Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tweek was never known for his subtlety.

“So, my family is having a picnic at Stark’s Pond this—gah!—Saturday.” Tweek’s voice wavered, soft but insistent. Despite it all, he almost felt proud, even as his hands shook.

It took him twenty minutes to get the sentence out, as customers popped in and out of his parents’ coffee shop. The air felt stuffier today—from the moment Tweek clocked in he could feel it—though that could’ve just been his nerves. He tried to seem casual—cool and collected—where he was leaning on the cabinet near the register next to his coworker, Kenny. (But that was hard on a normal day. Now, with his heart going a mile a minute, it was nearly impossible.)

The coffee shop hummed with life around them. A low murmur of conversation swirled, punctuated by the occasional clatter of cups being set on tables. It wasn’t a particularly busy morning, but the shop held onto its usual charms: mismatched cups and chairs that kind of drove Tweek crazy, sunlight filtering through the wide windows to dance across the weathered wooden floors, and the quirky chalkboard menu that listed drinks with overly complex names in the swirling letters of his mom’s handwriting. Tweek wasn’t even sure how long ago she had written it—it never changed.

There was a stain on the countertop beside them. Tweek hunched over as he pretended to wipe it off with his shirt sleeve—just to look productive.

Kenny glanced at him. “That’s… nice?” His gaze shifted to the stubborn stain, then back to Tweek, who was still scraping at it like his life depended on it. The mark was old. Probably outdated both of their time here—and Tweek’s dad claimed that Tweek was born in the back room! It was basically grandfathered in at this point.

“My mom told me I should, uh, bring a friend,” Tweek continued, “th–they’re renting out a pavilion down there. It’s gonna be like a potluck-type… Thing.” Tweek paused, somehow more embarrassed. “Ngh!—I think.”

Kenny took out his phone. His signature laid-back grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes held a flicker of curiosity. Tweek hated himself for bringing this up. He should have just bit back his shame and gone alone, avoiding the awkwardness of asking anyone. “A friend? Sounds fun. Who’re you gonna bring?”

The question hung in the air between them, weighing down the already-stuffy air. Tweek’s breath hitched, almost choking. He tried to compose himself with the reminder that this wasn’t just small talk. He needed to get a grip.

Tweek’s fingers danced over each other, his nails catching on frayed edges he didn’t remember chewing. He stuffed his hands into his apron pockets, willing them to stay still. It was always hard for him not to pick at his cuticles, even when the tiny clicking noise always set his teeth on edge—like his anxiety feeding on itself.

“That’s the—ngh—that’s the thing…” Fanning himself with his hand, he realized his face was burning. The stain still stuck to the countertop. “I was wondering if you’d want to come?”

“Oh.” Kenny looked up from his phone, setting it on the counter. He had his calendar pulled up, Tweek noticed, feeling an ounce of hope. “Are we friends?”

Then the question hit him, and any confidence he had jumped ship. “I—uh… Well—”

“I’d say we are,” Kenny corrected easily, like making Tweek’s stomach do back flips was a hobby of his. It kind of was, in a way. Tweek wasn’t sure why he even liked the guy. Kenny was known for making him anxious, which he usually hated, but there was something else there. An almost understanding. “I didn’t think you would, though. I mean, we’ve worked together for over a year, and it took you, like, five months to start talking to me.”

“I’m sorry!” Tweek squeaked.

Kenny laughed, putting a hand on Tweek’s shaking shoulder. Comforting. Solid. “Dude, I would totally go, but I’ve got Karen’s art show on Saturday.”

“Shit!” Tweek exclaimed. “I knew I was forgetting something. You were talking about that all—all week! How could I—ugh—forget?”

Kenny laughed again, putting his other hand on Tweek’s shoulder, shaking lightly before letting go. “Chill, dude. You don’t have to remember everything I tell you. I know you’ve got a lot going on up there.”

Tweek grunted, pulling at his hair to refocus.

“Why don’t you bring someone else?” Kenny offered.

“There is no one else!” Tweek pulled harder, squeezing his eyes shut. It was the best he could do to avoid looking at Kenny. He didn’t want to see his reaction. “I don’t have any—guh—friends. And—and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to–to introduce anyone to my parents!”

Kenny laughed again and Tweek’s heart sank for a second before he said, “That’s fair, man. Your parents kinda creep me out.” Tweek opened his eyes. Looking down at Kenny, Tweek saw he had a relaxed look on his face. No judgment or pity like Tweek had feared. “I get why you turned to me.”

The back door slammed shut behind them, but both parties ignored it for the most part—other than Tweek’s heart jumping out of the pit in his chest a little bit at the sound. Whistling from that direction indicated that it was just Tweek’s dad coming back from his mid-morning errands. Tweek let out a sigh of barely-there relief, loosening his grip on his hair. Since they’d hired Kenny, his parents left the shop more. It was the only thing that made working here worth it still. Other than the passive income he got as he took his online courses.

That and his innate fear of abandonment; he genuinely wasn’t sure his parents would keep him around if he didn’t help with Tweak Bros.

He twitched, checking the clock above them. It read 12:30. They didn’t usually get customers after about noon on Tuesdays—South Park was too small a town for big business between about 11 and 4 on a weekday. Tweek would wonder how his parents stayed open if he didn’t rent the apartment above the shop. Over half his paycheck went right back into their pockets. And while it was a rough system, it kept him off the streets, out of their house, and able to work essentially on command. Strangely, that—not being their son—was what discounted his rent. Not that he was going to complain, he’d take cheap rent any day over living with his parents again.

“Can you just go alone?” Kenny asked, snapping Tweek out of his spiraling thoughts.

Tweek shrugged, though the idea made his stomach twist. He could already hear his mom’s polite but pointed comments about his posture, his dad’s oversharing about the shop, and the inevitable, dreaded questions: Why aren’t you married yet?

“I don’t want to go at all,” He admitted, “My mom just asked me to help her bring things out. And it’d be dumb to—to go all the way out to Stark’s Pond to help her and—ngh—leave. I kinda thought having someone with me would make it—gah—bearable.”

“Look, man, I get it. Last Christmas, I tried to fake food poisoning to get out of my family dinner. My mom didn’t buy it, so I had to sit there for three hours listening to my dad complain about the job market.” He shook his head, smirking. “Sometimes you just gotta suffer through it. But it helps to have someone there.”

Tweek groaned.

“You’re overthinking it,” Kenny said, leaning on the register like it wasn’t a big deal at all.

Tweek turned back to his stain, armed with a cloth from nearby, scrubbing the counter harder. He did his best to focus on the familiar motion. Back and forth. Kenny made everything look so easy—like walking up to someone and starting a conversation wasn’t a Herculean task. Meanwhile, Tweek could barely think about it without his brain screaming all of the things that could go wrong. The counter squeaked under his hand, a small comfort amid the chaos.

