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On October 4th, 1957, the Soviet Union launches Earth’s first artificial satellite into orbit.
Tweek learns about this the next day from Craig, whose head is buried so deep in the pages of the morning newspaper he nearly slams face-first into the metal door of Tweek’s locker as he gets his books for first period.
“Ack, watch where you’re going, man,” Tweek exclaims as Craig finally looks up, surveying the area with a blank expression like he hasn’t quite figured out where he is or how he got here. “You could’ve, like, crashed into me and gotten brain damage!”
Craig doesn’t even respond to that. As a matter of fact, he hasn’t been responding to much of anything this morning, too busy reading and then rereading the same lines for what has to have been about an hour at this point, not even bothering to answer when spoken to. Now, though, he flips back to the first page of his newspaper and flips it over for Tweek to read. At the very top, written in big, bold lettering, it reads:
SOVIET FIRES EARTH SATELLITE INTO SPACE;
IT IS CIRCLING THE GLOBE AT 18,000 M.P.H.;
SPHERE TRACKED IN 4 CROSSINGS OVER U.S.
“Can you believe it, Tweek? The Russians have finally done it— and it’s already gone over us four times. Well, not exactly over us, not Colorado, but still. A satellite. Wow. I guess I should be mad that they beat us or something, but this is way more cool.” His monotone monologuing is accompanied by the closest thing to a genuine smile Tweek thinks he’s ever seen in the other boy. It’s hardly present, and on anyone else, it’d look closer to irritation than joy, but Tweek knows. The magnitude of emotions Craig can express through minute changes of his facial muscles, from the way the corners of his mouth barely turn up instead of forming their usual straight line.
It’s for that reason only that Tweek tries to swallow the ball of nerves forming in his throat and attempts to reciprocate that smile. “That’s great, Craig. I’m really, nghh, glad— I know how much this stuff means to you.”
He’s sure Craig’s not ready to drop the subject, but it’s at that moment that the bell rings, and for once Tweek’s grateful for the distraction. It means he can lose himself to the monotony of English followed by maths; focus on worksheets and jotting down notes in his notebook, tucked away in the corner of the classroom all the way at the back, in his little controlled space around his desk and not having to think about the foreign piece of machinery flying somewhere overhead. Out there hidden in the darkness of space, with all its little mechanical parts beeping and buzzing and scanning and scanning and scanning and processing everything underneath including Tweek himself behind his desk in the corner of the classroom and—
Okay, so maybe he’s still thinking about it. He bites down on the end of his pencil and the way the wood gives out under his canines is satisfying enough for him to continue chewing, grateful for this small way he can divert the stress that's been accumulating in him. Spitting out flakes of yellow casing that have found their way onto his tongue, he refocuses his attention on the teacher going over factorisation.
His luck holds up until a little after lunch. His friends join him and Craig, and Clyde badgers on about an upcoming football game that no one at his table pays much attention to, but he hardly ever pauses, not even for food, which he takes big bites out of only to continue his tangent through half-chewed mouthfuls. It thoroughly disgusts Tweek and he pretends to take great interest in his small carton of milk to avoid looking up. Craig says nothing the whole time, eyes vacant and mind obviously gone far, far away, stowed away on the satellite and nestled between its battery and transmitter, snug in its metal shell.
It’s only when history rolls around that he’s forced to confront the inevitable. He must’ve gotten too distracted in his internal panic, but the air-splitting sound of a thick ruler being brought down to his desk, only inches from where his fingers rest, pulls him right back down to Earth.
“…So it would be in each of your best interests to pay attention to what I’m saying in class, Tweek.” His teacher emphasises that last part, addressing him in particular and shooting him a dirty glare. Tweek cowers in submission and hopes he looks apologetic enough, and he must be, because the teacher continues his slow pace around the classroom as he continues his speech, one that Tweek now tries to listen to.
“I know it may be scary to some, to hear all these things happening in the news, not knowing what’s going to come next. In your young lives especially, this must all seem very confusing to you. That being said, from someone who has not only lived through my fair share of events but studied them too, believe me when I say you shouldn’t allow yourself to give in to panic. Acknowledge and look forward to the positive possibilities too— not just the potential for stronger weaponry but how this advances technology as a whole, too.”
From across the room, Cartman speaks up. “My mom told me that once the Russians get better at sending stuff to space, they’re gonna use it to launch a missile, and blow us all up.”
