douchebag friends and it’s possibly illegal to use, but Tweek’s not dying in this fucking elevator. Not at the hands of this Craig.
It’s hard to tell where he’s supposed to press so he fumbles with the mace while Craig puts his hand up defensively.
“Woah, uh. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Oh—oh, really?" Tweek scoffs. “‘Cause I think you’ve been, urkh, ogling at me since school started! And for—why?!”
“Ogling? Dude, I’m—hang on. Don’t fucking mace me; let me just show you—” Craig goes for the hem of his shirt and begins lifting it. Tweek shrieks and struggles with the buttons on the canister harder still, until he sees Craig’s chest. Or more specifically, until he sees the scars.
“Wait, urgh—huh? Nuh-huh…”
“I guess that’s kinda flattering. Or, like, it would be if you weren’t still aiming bear mace at me,” Craig says, amusement but also clear concern tinging his voice.
“Hoh,” Tweek mumbles, dropping the canister back into his back without ceremony.
“Yeah, dude, chill please. I’m-I’m the same.”
“Since when?” Tweek breathes out, mindlessly pressing his fingers to the scars, snapping out of it and jerking his hand away when Craig shudders under his touch.
“Uh, since, like, forever? Look—I didn’t mean to come off creepy or whatever. I’ve just been wanting to make sure you’re getting settled okay.”
“Why wouldn’t you open with ‘I’m also trans’?!” Tweek can’t help but blurt out.
“I don’t know. I thought you’d be able to tell. You know. Like how I could with you.”
“Urgh, I never would’ve guessed! I’m, you know—I don’t exactly pass over here, dude! If you told me you were trans, honestly, I’d probably think you meant like, ngh, nonbinary amab or something!”
“Oh.” Craig’s cheeks flush a deep scarlet, standing out even on his deeper complexion.
Oh no, he’s cute, some wretched voice within Tweek screams.
“Well, so”—Craig rubs the back of his neck like he’s self-conscious. Like Tweek has made him self-conscious. Why should Tweek find this so thrilling, feeling like he has some control over this cute guy’s self-perception? Maybe it’s because he had felt at his mercy, and now the tables have turned. “If you ever need anything, I’m, you know, I’m around.”
“Agh, oh!” Tweek starts, cutting himself off when he realizes there’s no way he can ask this of a virtual stranger he threatened to mace mere minutes ago.
“No, what is it?”
“Mmm, it’s embarrassing.”
Craig shoots him a look like, “Okay, who cares?” only nicer than that, and Tweek scowls to keep this guy from knowing how easily he’s been charmed by his endearing, dorky… lack of charm.
“I’m due for my injection, but my friend who usually does it is gone—”
“I can help with that, dude,” Craig says, cutting him off. “No problem.”
“Ergh—really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been doing them for myself for years. Can’t be too different doing someone else’s.” He flashes Tweek an awkward half-smile and Tweek’s tummy does a weird little backflip. “Are you free right now?”
He is, but he stinks from the gym and doesn’t want this cute—and decidedly not creepy—guy all up in his thighs while he’s smelling this bad. No way he’s into that sort of thing. He looks way too normal for that.
“Mmnh, ah, just give me like half an hour to shower, maybe?”
“Sure. Um, what’s your room number again?”
“203.”
Craig writes it down on his phone, and then mutters, “Uh, okay. I’ll come over in a bit." Tweek watches him walk away and turn the corner, not even looking back once.
So maybe he wasn’t ruthlessly stalking him, or clocking him in a judgmental way or anything like that. Or he’s good at concealing that he was.
Tweek shakes his head and takes a breath, shaking out the paranoid thoughts, as he lets himself back into his dorm room.
He’s probably not a freaky killer, and he is really cute. So was Dahmer. Tweek groans and grabs his shower stuff, unwilling to let his catastrophizing win out.
Once in his shower stall, Tweek turns the water up high and washes quickly, lathering his sweat-drenched hair in shampoo, and making sure to get his gross gym pits extra well. He stands under the hot water a few minutes longer than necessary, thinking of Craig and how reasonable he was even under the threat of mace, and how bashful he became over the revelation that he is self-evidently a good-looking man.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Tweek scurries back to his room, shower shoes squeaking with every step, and towels dry thinking about how he wants to present himself. He can do ratty gym shorts or he can do boxer briefs. Would boxer briefs be too bold? Would that be making an unwanted spectacle of himself? The shorts are a bit long anyway. He’s got a horrible blotchy yellow bruise still from Kenny’s jab two weeks ago, but he’s not going to make Craig roll up the hem of his shorts on just his good thigh to do this. May as well present the whole package, in all its glory.
Tweek opts for black boxer briefs, pulls some dark gray sweatpants over them, and throws on an old Sailor Moon t-shirt. Maybe he should wear a sweatshirt over it so he won’t be so naked, but he sweats when nervous and that would just make it worse.
Moments later, there’s a knocking at his door and he’s forced to stop deliberating on his stupid outfit choices. He squeaks out, “Agh, yeah, come in!”
Craig does as instructed, entering and closing the door behind him carefully, looking around a bit and seating himself at Tweek’s desk. He isn’t wearing his jacket, but he does still have the hat. He seems weirdly attached to the thing, tugging on its strings and avoiding Tweek’s gaze.
“You got the stuff? And your sharps container?”
“Mhm!” Tweek chirps, grabbing his little case and the container out from under his bed. He hands both to Craig who sets them up on his desk.