Kenny continued, watching Tweek work with unnecessary force. “Just tell her you brought the best barista in South Park. That’ll impress her.”

“Guh!” Tweek twitched, clutching the cloth like a lifeline. “You’re insane.”

“Nope. Just confident,” Kenny shot back with a wink, leaving Tweek to wonder how the guy could say something like that with a straight face. “You give yourself too much shit, dude. You’re the only reason this place doesn’t fall apart. You’ve got more strength than you think…”

The door swung open with a theatrical flourish. “Special delivery for Kenny McCormick!” One of their regular customers, Clyde Donovan, announced as he stepped inside like he owned the place.

Tweek didn’t know many regulars’ whole names, but Kenny had gone to school with him. Most people their age had known each other since preschool. Tweek, himself, had been home-schooled—which mostly meant he worked in his parents’ shop through his childhood instead of going to classes. He was just happy not to make small talk with old acquaintances like Kenny had to every day. That was a brand of torture he had never been exposed to before Kenny started at Tweek Bros.

Clyde was a bit of an exception, though, since he worked in the strip mall a few blocks down—a manager at his dad’s shoe store, Tweek remembered Kenny saying. One of Kenny’s roommates worked a few doors down from him, at his dad’s law practice. Tweek had never met the guy, but Kenny talked pretty highly of him, so Tweek figured he was probably cool.

“What’s up, Clyde?” Kenny shooed Tweek over to the espresso machine—their current arrangement. Tweek wasn’t actually sure how Kenny got hired, the guy kinda sucked at making coffee. His dad said the McCormicks were close family friends, or something, even though Tweek hadn’t met Kenny until last year. (He wasn’t entirely sure how family friends worked since his parents never really had them, but he figured they would introduce their kids at least once before adulthood.)

Not that Tweek would complain about Kenny now.

His customer service skills far surpassed Tweek’s own (which were essentially nonexistent), so they agreed to have Kenny deal with the talking while Tweek cranked out beverages. Over the past year it had been a good system, since Kenny seemed to only ever be scheduled to work with Tweek.

Tweek was still working on teaching Kenny to make drinks, though, because they probably wouldn’t always work together (and Tweek wasn’t sure he could handle life without the other blonde again, though he refused to admit it. Kenny had a big enough ego as it was.)

“Not much,” Clyde said with a grin. “You forgot your lunch today, so Kyle sent me over with it.”

“Oh shit,” Kenny groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose dramatically. “I told him he didn’t have to.”

Clyde shrugged, holding out a familiar, orange lunchbox for Kenny. “You know how Kyle is.”

Kenny took it with an endearing eye roll. “Hey, Clyde, could you give this to him for me?” He lifted his middle finger, though there didn’t seem to be any ill-will behind it, since Clyde snorted. Another thing about public school kids, insults meant nothing to them. It was hard for Tweek to understand, really. (He wasn’t sure he wanted to.)

Kenny slid his hands into his apron pockets, grinning at his joke with crooked teeth. “Seriously, though. Can we get you anything?”

“Oh!” Clyde twisted around, searching his pockets until he pulled out a list. “I need a few things.” He held the paper out to Tweek, who fumbled for a second before he realized the guy was trying to give it to him. “Kyle said it would be easier to give you the whole order.”

“Gah!” Tweek twitched.

“Dude,” Kenny laughed, taking the list. “At least let me ring them in so Tweek doesn’t have to fuck with you.”

Tweek flushed at Kenny’s bluntness, but Clyde didn’t seem to mind, moving on easily. “Tweak, like the name of the place?”

Tweek grunted, grinding his teeth together. “That’s my last name. My first name’s the same but spelled with two E’s. Because my parents—guh!—hate me.”

Kenny snorted as he rang in drinks, but didn’t correct him. “His parents own the place. I think they were gonna use him as, like, a walking advertisement.”

“Wild,” Clyde said.

“Yeah,” Kenny agreed, “Probably would’ve worked better if they ever let him leave.”

Tweek twitched. Clyde’s eyes glanced from Kenny to Tweek, who shifted on his feet. Waiting for Kenny to finish his part was becoming torture, and Tweek was sure the other blonde knew it, taking his time punching in orders. When he finally gave Clyde the total, Tweek yanked the receipt from the till and started working.

Kenny sent him an amused smirk. “Don’t worry, though,” he said to Clyde, “The kid can make coffee like no one you’ve ever seen.”

“Well, hopefully, they’ll start sending me here for the coffee run, then,” Clyde said, putting his hands behind his head. “The Harbucks is farther away and I hate the stupid employees. They made Kevin Stoley a manager, dude. At least here I get to see you, Kenny.”

Tweek could hear Kenny roll his eyes. “I don’t get why they even send you out that way. Seems like a waste of time.”

Clyde shrugged. “I don’t know, man. It’s a good break, I guess.”

“Speaking of breaks, you got any plans this weekend?” Kenny asked casually, starting to prep cups for Tweek, writing shorthand for the orders on the side and pumping syrups like Tweek had taught him. It was a big help, especially for giant orders like this.

That used to be Tweek’s job, he remembered, before he could reach the counter. They had a stool set up for him back then, so he could stand at the till and take orders. It was nostalgic, almost, when he didn’t remember the crippling panic attacks he would have at the end of the day, after talking to so many strangers that his parents insisted were different from the stories they told him to keep him ‘safe.’

Tweek shook the memory away, nodding toward Kenny. A silent thank-you. Kenny sent him a worried look, and Tweek wondered how long he’d been lost in his thoughts for a minute before Kenny nodded back. Tweek let out a silent sigh of relief. He supposed Kenny was handy to have around, sometimes. Even if he was an asshole.

“Ugh,” Clyde groaned, “Don’t remind me. I had to cancel date night on Saturday to cover a double. And Bebe is still insisting we go out on Sunday, so I don’t even get to sleep it off.”

“Ooh,” Kenny winced, “That’s rough.”

“I love her, but she drives me crazy sometimes,” Clyde said, “Might bring her back a new pair of shoes and see if she’s cool staying in, though. What about you? Dragging Kyle out to an art show, I hear?”

“It’s not really dragging,” Kenny said, “My sister’s got a section in a showcase out in Denver, so we’re spending the weekend out there. Kyle kindly agreed to join us.”

“You sound like Bebe,” Clyde teased. Kenny threw his cleaning cloth in Clyde’s direction, snorting when Clyde gasped in offense. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“You’ll be back,” Kenny said, unfazed. “Stan is your weed supplier, and he barely likes you.”