Tweek is almost unable to hold back from screeching out a ‘What!?’. Instead, it comes out as a strangled noise that erupts from the back of his mouth. He stuffs the ends of his shirt sleeves in his mouth and hopes none of his classmates managed to hear him. If they did, they make no indication of such, but sitting beside him Craig gives him a long, concerned look.
He then raises his hand. “I think it’s much more likely to be used to get information… like, to study space and stuff.”
The teacher nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “That’s a sound theory, Craig.”
“I’ve been keeping up with the news,” he replies with a shrug.
“Yes, well, if only the rest of the class would do so, instead of basing their views on pointless fear-mongering. Anyway, let’s all now turn to our textbooks and open page…”
Tweek turns to Craig and gives him an appreciative smile. He knows Craig doesn’t like to speak up. It might have been the first time he’s done so in this class. Usually, when he’s called, it’s because he’s being ordered to go to detention.
Something stirs inside Tweek, and he decides it’s gratitude so he doesn’t have to question it any further.
***
Craig doesn’t show up the next day.
More accurately: he doesn’t show up to pick Tweek up the next day. Not that he’s under some sort of obligation, but it’s definitely abnormal. Craig always comes to pick up Tweek so they can walk to school together, waiting outside his doorstep at exactly eight o’clock so they can trudge through the snow side-by-side. As Tweek shuts the door behind him, it feels awfully deserted. Instinctively, he clutches his thermos filled with coffee close to his chest. He feels too exposed out here alone; like someone’s going to waltz down his driveway and snatch him up. Not that Craig would realistically be of any help should that situation actually happen— they’re both about evenly matched when it came to fighting abilities despite Craig being significantly taller, but just having him around makes Tweek a little more willing to brave the world at the start of each day.
It occurs to him then that something might’ve happened to Craig; after all, he did seem overly enthusiastic about that satellite yesterday. What if he went home after the last bell and got too far into his research? What if he uncovered something he shouldn’t have, and the Russians found out, betrayed by his own brain waves being picked up by and decoded? What if he got snatched up in the middle of the night by a spy? Or maybe he got a little too enthusiastic, and he was deemed a traitor to his country, and now he’s being kept in an underground facility where his memory will be wiped out—
Tweek takes frequent sips from his thermos, and the bitter warmth of the coffee helps clear his head a little, but not by much. He's depleted his entire supply by the time he reaches Craig's house.
Which, startlingly, he can't believe he's actually at. He'll surely be late to school, assuming he'll ever be able to make it there at all. The prospects seem dim, he thinks, but it’s not like his parents are going to cause a stink if he misses a day. They’ll probably never know.
It takes a couple of minutes for Craig to come to the door once Tweek gathers the courage to knock on it, but when he does, Tweek can tell that even with his added paranoia he probably looks better than Craig does.
He’s got his hat on, so he had the mind to at least put it on at some point, but thick black hair peeks out from under the fabric in dishevelled tufts, a sight that Craig would usually never let fly by. The skin under his eyes is dark and puffy, and the eyes themselves are red around the rim. He’s still in his pyjamas, a matching set of striped shirt and pants that are too small on him from his seemingly never-ending growth spurt, and he’s not wearing shoes, so when Tweek looks down he’s greeted to navy blue socks with knit-in star patterns.
“Jesus, Craig, what happened?” Tweek asks after the initial shock has died down. "Did someone do this to you? Are you under some kind of, gah, bioterrorist attack?"
Tweek had learned that word from a customer at the coffee shop, an older gentleman who stayed past closing time and clearly wasn't all there mentally. He'd yammer on about the different ways they were secretly trying to gain the upper hand, getting rid of anyone in their way discreetly. They could be absolutely anyone, whoever he’d decided on a particular day. The Soviets, the CIA, even Mayor McDaniels; everyone was a suspect. “There’s more than one way to go to war,” he’d say as he measured a teaspoon of sugar and stirred it into his mug.
It doesn’t seem like a stretch to assume something like that happened to Craig. If they got to him last night, that’d leave several hours for the initial symptoms to set in. Ricin poisoning, maybe, or thallium— there’s no way for Tweek to tell.
But instead of confirming his worst fears, Craig just shrugs and says, “Sputnik.”
“I— what?”
Craig clears his throat. “That’s what they’re calling the satellite. I couldn’t really sleep last night, so I was just listening to the radio. And apparently, it’s close enough to see it when the sun hits just right, so I stole my dad’s old telescope and waited until dawn.”
“And you actually saw it?”
