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Craig was never known for showing emotions. Well, besides anger.
People expect him to fight. They assume his voice is nasally because he got punched. They think his teeth are fucked-up because they got knocked out by a fist.
Craig himself has never denied these notions. He’s content to stay in his lane and go through elementary school with his eyes always set toward the future.
Until, that is, he’s set to fight Tweek.
When he admits he has no idea how to fight, Cartman, the fucking dumbass, takes him out and tries to teach him sumo. He learns virtually nothing.
When the fight actually happens, he learns very quickly that his opponent has no idea how to fight either. The two end up just rolling around and basically slapping each other with useless hands.
The bulk of their injuries come from the obstacles they bump into and knock over. (They break a lot of things.)
His dad is ecstatic. Like, a scary amount. He brags for literal days about what a tough man his son is growing into. He takes pictures of his black eye and makes up extravagant stories of a manly, testosterone-filled brawl.
But Craig doesn’t feel all that tough. He actually feels really bad for how much he hurt the twitchy kid. There’s a lump of guilt in his throat every time he sees the blond in the hall at school, face adorned with cuts and bruises, just the same as his.
He would never admit it to anyone, but he hates being tough. He likes that he got his mom’s voice. He likes the crooked teeth he shares with his grandmother. He loves babysitting Tricia on his parents’ date nights.
Eventually, the guilt threatens to consume him whole. He knows where Tweek spends most of his time, everyone does. So he approaches the quaint little coffee shop with a clear goal in mind, but no clue how to achieve said goal.
The door dings as he enters, and he’s faced with a mostly empty shop. There’s a man with a nametag standing behind the counter, and a kid shaking quietly in the corner booth, but no customers.
The man immediately smiles, albeit a bit too wide. “Hello, welcome in! What can I offer you today, young man?”
“Um,” Craig stutters, suddenly nervous. “Just a hot chocolate. I don’t drink coffee.”
“Oh, well that’s too bad,” Mr. Tweak frowns briefly. “But sure, one hot chocolate for you. Would you like a pastry to go with it? I’ll even make it half off, just for you.” The man smiles once again.
Craig leans to look over at the display case, scanning the various sweets. None exactly catch his eye, but then he remembers the reason he’s there. “What does Tweek like?”
Tweek’s father looks thrown for a few seconds, eyes unconsciously flying to his twitching son. “Well, he makes all of this stuff, but I do find him taste-testing the chocolate cupcakes quite often.”
“Perfect. I’ll take one.”
Craig steps off to the side after he pays, letting the man make his drink, but quickly grows bored with the few minute wait. He finds himself looking back towards Tweek, who, still, is engrossed in whatever homework he’s doing. His hands shake as he writes, no doubt causing his handwriting to be messy. Craig almost smiles fondly at the thought.
“One hot chocolate and cupcake, sir!” Craig startles back into focus and grabs his order, forcing a half-smile half-grimace in Mr. Tweak’s direction as thanks.
The boy’s feet carry him straight to the corner booth, and he slides into the seat opposite of Tweek’s. The blond whips his head up so fast he must get whiplash, wide eyes frantically searching the noirette in front of him.
Craig says nothing, just nudges the cupcake in Tweek’s direction, and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. (It’s not that good. Mr. Tweek probably made it with water and shitty powder mix.)
“W-What are you - argh - doing here, man? I don’t wanna fu- fuckin’ fight anymore, okay?” Tweek grounds out, hands beginning to twitch more wildly as he sets his pencil down and grips his shirt in panic.
Craig shrugs, leaning back. “Nah, I’m tired of fighting. Sorry, by the way. I didn’t even really want to fight in the first place, if I’m being honest. And I got you a cupcake.”
“Are you fucking joking? You- you were the one that chose me in the first place! Stan - ack! - said!”
“I definitely did not,” the taller boy responds, brows furrowing in confusion. “And I never talk to Stan. Or any of his friends. Cartman told me you called me a poop-eater and chose me.”
Tweek yelps, “No! I would never say that! And you flipped me off!”
“Well, yeah, cuz Cartman said you were telling everyone my breath smelled like literal shit!”
“Hell no, man! Oh Jesus-, choosing someone is too much pressure!” The blond cries, hands rapidly switching from pulling at his hair to pulling at the skin around his fingernails.
Now that Craig thinks about it, it makes sense. The kid screams when someone says his name. No way would he ever go around insulting someone and picking fights. “Oh god dammit.”