Clyde rolled his eyes, his gaze falling back onto Tweek, who tried to stay focused on his drinks. “Nope. It’s too late. We’re not friends anymore. I’m replacing you with Tweek here.”

“Ngh—uh—what?”

“You can’t just replace me with any other blonde, Clyde,” Kenny said.

Clyde ignored him, staring at Tweek with wide, brown eyes. “Got any plans this weekend, Tweek?”

Tweek shifted on his feet, avoiding eye contact. “Uhhh…”

“He’s got a family thing,” Kenny said for him, not too invasive but more than Tweek would have said to a customer. Tweek sent him a look, but Kenny was back to work pumping syrups, so he didn’t notice.

“Ooh!” Clyde’s full focus was on him now, even though Kenny answered for him, and Tweek wished he could disappear. “A gathering of Tweaks!”

“Ngh—Yeah.”

“Why don’t you sound excited?” Clyde asked. “Oh, shit! You said your parents hate you, right? That sucks, dude. Do you have a buddy, at least? To make it easier?”

“I wish,” Tweek said before he could stop himself, face reddening.

Another thing Tweek had learned in his time with Kenny, was that he had absolutely no filter. Apparently, that was something they were taught in public school, too. He quickly turned back to the espresso machine, doing his best to hide behind it. It was harder than he thought, since he’d outgrown the machine years ago, but Clyde was shorter, which helped a little.

“Wait, so…” Clyde peeked as best as he could, an unsettling grin on his face. “You need a friend by this weekend?”

“Yep,” Kenny answered for him, an almost knowing look on his face.

Tweek shot him a dirty look. “It’s—ugh—not that big of a deal, I can probably just go…” The devilish look in Clyde’s eyes was starting to scare him. “Gah!—Alone.”

“Uno memento, por favor,” Clyde said, abruptly turning from the register.

Tweek shifted, keeping his eyes on the brunette as he pulled out his phone, determinedly texting while he paced in the lobby. That almost-evil smile he wore forced Tweek to look away. Oh, no. What had he gotten himself into? He shouldn’t be allowed to say anything to anyone. Now more than ever, he wished he could turn off his stupid brain and swallow his feelings, even if they burned a hole in his stomach.

Distantly, he could hear his father’s whistling fade, and the back door’s bell rang again. His departure lifted a barely-there weight on his shoulders that Tweek hadn’t noticed. He took this momentary freedom to glance at Kenny, the reason he was here in the first place. The other blonde’s eyes were locked on Clyde, thinking. There was a tilt to his brow that somehow made his whole expression ten times more serious, nothing like the casual Kenny that Tweek had gotten to know the past year. Something Tweek noticed about Kenny that always threw him off was how hyper-vigilant he was. One second, he’d be making inappropriate jokes to bother Tweek, and the next he’d be locked in, with a focus that was almost out of character.

Almost.

When he felt Tweek’s gaze, he loosened up a bit. Something deliberate. He turned to look at Tweek, a forced casualness to his whole demeanor. Tweek didn’t say anything, freezing. Kenny must’ve taken pity on him, giving him a soft smile. “Want help with some of those?”

It wasn’t the first time Kenny had surprised him like this, with his strange, effortless way of reading people. It was almost unsettling, but not unwelcome. Taking a second to think it over, Tweek eventually nodded, not sure what else to do. They made a little over half the order in silence before Clyde came back, phone in hand.

“I’ve just solved your problem, Tweekers,” He announced.

Tweek burnt his hand on the milk he was steaming, but he barely noticed over the wave of anxiety that punched him right in the gut. “W-What?”

“Clyde…” Kenny started, clearly trying not to laugh, but Clyde was still texting someone. Not even ten seconds after the message was sent, his phone started ringing.

“Craig,” Clyde answered without looking at the screen, and Kenny let out an almost strangled snort. “No, no. Hear me out.”

Whoever this Craig was, was loud enough for Tweek to hear his protests through Clyde’s speaker. Or maybe his voice was just deep, Tweek thought, because he didn’t seem to be yelling. Just adamantly against anything Clyde said, which Tweek honestly understood. He wouldn’t want to be dragged into something like this, either.

He couldn’t make out most of the words the other guy was saying, but somewhere near the end, he heard his name.

“Craig, no, listen to me,” Clyde said, starting to pace. “It’s not a big deal. He’s just a guy who needs a friend to help him out. He’s cool!” He looked up at Tweek for a moment before adding: “A little twitchy, but cool.”

There was a muffled response on the other end. Clyde’s face dropped, he switched his phone to the other side, further away from the counter. “Um…”

Tweek still caught the words “not my problem” from Craig and immediately regretted everything.

Clyde, for what it was worth, kept a positive attitude, smiling and even giving Tweek a thumbs up as he moved his phone a good inch from his face. “Give me a minute.” And with that, he speed-walked out the front door.

Tweek wondered if they should keep working on the drinks that Clyde had forgotten. With a heavy sigh, Kenny started loading what he could into drink carriers, so Tweek went back to work, too. On the sidewalk, Tweek could make out the figure of Clyde pacing back and forth. Tweek noted that he talked with his hands, even on the phone, gesturing widely as he spoke. Tweek wondered what he was saying—if there was anything he could say to get a positive reaction now.

Kenny let out another short laugh. “I don’t know why he’s doing this.”

“Huh?” Tweek looked away from Clyde, turning back to the bar. Beside him, he could hear Kenny fighting with the stack of drink carriers. Tweek knew the struggle, none of them came apart cleanly for him either.

“Clyde,” Kenny said like it clarified anything. “He keeps trying to set Craig up with more friends. He’s a cool dude and all, but he’s kind of a loner unless Clyde drags him out. They’ve known each other since they were in diapers or something. They were pretty close in school, too.”

Tweek raised an eyebrow, almost surprised at the thoughtfulness of Kenny’s words. He knew the guy was smarter than he looked, but it, again, threw Tweek off when he showed it. At first, Tweek had taken Kenny at face value: a goofy guy who helped pass the hours at work. He never came off as intuitive. Calculated. It was like he let his guard down, almost. Like this was who he really was, underneath it all. The more time they spent together, the more open he was about it. Maybe he was right to ask Kenny initially, maybe they were closer than either of them thought.

“Maybe he needs it,” Kenny said, the seriousness he held before falling. “Clyde knows him pretty well. He’ll probably just roll his eyes and go along with it. Clyde has that effect on him.”

“Oh…” Tweek mumbled.

“Craig’s kind of… Blunt,” Kenny added with a small grin. “But, hey, maybe that’ll balance out your… Uh, energy.”

“My what?”

“Nothing, dude,” Kenny said with a grin. “Craig’s chill. A little too chill, sometimes. One time, Clyde got into a screaming match at a basketball game, and Craig just sat there eating nachos. Didn’t even blink.” Kenny sounded like he was trying to reassure Tweek, though it did next to nothing for his quickly racing thoughts. “Honestly, Craig’s not a bad choice for you. He might even survive.”