Craig smiles. Not the way he usually does, which is to say, hardly at all; this time he’s grinning practically ear to ear, enough for Tweek to see the crooked premolars he usually keeps hidden. With the eyebags, it makes him look borderline manic, his face contorted and so far from its default stoicism. Tweek’s stomach flips; it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“Yeah.”
The door opens wider and Craig invites him in, and Tweek enters despite his better judgement. He really should be at school, both of them, but Craig doesn’t act like he's in any hurry to get dressed. Instead, he does practically the opposite, opting for the kitchen where he busies himself looking through cupboards.
Tweek, meanwhile, settles down in the living room. The TV is on, set to a low volume, with the tray table in front of it unfolded with nothing on top. It’s not his first time at Craig’s house— if anything, he spends more time here than he does his own, and the added fact that the rest of the Tucker household seems to be out makes him even more comfortable as he throws his bag on the floor and collapses on the couch. The upholstery hugs his body in all the right places and he can practically feel the tension drain from his muscles.
Craig re-emerges from the kitchen after a while, with a plate of saltine crackers and a mug close to overspilling with coffee. He places the bowl on the tray table but gives the mug directly to Tweek. The ceramic is already cooling in his hands, a step up from lukewarm at best, but coffee is coffee, and Tweek gulps it down like he’s been dying of thirst.
“That’s what was left in the pot from this morning,” Craig says. “I think my parents already cleaned everything else up after breakfast so I only have snacks… sorry.”
Tweek shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He’s not hungry anyway, the coffee being more than enough to fill his stomach. “But, ah… thank you.”
“Okay— oh, look, the broadcast is starting.” Craig hurries to the TV to fiddle with the knobs, raising the volume as the screen flickers to a black-and-white video of something spherical, rotating continuously as a steady beeping sound and the static-y voice of a news reporter fills the room.
“… A special report on Sputnik 1, the Soviet space satellite…”
“That’s it! That’s how it sounds, Tweek.” To Tweek’s surprise, Craig sits right next to him, despite the rest of the couch being free, taking the throw blanket kept folded to the side and draping it across both their legs.
“...Until two days ago, that sound had never been heard on this Earth. Suddenly, it has become as much a part of twentieth-century life as the whirr of your vacuum cleaner. It’s a report from man’s farthest frontier, the radio signal transmitted by the Soviet Sputnik, the first man-made satellite, as it passed over New York earlier today.”
The now-empty coffee mug shakes in Tweek’s hand as his twitching worsens. The sound of the radio signal repeats on the television and rings in his ear. It’s not a particularly pleasant sound; Tweek can think of a lot of other things that beep, and none of them are good. Like the sound of the truck pulling into the unloading bay behind the coffee shop at the beginning of each week, because it means Tweek will have to spend the rest of the day carrying out boxes of coffee beans, syrups, disposable utensils, and whatever seasonal offerings his parents ordered from their supplier.
But there are worse things, too. Things that quickly worm their way into Tweek’s mind and then won’t leave. Car alarms being triggered. The timer of a bomb about to go off. Each beep causes Tweek to flinch back like he’s been stung. Tweek usually runs hot, but with the way his legs practically vibrate under the blanket, he worries the kinetic energy will generate enough heat to cook him and Craig both.
He doesn’t notice the weight on his hand at first, but then the sensation spreads and tightens around his fingers, and he’s forced out of his mental spiral. Craig’s hand is on top of his own, gripping but not overly so, his touch firm yet comforting. Every immediate response Tweek’s brain fires off is yelling at him to pull away, that Craig can’t be touching him like this, can’t be tracing his fingertips on Tweek’s rough skin and over his bitten nails. But a bigger part of him wants them to stay like this, and so he says nothing. Craig’s eyes are trained firmly on the TV anyway, focused purely on the news report. Tweek’s not even sure why Craig felt the need to hold his hand— maybe he sensed Tweek needed to be grounded in some way, or maybe he’s so captivated by what’s on the screen that he didn’t spare any thoughts as to why he did it either.
On the TV, the news report has moved on, from the lone reporter to an interview that Tweek catches the tail end of.
“…is it possible that it is transmitting a code, not just a beep, for radio listening?”
“Yes, it’s quite possible it’s transmitting a code but we don’t realise what the code is, of course.”
Tweek chokes on the scream that tries to let itself out of him. “GAH, I knew it, I— Jesus man, they’re gonna get us! We gotta get out of here now.”
In response, Craig only grips his hand tighter. The action causes Tweek to freeze up and snap his mouth shut.