“You do it on the thigh?”
“Ah. Nhn?” Tweek says, nodding when he realizes those were just sounds and not really affirmation.
“You wanna, uh.” Craig is definitely blushing now. “Wanna take off the sweatpants?”
“Oh! Yeah, hah, sure,” he replies, hands only shaking a little as he slides them off and hops up onto the bed.
“Jesus, dude,” Craig mutters, when he looks back at Tweek’s bare thighs. Tweek folds in on himself and tries not to let his face fall. He’s always been so pear-shaped.
“I’m talking about the bruise, dude; don’t do that. You look good.” Tweek looks up into Craig’s face while Craig busies himself with inserting the syringe into the ampule, but he spots the blush now dusting even the tips of Craig’s ears, and when Craig’s eyes dart back to meet his, it feels like the room is full of electric static. Craig must be feeling that too, right? He clears his throat and breaks the eye contact. “But uh, is that from your friend? You look like you got mauled.”
“Agh, yeah, he’s not, um. Gentle or anything.” Tweek’s eyes widen in shock at the implications of what he’s just said. “God, I mean, with the needle. I’m sure he’s, otherwise, you know. Not that I’m, uh—” Tweek cuts himself off with a huff when he notices Craig trying not to laugh at him.
“Yeah, uh, got it. Not banging your friend.” Craig’s lips are quirking like he’s trying valiantly not to smile.
Tweek shoots him a withering look but then lets it drop. It’s not like Kenny hasn’t offered. Tweek’s just not ready. He’s not comfortable enough with himself for sex yet and Kenny’s been such a good friend to him ever since he started transitioning.
“How long have you been on it?” Craig asks, tapping the barrel of the syringe with his finger and pressing the plunger just enough to get the air bubbles out. Even Kenny knows to do that.
“Ah, not that long. Like seven months?”
Craig wheels the desk chair closer to where Tweek is sitting on his bed, and he tentatively places a hand on Tweek’s left thigh, thumb and index finger groping around a bit to find a good fleshy spot. Tweek jolted a bit when he first made contact but has relaxed since Craig seems to know what he’s doing and doesn’t seem to be judging.
Still, he lifts his brows ever so slightly, and notes, “That’s a good amount of hair growth, especially since you’re. Well, you know.”
“Since I’m what?” Tweek grumbles.
“Blond, dude. See, that’s why I kept trying to talk to you. You’re doing great. You should feel more confident.”
“Well, sure, but I, urgh—I just don’t?” Surely Craig must understand that Tweek has not been given very many reasons to feel confident thus far in his life.
“I know, but I mean.” Craig huffs out a breath, pinching his flesh tightly, though Tweek barely pays it any mind. “I’ve been where you are and really, you should feel good about how it’s going.”
Tweek’s face is burning so hot he imagines he must be tomato-red, but Craig is blushing too! It’s incredible, that this should be happening. Tweek is warm and buzzing inside, and lets out a slight, involuntary sound when Craig inserts the needle into that spot that he’s pinching and pulling away from his body.
He watches intently as Craig steadily pushes down on the plunger ‘til it’s all inside of him. Then he pulls out the syringe and releases the pinched flesh.
None dribbles out when he lets go, which Kenny has never managed, and he watches as Craig deposits the needle into the sharps container and puts the rest of the things back into Tweek’s bag.
He pulls a band-aid from his pocket and smiles a little half-smile. “I guess you like Sailor Moon, huh.” He applies the band-aid and when he pulls back, Tweek sees it’s a goddamn Sailor Moon band-aid. Who is this guy?
“Are you okay?” Craig asks, probably because Tweek’s been stunned silent for a good couple of minutes now.
“Ah. Yeah—yeah! Thank you, dude. Augh, thanks so much!” Tweek is smiling so hard it hurts, and Craig looks down at his mouth, and then looks away.
“No one is bothering you, are they?” he asks quietly. He must really need to know Tweek is okay, like Tweek reminds him of him maybe. That really casts the whole thing in a much different light.
“No," Tweek admits. "Well. Nobody but you, anyway," he adds cheekily.
“Sorry.”
“I’m—I’m kidding, dude.”
“Oh,” Craig says. Then he looks up at Tweek and smiles, but looks away just as quickly, cheeks ruddier than before. This fucking guy…
“Look, um.” Craig can’t seem to make eye contact with him, and Tweek’s heart is speeding like a hummingbird’s. “Do you want to hang out or something sometime. Like, there’s no one else here for the break; I could smoke you out. If you want. I don’t know if you into anime, or if it’s just the shirt, but—”
“Urkh, yeah?” Tweek interjects. “Yeah, let’s—I like anime!”
“Okay, cool.” Craig still can’t look him in the eye but he gets to his feet and sort of glances in Tweek’s general direction, tugging his hat down a bit, but Tweek can still see how badly he’s blushing. He traipses over to the door and grabs a blue marker on the whiteboard full of Kenny’s drawings of boobs, and starts writing.
“Uh, well. I’m around and, uh, this is my number. If you wanna hang out. No pressure or anything.”
He looks back one more time but seems spooked when Tweek grins back at him, opening the door and slipping out right away.
Tweek looks down at his Sailor Moon band-aid on his bare, hairy thigh, and hops to his feet to pad over to the door.
He's so utterly, inexplicably charmed by what he finds: on the whiteboard, Craig has written his number, and signed it off with "- criag".