“What?” Tweek squeaked.

Kenny snorted, loading up the last of the drinks into their carriers. “Look, I think Craig might be your best case scenario. Given the circumstances…”

“That’s not comforting!” Tweek hissed, taking a step back from the whole situation.

“I’m kidding,” Kenny said, more softly this time. “Don’t stress. You’ve got this, Tweek. And if it crashes and burns… Well, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

Tweek blinked at him. “You get free coffee!”

Kenny laughed. “Exactly. No pressure! Look, it could be good for you. If nothing else, you’d have someone to deflect your parents’ attention. Trust me, Craig’s a pro at keeping a straight face no matter what’s going on.”

Tweek wasn’t sure if he found that comforting or terrifying. Craig sounded unshakable—nice in theory, but what if his calmness only highlighted how much of a mess Tweek was? What if Craig bailed halfway through? What if he didn’t show up at all and Tweek wound up looking like an idiot? What if he did show up?

Tweek already regretted saying anything to Clyde.

The door swung open again, and Clyde sauntered in, phone still in hand, looking triumphant. “All right, Tweek! Craig’s in.”

Tweek froze, blinking rapidly. “Ngh—What?!” He grabbed onto the edge of the counter for support. “You didn’t—gah!—tell him everything, did you?!”

Clyde gave him a sly grin. “Relax, man. I just told him you needed a buddy for a family thing, and he was cool with it.”

“Really?” Kenny asked, sounding genuinely surprised. Tweek wondered how much of his own spiel he believed. One second, the guy was saying Clyde would be able to convince him, the next he was struggling to believe it had worked.

Clyde shrugged. “He said he’d go.”

“That’s not a good thing!” Tweek didn’t even try to compose himself. Clyde didn’t seem to mind, still proud of his own accomplishment.

“Relax, man,” Kenny tried.

Tweek groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t even know him! What if it’s—gah!—weird? What if he—ugh—hates me?”

Kenny leaned on the counter beside him. “Tweek, Craig’s probably the least judgmental guy in South Park. He’s pretty chill once you get past the deadpan thing. And if it’s weird, you’ll probably never have to see him again, so… No big deal, right?”

That didn’t feel as reassuring as Kenny probably intended. Tweek’s brain was already racing through worst-case scenarios faster than he could stop it. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t like he had to have Craig come. As long as he didn’t give any more information, he was solid. He would go with his mom, pretend to be normal for a few hours, and hopefully leave with his dignity.

Clyde started gathering his drinks, balancing carriers in ways Tweek didn’t think were possible. “I’ll send his info your way, and you can set things up?”

Tweek tried his best not to look worried, swallowing dryly. Kenny saw right through it, patting his back again. Clyde didn’t seem to notice, carefully starting toward the door. He laughed at himself as he struggled with it. Tweek almost offered help when he got it.

As Clyde started to leave, he turned back to the counter, almost gritting his teeth in a grin. “Don’t worry too much,” He said, staring right into Tweek’s soul. “Craig’s bark is worse than his bite—most of the time.”

Chapter Text

Stark’s pond was probably the biggest body of water Tweek would ever see. About 15 feet across, and 20 feet deep. Something about the grimy water always made the sky look overcast—deeper. Dark, even on the sunniest day. Tweek didn’t come out to see it often, but it always gave him an eerie feeling. When he was little, he would have nightmares about the pond swallowing him whole. Maybe it would be the last thing he ever saw.

He never did learn how to swim…

It took five minutes to help unload his mom’s poorly parked SUV on the curb. The fastest five minutes Tweek had ever felt. Short and excruciating and over far too soon. Tweek’s gut swirled, nauseous with anticipation, as he approached the park behind his mother. Distantly, he could hear the chaos growing the closer they got. Everything felt super-charged, which put him even more on edge. A fly buzzed by his ear; he shook his head instinctively, disoriented eyes falling back on the parking lot. It was full, much like the pavilion ahead of them, where assorted Tweaks from across the country gathered.

He never understood why they chose South Park to meet. The cold air always made his grandparents crinkle up. His estranged Aunt from Denver always complained about the reception never making it past the mountains. Littler cousins (because, of course, Tweek had always been the oldest. A heavy responsibility, his parents made sure he was aware of.) would complain about the lackluster playground—one creaky swing set, one rusty metal slide, and a splintery see-saw that Tweek refused to touch. They would ask how he dealt with it, living in such a small world, and he never found it in him to defend it. Not that his parents ever tried to, either. Sometimes it felt like they didn’t know why they were here. Tweek wondered if there was even a reason.

“Oh, look, Tweek. Your Grandma Joy is here, all the way from Florida,” his mom said offhandedly, making her way into the already-crowded-feeling pavilion without a care in the world.

“Erm,” Tweek twitched behind her, clammy hands grasping at whatever he could to get out of this situation. “Bathroom!” He announced unceremoniously, before turning back to her car, where she had parked, conveniently, at the back of the lot.

She didn’t even look back.

Shuffling through the pockets of his cargo pants, Tweek finally found the keys she had left with him—something about her not having her own pockets. Tweek was never more grateful for women’s clothing. Curling in the front passenger seat, he did his best to hide as more and more of his relatives showed up.

His clammy hands clutched the keys like they might anchor him to reality, but he could tell he was slipping further and further away. The world outside the window was alive—too alive—with distant chatter and the occasional shriek of a child. He couldn’t pick out a single voice, but together they created an overwhelming hum, like a swarm of bees waiting to sting.

Chancing a look, Tweek watched as cousins, aunts, and uncles walked up so easily. And then there was Tweek, stuck in his mom’s car. The black sheep.

The thought twisted in his stomach, sour and persistent. He should’ve stayed in bed. Or faked food poisoning. Or claimed the coffee shop had some emergency. Anything would’ve been better than this.

Now he was stuck, trapped in his mom’s car while his relatives strolled past like they didn’t have a care in the world. Cousins he barely recognized, an uncle he was almost sure owed his parents money, and—was that Aunt Gail? He could’ve sworn she died five years ago. Why was she here?

“Because even she belongs here,” he muttered to himself, pulling his knees to his chest. “And I don’t.”

Why did he even come? He wondered to himself, as wet, hot tears started to fall. He didn’t belong. He never had. Not in this family. Not in this town. Not anywhere. From the womb, he’d been taught to keep to himself—isolated. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as the familiar weight of shame crept in. He was the odd one out. Always had been. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt like part of this family.

Growing up, he’d spent more time in the back of the coffee shop than at family dinners. While the other kids played tag or climbed trees, he’d been stuck restocking shelves or learning the difference between drip coffee and a pour over.