They remain like that until the report is over, and Craig stands up with a sigh to turn the TV off. Tweek’s palm feels damp and empty when they separate.
“Thank you,” says Craig.
“What?”
“Thank you,” he repeats. “I know how much this stuff upsets you, so thanks for sticking it out, I guess.”
“Oh, uhm, it’s fine?” Tweek’s not sure it’s fine, judging by how his limbs are still trembling a little, but there’s something about Craig’s presence that leaves him feeling oddly placid. Comparatively speaking.
Craig shakes his head. “You just came here to know why I didn’t pick you up for school, right? We can go now. Give me some time to get ready and we can probably sneak in during recess without getting in too much trouble.” He steals a glance at the TV even after the screen’s flickered to black, and Tweek wonders if he’s still replaying the news footage in his head.
“We don’t have to go. We can just stay here.”
“We can?”
“I mean—!” Tweek splutters. “We don’t— we don’t have to go out. Augh, no offence, but you look— you look rough, man.”
“Is it really that bad?” Craig pulls at the ear flaps of his hat, tugging them down and covering more of his hair and face, an action that Tweek finds endlessly endearing.
“A little. Not… not that I mind, of course. How you look. And I don’t mind staying here today, if— if that’s, ngh, what you want.”
“Oh.”
Every fibre of Tweek’s being is begging him to leave. Craig’s almost certainly on some kind of hit list by now, but Tweek might just have a chance to get out of here. If he stays, he’ll surely be guilty by association.
“Tweek. The Soviets won’t get you, you know. Moscow doesn’t care about some redneck mountain town in Colorado.”
“It doesn’t matter where we are because we’re still considered the enemy! Oh, God— we’ll be caught in the crossfire no matter what!”
Craig sighs, shoulders slumped in resignation and looking a lot more tired than he did before. “You’re not in any more danger here than you are anywhere else, but if it’ll make you feel better, you can leave. I’ll just… be here.”
And there it is again, that contradictory feeling that leaves Tweek feeling like he’s spinning off his axis.
Tweek can’t let go of his inherent disquietude. Even now, sitting with Craig in his living room, perhaps his favourite place to be, his fight or flight kicks in and overwhelmingly teeters towards choosing the latter like a broken metronome. But there’s been a damper put on it, one that softens the sharpness of his fears. And that’s all because of Craig.
Craig, who hadn’t said a word in class outside of bad-mouthing the teacher and complaining about getting detention, backing him up without a second thought so Tweek wouldn’t get in trouble. Who knows what Tweek needs before he even needs to ask, who will fetch him his coffee even though Tweek knows he’s never cared for the stuff. Craig, who never wants Tweek to be put in harm’s way, who will offer to spend the rest of the day all by himself if it means Tweek gets to feel safer, even if that danger is all in his head. It’s these small gestures that betray Craig’s typical cold and stony-faced exterior and expose something much warmer that Tweek can’t help but be drawn to.
This time, it’s Tweek who sighs. It’s for these reasons that he knows he won’t leave. Hesitantly, he holds onto Craig’s wrist and pulls him in closer, until they’re side-by-side again, thighs pressed against each other.
“I won’t leave— I want to be here,” Tweek says, a little more confidently this time.
“…Okay.”
Tweek can just make out the faintest suggestion of a smile in Craig’s otherwise indiscernible expression.
“So, ah, what’s got you obsessing over this stuff anyway?”
“Hmm.” Craig looks unsure. “Do you seriously want to know? I don’t want to, like, freak you out more.”
“I can handle it,” Tweek insists. “I’ll— I’ll be fine, man.”
Craig huffs in a way that hints he’s not entirely convinced, but if that’s what he really thinks, he doesn’t voice it.
“Uh, well.” Craig clears his throat. His eyes dart here and there like he’s about to tell Tweek a closely guarded secret, and not the very thing he hasn’t been able to move on from for what has to be the third day now. “I went to the library last night. They’ve got these huge dictionaries and encyclopaedias and stuff there, right? They’re so big you’re not even allowed to bring them home. But I was looking through one of them, and they had the word ‘satellite’ in it. Only, not to describe the thing that’s in space right now. It’s meant to refer to a person who follows after someone important. And that’s probably why they used that word now, because that’s kind of what this satellite is, except it’s following around the Earth. We’re the important someone.”