Tweek’s head twitches. “W-What?”
“I never said I wanted to fight you. And if you never went around saying that shit about me, then that means we were set up by Stan and his fucking douchebag friends.” Craig groans, mentally hitting himself over the head for ever believing such a ridiculous lie.
Tweek’s twitches slowly subside, although not entirely. “So.. when - argh - Stan said you showed up and called me a ch-chicken, that was a lie?”
Craig snorts. “Yeah, I didn’t show up the first time either. Red Racer was on. Cartman told me you said shit about Stripe.”
“I- I don’t know who Stripe is, man.”
“Oh,” The noirette squeaks, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “He’s my pet guinea pig.”
Tweek visibly lights up. “You have a pet guinea pig? That’s so cool!” The blond reaches for the cupcake and takes a bite. “I swear, I would - ack! - never say anything bad about him.”
Craig is now thoroughly embarrassed. A guinea pig isn’t the most manly pet, after all.
“Y-Y’know, I shoulda figured you didn’t actually wanna fight. I mean, why else would you lie about not knowing how to fight, especially - ack! - when you get in fights all the time.”
Craig is now triple embarrassed. He swears his ears have to be red under his hat from how warm his face is. “I, uh, actually don’t know how to fight. That was my first.”
“Really?” Tweek gasps. Craig notices that his voice is growing less and less strained the longer they chat. Almost like he’s not as anxious. The blond continues, “I mean, everyone always says you get in fights. I, I had never seen you actually hit anyone, but I kinda just believed them.”
“Yeah, uh, I try to stay out of trouble, despite what everyone thinks of me.” Craig mutters, trying to subtly pull his hat further down his face. He’s never really been this open with anyone, not even Clyde or Tolkien.
Tweek smiles a bit, and Craig finds that he’s never actually seen the twitchy kid smile. He decides he likes it, and, unconsciously, Craig smiles back.
The blond glances down at the (previously forgotten) messy paper in front of him. “No one’s actually ever sat down and talked to me for this long. U-Usually they get weirded out by my tics.”
Craig chuckles. “I don’t mind. I actually only came to apologize for fighting you, but you’re a pretty cool kid, Tweek.”
“You’re pretty cool too, Craig. I’m sorry for - gah! - believing that you wanted to fight. That wasn’t very cool of me, I think.” Tweek is the one that looks embarrassed now, hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck.
“Nah, no need to apologize. I thought you wanted to fight, too. I think we’re even?” Craig jokes, tone still flat. Tweek laughs, though, so he takes it as a win.
The blond grins. “Sure we can be even, but only if you let me meet Stripe.”
The noirette’s face flushes once again, and he nods. “Okay. C’mon.”
The two grab their shit and leave, chatting about nothing and everything the whole way to Craig’s house.
Craig opens the door to his house and lets Tweek in first, who hovers awkwardly right by the door. He leads him upstairs to his room, “Uh, it’s a little messy. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“My room is messier. My mom says I have ADD so I have trouble focusing.”
Craig doesn’t think that’s how ADD works, but he lets it go in favor of carefully removing Stripe from his cage and cradling him to his chest. Stripe squeaks in delight, leaning up into the pets offered to him.
The noirette smiles widely down at his little companion, cooing silently and forgetting completely about the other boy in the room. Tweek clears his throat, and Craig snaps out of his stupor with a surprised cough. “..You wanna hold him?”
“Oh man.. I don’t - ahh! - wanna drop him! W-What if I squeeze him too hard and he pops like a balloon, or, or, he scratches me and it gets infected and I die?!”
Craig stares for a second. “That.. That probably won’t happen, man. Here just hold your hands out and I’ll place him there.”
“Mnnh.. Okay..” Tweek holds his hands out. They’re a little shaky, but not bad enough to hurt Stripe. The taller boy slowly places the guinea pig down, and as soon as Stripe is safely in Tweek’s (now still) hands, he opens his eyes and gasps.
Stripe squeaks up at the blonde, who stares at the little creature in amazement. Tweek hesitantly lifts two fingers and pets over his fur lightly. Stripe pushes into the contact desperately, squeaks ramping up in volume and frequency.
Craig has never let anyone outside of his family meet Stripe in fear of being teased. Stripe doesn’t even seem to like any of his family.
But damn does he like Tweek.