And even then, he hadn’t been good enough.

The memory hit him like a punch to the gut: three years old, accidentally locking himself in the fridge while his parents worked the front counter. (This was before they started hiring externally. Back when they thought they could run it all on hopes, dreams, and espresso.) He’d cried for what felt like hours before anyone noticed.

“You could’ve spoiled the milk,” his dad had scolded afterward, shaking his head in disappointment. Tweek shivered at the thought. His parents had only started keeping an eye on him when it was convenient for them—not because they cared, but because his mistakes cost them something.

Now here he was, twenty-one years old, still making mistakes. Still costing them.

His throat tightened. He hugged his knees closer, pressing his forehead against them. The faint vibration of his pulse thrummed in his ears. Too fast. Too loud. He felt like he was suffocating in his own skin.

This was his family! His flesh and blood. He was supposed to feel safe here. Instead, he felt like he was shrinking—like the sheer force of their presence was folding him in on himself. They didn’t need him here. They probably wouldn’t even notice if he disappeared.

For a second, he let himself imagine it.

Maybe he’d just… vanish. Maybe the car would swallow him whole, like Stark’s Pond did in his nightmares. He knew his parents would look for him. Briefly—out of obligation. But then his dad would shrug and suggest they move on. At least they were already together—he’d hate to inconvenience anyone with a funeral. Maybe, if he was really lucky, they wouldn’t make a big deal of things.

“Sure, our son is gone,” His dad would say, in that fake-deep voice he used when he talked about Tweak Bros. coffee. “But we shouldn’t let that ruin our day. Now, who wants to play corn hole?”

A weak laugh escaped him before it turned into a sob. Oh, God. He was actually losing it.

His breath quickened, coming in shallow gasps now. Tears blurred his vision, spilling onto his knees. He tried to will them away, but his body wasn’t listening. It never listened.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere.

The faint buzz of his phone cut through his thoughts, startling him. Tweek fumbled with his pocket, hands trembling as he pulled it out. It wasn’t a message from Kenny or his mom, like he half-hoped. Just a notification for an app he hadn’t used in weeks. He tossed the phone onto the seat, glaring at it like it had betrayed him.

His pulse thundered in his ears again, louder than before. He wanted to scream. To cry. To—

A shadow blocked the sun, and Tweek looked up, blinking into the glare. The figure was tall, broad, and painfully composed, like a statue that decided to wander its way to Stark’s Pond. He was tall—taller than Tweek, even, and he was used to awkwardly towering over everyone. Deep blue eyes—sharp, unflinching—met Tweek’s, and he froze. Something about this guy—his expression, his posture, just something—screamed I don’t want to be here any more than you do.

Tweek blinked.

The stranger blinked back.

Gulping down a breath, Tweek rolled down the window, squinting without the cover of tinted glass. He knew he was a mess—snot, wet eyes, a glowing red mark on his forehead from where he’d shoved it into his knees—he’d seen himself before. But this person looked at Tweek like he was the only thing here. Under the noise of his relatives in the pavilion 30 feet away, he wondered if he was somehow.

Then the stranger spoke, his voice flat and unbothered: “Are you Tweek Tweak?”

Tweek let out a lame, exhausted: “Yes.”

The guy nodded once, finally looking over at the Tweak’s celebration. “You ready or what?”

“Huh?” Tweek asked.

Instead of an answer, the stranger said, “My name is Craig Tucker. Kenny sent me here. For Clyde?”

“Oh!” Tweek said, scrambling to get out of the car. “Shit. He wasn’t supposed to—I—ngh—yes!”

Strangely, after he fumbled to get the door open, Craig offered him a hand. Tweek instinctively took it, stumbling to his feet with Craig’s help. Neither of them said anything, as Tweek fussed with his outfit to look a bit more presentable after his panic. No one would notice, probably (he always looked awful) but there was a part of him, curdling in his stomach, that wanted to look normal despite his egregious eye bags, yellowed teeth, crazy hair, and well… Everything about him.

He wiped one last tear, hiding it as well as he could (not very). Craig said nothing. It was unnerving for Tweek, who had gotten so used to Kenny’s endless chatter at Tweak Bros. So, in an anxious spout of remaining adrenaline, Tweek filled the space.

“He wasn’t supposed to—ngh—reach out to you,” Tweek tried to explain, face feeling hotter by the second. “Uh, Kenny, I mean. Guh! I-I don’t know why he reached out to you.”

Craig didn’t answer, walking quietly towards the pavilion. Tweek was starting to worry he’d offended him. “N-Not that I don’t, um,” he sniffed, “Appreciate it.” More to himself, he muttered. “I just don’t see how this will help.”

Again, Craig didn’t answer, but he wasn’t stopping him either, so Tweek kept going. “So, you’ve known Clyde for a while?”

Finally, Craig nodded but gave nothing else. This guy could not be any more different than his supposed best friend! Then again, opposites allegedly attract. It kind of made sense, given Tweek’s situation with Kenny. They got along pretty well, maybe better than either of them thought, but they were complete opposites. Like Clyde and Craig seemed to be, even from the get-go Clyde had been rambunctious—outgoing, as Kenny had put it more kindly. Seeing someone like Craig, the least emotional person Tweek had ever seen, might get along with him seemed a bit far-fetched. Maybe Clyde was the type of person who could only be tolerated with someone like Craig around to mellow him out. Dampen the blow of his extreme personality by giving… Nothing.

Tweek was getting nothing from this guy! He was starting to get pissed.

Craig slowed his steps as they approached the pavilion, his grip on Tweek’s hand loosening slightly before fully letting go. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, looking at the pavilion like it had personally wronged him. But, somehow, instead of complaining, he let out a long sigh.

“Let’s just… Get this over with,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost… reassuring? Tweek glanced up at him, startled. Maybe this wouldn’t be a complete disaster. Or maybe it would. (With Tweek’s luck, it would probably be the second one.)

“Who’s your friend, dear?” Tweek’s mom asked. When he looked up, they were at the pavilion. Right in front of his mom and Grandma Joy. Both of them shared a look, knowing. Like they were aware that Tweek didn’t really have any friends. The stress from earlier left him empty. There was nothing left in him to care about what his family thought.

At first.

“My name is Craig Tucker,” Craig said, and now that Tweek wasn’t actively coming down from a panic attack, he realized how rehearsed it sounded. (Probably with Clyde, Tweek thought, the guy seemed excessive enough.)

“Well,” Tweek’s mom said, with a hint of surprise, “Nice to meet you, Craig. See, Joy, Tweek is doing just fine.”

Grandma Joy looked sternly between Tweek and Craig, scrutinizing. Finally, she settled on the taller of the two, pointing a wrinkled finger in his direction, not even close to him from her picnic table bench. “You treat my grandson right!”