He goes on. “But that sounds a little lonely, don’t you think? I mean, they’ve only sent one of those up there. The first of its kind, and all it has is a little radio transmitter that some people down here can pick up, but can’t exactly do anything with. And then its battery will run out, and it will die up there, all alone with no other purpose. It’s fascinating to learn about, but— it’s a little isolating too, chasing after something orbiting so far.” He sniffles, looking so uncharacteristically small. “Sorry. I know that’s weird and makes no sense.”
“Craig.” Tweek has no idea what to tell him. How could he possibly communicate to him, just how well he understands?
In a way, it does feel a lot like a secret. Tweek knows Craig a lot better than anyone else does, at least, he wants to think he does. He knows from the amount of time they spend together that Craig doesn’t hang out with the rest of his friend group the same way he does with Tweek. He knows it’s unlikely that Craig ever interrupts Clyde’s ceaseless yammering to speak up about what’s on his mind. That privilege goes to Tweek and Tweek alone, and it makes his heart thrum in his chest, harder than it has from any caffeine rush.
They’re close, now— when did they get so close? Tweek can make out the beginnings of stubble on Craig’s jaw, the flecks of green in his irises when they’re usually too dark to notice. His breathing prickles Tweek’s skin and leaves gooseflesh in its wake. He’s all too aware of Craig’s tongue darting out to wet his lips; in fact, he can’t stop staring.
Tweek’s not sure who eventually makes the move to close the gap— his mind shuts down as soon as it happens. All he knows is one moment they’re apart, and the next they’re together, mouths pressed against each other. Craig treads carefully as he coaxes Tweek’s mouth open, threading his fingers through Tweek’s clenched hands, unfurling them like he’s pinning butterfly wings. Tweek’s head starts spinning; he’s forgotten how to breathe, and panic shoots through him as he realises his need for oxygen.
He pulls away with a gasp, breathing heavily, while Craig… doesn’t look much affected at all. If it weren’t for the rosy tint now dusting his cheeks, then Tweek would be hard-pressed to find any indication that he was aware of what he just did. But he keeps his hands where they are, connected with Tweek’s, and Tweek makes no effort to push him off. His instincts urge him to get as far away from Craig as possible, but the kiss has left him feeling boneless, and Tweek’s not sure he could make a run for it even if he tried.
He settles for the next best thing, which is to scream. “What the fuck!?”
Craig blinks, not taken aback in the slightest. “What?”
“Why did you— why did you do that?”
“Because I wanted to,” he replies, as if it’s that simple. “Why did you do that?”
“I—!” Tweek doesn’t have an answer to that. Not one he’s willing to give, anyway. Because telling Craig would mean it’s not just something that’s all in his head anymore. Telling Craig would make it real. And the possible consequences of that are something he’d long decided weren’t worth the risk.
“I was trying my best to hide it,” he settles on saying.
“Too bad for you. I always catch you staring.”
Now it’s Tweek’s turn for his cheeks to heat up. He can practically feel the blush spread to the tips of his ears. “How? You’re always… looking off. Like you’re in space yourself. All the time, especially in school.”
“Yeah, when the others are around. Not with you. I notice everything about you.”
A fierce shiver runs through Tweek, one that causes his head to jerk to the side and his eyelid to twitch as it crosses his body. He feels like a massive stage light has singled him out, illuminating his deepest secrets for all to see. If it was obvious to Craig, what about everyone else?
“Don’t worry,” Craig adds. “You did a good job of hiding it.” As though Tweek’s tics communicated some unspoken language to Craig, and Craig’s already deciphered it.
Tweek can’t understand it. There’s so much he doesn’t understand, he worries. “I don’t— I don’t get you, man.”
“But you try to.”
Is it really that simple to Craig? It has to be— Craig’s never been one for mind games, that’s something Tweek knows for certain. Craig’s thumb runs along the sharpness of Tweek’s cheekbone, feeling his way until he finds the soft mess of hair at the back of his head.
“I know how scared you are, but, um, since we’ve decided on skipping school today, and we have the house to ourselves, I was hoping we could go back to doing that whole kissing thing?” There’s a wily edge to his proposal, playful like he’s trying to warm Tweek up to it. “I’m no expert, but I think that might help get your mind off things.”
And it’s working.
When their lips meet again it’s charged, a spark that kindles something deep in Tweek’s gut. He’s struck with a deep desire to laugh, at him and Craig both, for just how wrong they were. All that talk about who’s orbiting what— it sounds like nonsense now. They’re on a collision course destined for each other, two nuclei merging together and releasing energy, triggering a chain reaction that powers even the brightest star.
Tweek’s not sure how accurate that analogy is. But he bets Craig knows. He’ll have to ask him about it later.