What?

“What?” Craig asked.

Tweek short-circuited. Before this, he hadn’t really thought about it… What his mom had meant when she said he could bring a friend. This was a family function, but it hadn’t actually occurred to him how bringing someone along might come off. The implication. He thought back to the conversation with his mother—the backstabber, who knew better than to be vague with him.

They were at Tweak Bros, closing up shop. Dad had left early, a small blessing to wrap up Tweek’s bad day. His whole body was aching from unloading their weekly shipment single-handedly since Kenny was out that day and his dad was less than helpful, waxing poetic about different roasts that Tweek could quote in his sleep.

Tweek sat at the coffee bar, another little victory, counting change from their tip jar. His favorite job since before he could even reach the bar. If he didn’t feel so trapped in Tweak Bros. (he was named after it, after all) he would’ve looked into a job at the bank down the street. Decent pay, counting cash, no more working for his parents. It sounded like a dream until you factored in talking to customers again, and the total stress he would face playing any part in other people’s finances. He could barely handle his own, for Christ’s sake!

“Are you excited for the family reunion?” His mom asked. She was restocking cups on the bar as if she wouldn’t do the same when she opened the next morning. (Mom was always a woman with a routine, Tweek noted. A small but welcome comfort.) When he didn’t answer for a few seconds, she tried again: “Tweek?”

Finishing out the quarters, Tweek looked up from his work. “Hmm?”

“Are you excited for our family potluck this month?” She half-repeated. “Did you forget already?”

Tweek flinched, dropping a stack of coins. “Ugh—Yeah, I-I don’t know, Mom.” Through gritted teeth, he said: “I don’t think I want to go.”

“What?” His mom asked, setting down her stack of cups on the counter behind her. “But everyone will miss you! What will your grandparents think?”

“They can—ugh!—come see me at the shop after?” Tweek offered, looking down to reorganize his fallen coins. “We can’t really afford to be closed for a whole day. I could—ngh—probably run it by myself for a few hours, and—”

His mom put a hand on his shoulder and he did his best not to flinch. “Would it help if you brought someone along?”

“What?” He squeaked.

“You’re just getting to that age,” His mom said, “Where it might be appropriate to bring a friend.”

“I-I don’t know,” Tweek said, “Gah! Maybe?”

“Plus, I need your help,” she added offhandedly, “We’re bringing more coffee this year.”

Tweek had shrugged her off after that, not fully committing to anything until he’d brought something up to Kenny. It was easy to ignore these things, sometimes. Until they bit you in the ass. Like now.

“Oh, Joy,” His mom laughed, “Tweek can fight his own battles. Remember those kickboxing lessons? Just be happy you’ve gotten to live long enough to see Tweek date.”

Craig turned to him silently, and Tweek held back a flinch. His nerves were fried, but even he could tell Craig was angry. Though, that wasn’t saying much. It seemed to be his default. (And Tweek’s default assumption, but that was neither here nor there.) “We need to talk.”

Absently, Tweek nodded. He followed Craig without watching where they were going, his mom and Grandma Joy’s teasing voices fading into the background. It took him about thirty seconds to realize they were heading closer to the pond, and by the time he noticed, it was too late to say anything. So, he did his best to avoid looking into the water—being so close was already making his skin itch.

His only alternative was to watch Craig’s stilted stance. It was awkward, but less rehearsed-feeling than before. This was out of both of their comfort zones. Craig spun around suddenly, making Tweek fully run into his chest with a solid whump.

They were finally out of earshot. If Craig really wanted, he could drown Tweek now. Tweek wasn’t sure if he’d stop him, he’d already accepted death once today. He almost didn’t mind the delay.

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound around them was the pond’s quiet waves, and, in the distance, the faded chatter of Tweek’s family. Craig looked him over, scrutinizing. Then, his shoulders slumped, his hands twitched at his side. The anger he’d carried all the way to the pond had quickly fizzled out.

“What’s going on?” Craig asked, clearly still frustrated but pushing through.

“I-I don’t—” Tweek swallowed— “I don’t know,” He admitted weakly, “My mom told me to bring a friend. I didn’t think she meant…”

Tweek felt like he was going to vomit out his feelings. He never should have left his bed this morning. It felt like every day he did just went downhill. He could probably become a hermit; he practically was already. All he did these days was go to work and go home, and that was in the same building! He hadn’t even gone out for groceries since he discovered he could get them delivered. It was hard to remember that he was a person, sometimes, that needed sunlight and socialization. If Kenny wasn’t around, he probably wouldn’t get any of that, either. And with this big of a fumble with one of Kenny’s friends, who knew how much longer that would last?

He twitched, letting out an involuntary: “Oh god!”

Craig crossed his arms, the movement as stiff as his walk to the pond. “No offense, but I’m not interested.”

“What?” Tweek wheezed, everything was hitting him at once again. It was hard to catch his breath. “No, that’s not—ngh!—fuck!”

“Look, it’s fine,” Craig said, almost gentle under his monotone, back to that almost-rehearsed quality. Like he was used to turning people down. He probably was. Tweek had always heard that people were into tall, dark, and handsome guys (Kenny said it all the time, anyway.) and Craig was all three. It was a little distracting, now that Tweek was paying attention.

Finally, pushing himself, Tweek decided to ask the most important question. “What do we do?”

Craig sighed, putting his head in his hands, he muttered to himself. “Those guys are really going to owe me after this…”

“Huh?”

“We can just…” Craig looked down at him with his stupid, blue eyes. “Go with it?”

“Go with it?” Tweek squeaked, his brain grinding to a halt. Was Craig Tucker—a total stranger—really suggesting they fake a relationship in front of his entire family? For a second, Tweek considered bolting back to the car. Then he remembered Grandma Joy’s sharp eyes, his mom’s smug smile, and the mushy green casserole waiting in the pavilion. Maybe Craig was right. Maybe death wasn’t the worst thing that could happen today.

Perpetually alone, Tweek had never even considered being around someone platonically, let alone romantically. Give him two days, though, and apparently, he would establish Kenny as his friend and have a… Boyfriend? Was that even something he wanted? He’d never been interested in… Anyone. Had never been around someone long enough to know. He swallowed, trying to hide his internal crisis.

“For now,” Craig clarified, solving a small portion of Tweek’s dilemma. Unfortunately, parts of it lingered as Craig continued to stare at him. Tweek’s whole face felt hot. Craig continued talking, and he did his best to listen over his embarrassment. “Because if we’re gay, we can break up,” he said, “And if we break up, there will be some time before your mom asks you to bring a friend to something like this again. We just have to fake it until, like, next week, and you can tell your parents you dumped me.”

“Like acting?” Tweek asked, fully from his stream of consciousness, before he realized what Craig was asking. “Oh, no. No, I can’t do it. That is way too much pressure, man. And—”

“You can do it, Tweek!” Craig grabbed onto his shoulders, giving them a good shake. If Tweek had any food in him, he might’ve finally thrown up. Then, the shaking stopped and Tweek looked up to see Craig looking at him, and only him. The only thing in the universe. “You’re capable of more than you think.”

Craig’s words landed heavier than Tweek expected, like a weight settling in his chest. He wanted to argue, to tell Craig he was wrong, that he wasn’t capable of anything, let alone faking confidence in front of his entire family. But something in Craig’s steady gaze—calm, assured, and just a little annoyed—kept the words from spilling out.

“I-I’m a terrible actor,” Tweek admitted through clenched teeth, trying not to melt.

Craig sent him a softer look. “You can just follow my lead, and try to make it look believable, okay?”

“Oh god,” Tweek muttered, his whole body shaking. “Okay… Oh, god…”

“There’s no reason to correct them,” Craig reassured.

“I’m not gay!” Tweek said a little too loud. A pair of his cousins, at the closest picnic table, shot them a look. When the words were processed, they snickered into their hands before running away. “Too much pressure.”

“Neither am I,” Craig said simply. He didn’t seem to care much about the implications like Tweek did. “Look, you can trust me. Just follow my lead.

“O-Okay,” Tweek said, voice cracking slightly. “Okay. I’ll follow your—ngh—lead.” He wasn’t sure if it was because he trusted Craig or because he couldn’t face the alternative. Maybe it was both.

Without thinking, Craig took Tweek by the hand and started to pull him back into the chaos. “Let’s get some food, okay?”

Tweek let out a short sigh. “Okay.”

And then, he followed Craig to the buffet of too-mushy food. The buffet table loomed ahead, a battleground of mushy casseroles, gelatinous salads, and suspiciously shiny pies. Tweek’s stomach churned—not just from the smell, but from the thought of enduring the rest of the reunion with Craig’s hand in his, pretending everything was fine. He gulped. This was going to be the longest potluck of his life.

Chapter Text

“So…” Kenny started as soon as he walked into the building—which was really saying something because Kenny did very little before he was getting paid. (A totally valid mindset when you worked for Tweek’s parents. Being cheap was kind of their M.O. He wasn’t even sure how many uncompensated hours they’d gotten out of him before he was even legally able to work…) Tweek immediately knew where Kenny was going, so, in a very mature manner, he set his head on the counter with a groan. Feeling like an ostrich was a small sacrifice to pay to avoid anyone seeing him blush. God, he was such an embarrassment.

Kenny rounded the counter, ignoring the few patrons that were seated throughout the café, and going right for Tweek. In a sing-songy voice, he asked, “How did it go?”

Taking one from Kenny, Tweek flipped him off.

“He did go!” Kenny cheered once he got theoretical confirmation that his evil plan had worked. Tweek didn’t see the correlation between the worst day of his life and flipping the other blonde off, but apparently, Kenny did because he seemed pretty proud of himself. Even with his face hidden, Tweek could tell the asshole was grinning. The little backstabber.

“Why did you—gah!—send him?” Tweek whined into his arms.

It came out muffled, but the other blonde seemed to understand easily. He reached out a hand to lamely pat Tweek’s shoulder. “Clyde went through so much trouble to convince him. I felt bad!”

Tweek finally looked up at him, shooting up to poke an accusatory finger on his coworker’s chest. “Liar! You—You like watching Clyde suffer.”

It was true, and Kenny knew it too, based on his not-so-guilty little smile. Clyde was riddled with an almost comedic misfortune. It was like he had been cursed. The way he walked, the way he talked; there was something about him. Tweek had remade him more drinks than he could count—it probably broke some kind of record! It was like his shoelaces were perpetually untied. When he spoke, he would wack himself in the face. Frequently! Though he rarely parked close enough to see, Tweek had never watched him pull into a parking space without hitting the curb.

If they tallied together all the times Clyde had fumbled in some way, they would be going for days.

And every time, Kenny would snort, barely hiding his smile behind his hand as he ran to help clean up whatever mess was made. From bloody noses to whole drink orders to scrapes on his front bumper. (Kenny was kind of a jack of all trades like that. If you slid a few bucks his way, he would do just about anything.)

Tweek couldn’t even call him out on the bullying, because he was usually right there with him. After the fourth or fifth incident, it was hard not to be. Clyde had this light-hearted attitude about everything, which somehow made Tweek feel a little less bad about laughing at his mishaps.

“You needed support to deal with your crazy family,” Kenny answered a little more honestly. Tweek shot him a flat look, demanding the whole truth. He was too tired to settle for less. Kenny’s shoulders went up, defensive. Kind of like a cat. Tweek held his ground, and Kenny eventually deflated. “I thought it’d be funny.”

“You’re a dick,” Tweek said. Then, trying to make it sound like an afterthought because Kenny was kind of all he had, he added, “Now they think we’re—oh god… Dating.”

“What?” Kenny’s eyes widened, practically popping out of his skull. He wheezed out a laugh, followed by a breathy, “Holy shit. Did they just… Assume?”

“Yes,” Tweek exclaimed, “They didn’t even ask follow-up questions!”

“Oh my god,” Kenny said, still laughing in what was hopefully surprise.

“I know!” Tweek said. He was starting to get a little too loud, apparently, because the customers at the nearest table gave him a look that made his skin crawl. He took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

Yesterday had left him more than drained. It took him an hour and a half to get out of bed, even though he hadn’t even slept. He barely made it in to open at 5—he winded up brushing his teeth in the dirty dish sink. Though his stress was slightly diminished by his tiredness and the fact that they were never busy right at open, he still held a bit of pent-up anxiety from his rush downstairs. While Tweak Bros. was the only coffee shop in town other than Harbucks, most people in South Park waited until 6 or 7 to get their morning fix. Unlike Tweek, who’d already had 6 espresso shots with his Breakfast Essential. Looking at the clock, he noted it was only 8 AM.

Deciding to change the subject to something easier—less pressure—Tweek turned back to Kenny. “How—How was Karen’s art show?”

Kenny hesitated, clearly conflicted. It was obvious he didn’t want to drop the whole Craig thing, but Tweek knew he loved gushing about his sister. Any conversation that could transition to Karen did, not that Tweek would complain. He was always more of a listener than a talker, and he really was interested in what Karen was working on. And while Tweek was aware it was a weak trick, it was effective nonetheless. He watched as Kenny’s resolve failed.

Twenty-two painful seconds after Tweek asked—record time—the other blonde let out a sigh. “It went really well. She already has a bunch of offers for her paintings. It should help a lot with her college fund.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through some pictures before settling on a few to show Tweek. It was an easy topic to shift to, with Kenny gushing on and on about each painting. Unsurprisingly, they were all incredible. Tweek had seen plenty of progress pictures, but it still boggled his mind how they turned out. A balance of pink, green, and orange. It was a color study, Tweek remembered Kenny explaining. She had nailed everything, as far as Tweek could tell, taking three almost conflicting colors and creating something cohesive. Tweek wasn’t sure how she did it, honestly. He never really understood art (probably due to his lack of exposure) but he knew, just by looking at it, that Karen did. The pictures didn’t even do the art justice—Kenny was no photographer and his phone was more than outdated—but Tweek was still in awe. She was lucky to have someone as supportive as Kenny to help her live her dreams. The paintings were deeply emotional, showing too many feelings for Tweek to fully grasp. He could definitely see why Kenny was proud.

“They’re amazing,” Tweek said truthfully.

Kenny grinned, switching to another painting. “I’m thinking of getting this one tattooed.”

Tweek rolled his eyes. “You would.”

The bell to the front door rang, and Tweek meandered to his spot at the espresso machine, ready for Kenny to take the order. It took him a few seconds to get settled, giving the steam wand a quick wipe to be sure it was ready. Most drinks they made these days were hot. The weather was already starting to turn, even though it had just warmed up. Tweek didn’t mind, he was warm-blooded. He always reveled in the cold. That was one benefit of living in South Park, to him.

That and the ability to stay in his comfort zone, where he mostly felt safe. Tweek’s parents couldn’t even deny that he was practically raised at Tweek Bros. His whole life could be summed up by this building, and Tweek was almost comfortable with that. The less outside his bubble he had to go, the better. Even if he had to rely on his parent’s more often than he’d like. There was something almost poetic about how stuck he felt; it was like a prison of his own making.

Meticulously, with muscle memory, Tweek prepped his station. Lost in thought, he didn’t think to actually look up at the customer that had come in—he rarely did without prompting (his dad was all about appearances, and apparently, Tweek’s total lack of social skills hindered their business.) And while he was always a bit behind on what was going on, he would be the first to admit it took him a few seconds to realize that Kenny wasn’t talking yet. Tweek turned to see the other blonde gawking between whoever came in and himself. And, slowly, almost painfully, Tweek turned instead to look at the customer.

Deep blue eyes locked him in place.

“Craig,” Kenny said after floundering for a moment. It was strange to have him filling the space like Tweek was so used to, now that Craig was here. It made Tweek feel a little useless. “What brings you out here?”

Craig ignored him, keeping his intense stare on Tweek, who twitched at the attention. “Um. Could I get a coffee?” He paused, blankly, then shook his head quickly before adding a gentler sounding, almost out of character: “Please?”

Tweek, in a move that shocked even himself, took over the register. Kenny swerved out of the way with an annoyingly smug look that Tweek did his best to ignore. He wasn’t used to taking many orders after Kenny got in—let alone wanting to. It always felt weird to be watched while standing at the register. “Ngh! Uh… What-What kind?”

“What do you usually get?” Craig asked. Kenny snorted. Tweek cringed.

One thing you need to know about baristas (especially seasoned ones, like Tweek) is their absolute hatred for this question. ‘What do you get?’ It burned a hole in his mind. That was one of the many reasons that Kenny handled taking orders. There was a point where it became hard to school your expression; Tweek was passed that 7 years ago when he had turned 14 and had worked his first double. Though, one could argue that he had never really learned how to compose himself in any way. (Re: Re: Re: fuck homeschooling.)

But Kenny? He had it down to a science. The shorter blonde was just better at people than Tweek would ever be, and (after some trial and error) they had both learned to accept that. He knew how to navigate conversations with an ease Tweek had never seen before. A smile here, a wink there, pushing the buttons on the touch screen with an almost intensity. He would laugh at all the right times, and ask the best questions. If someone could get by on personality alone, it would be Kenny McCormick. And Tweek, his complete opposite, would watch in awe.

It was funny, almost, to watch him work. Kenny could make anyone swoon on a good day. And Tweek got used to observing, over time, making mental notes about how Kenny drew them in. One of his favorite things was listening to how often Kenny’s answer to this exact question changed.

Sometimes, depending on his mood, he’d suggest something sweet. “I always get a white mocha. Iced.” Kenny would talk like he’d been drinking coffee since the day he was born, smooth and confident. “They’re the best.”

Other times, when they were busier, he’d suggest something easy. Often one of the limited drinks he knew how to make without asking Tweek a billion times. “Believe it or not, a sweet cream cold brew. They’re the best.” (This, he always said in the same tone. ‘They’re the best.’ Tweek wasn’t even sure he was aware of it.) “It’s a bit heavier on the coffee side, but if you’re looking for something sweeter, we can always add a syrup.”

He did this thing sometimes, where he would punch in the orders as he said them, too. A simple, almost planned thing to fully lock them in. He was the master manipulator of food service. An expert at his craft. And the funny thing? He didn’t even drink coffee! The idiot was just a cheeky salesman with one of Tweek’s old stained aprons tied tightly around his waist to seal the deal. And every day, Tweek would stand on the sidelines and watch in awe as Kenny worked his magic. A truly underrated charisma that Tweek certainly didn’t have.

And, sometimes, admittedly, he relied a little too much on Kenny. He often fully forgot how normal people took their coffee when the question came up. They would cringe at his suggestion of black, drip coffee. They’d roll their eyes at simple options like a vanilla latte. There would be a line building out the door as he stuttered over their specials. And, more often than not, he would just… Freeze.

If they tallied how often Tweek fumbled, they’d be counting for years.

Stupidly, in his panic and slight confusion, he landed on his worst response. He froze. “I don’t know.”

Kenny let out a loud laugh. Craig finally acknowledged him with a middle finger. Tweek flushed. Kenny laughed harder.

“Jesus Christ—” Kenny heaved between snorts— “Craig, I swear, you do not want to try this guy’s coffee order.”

Craig glared. “You don’t know anything about me, McCormick.”

“Dude,” Kenny wheezed, “I’m serious. Tweek is a fiend for coffee. I’ve seen him eat one of those espresso pucks before.”

“Kenny!” Tweek smacked his arm. He turned back to Craig with a worried smile. “I’ve never—ngh!—eaten an espresso puck on purpose.”

“On purpose?” Kenny cackled. Tweek kicked him without looking back. And as much as Tweek hated him at that moment, Kenny knew when he was being shooed away, for the most part. He snickered his way to the espresso machine, wiping at it to look productive.

Tweek twitched. His smile was feeling more and more forced by the second. “Seriously, what can I get you?”

“What’s a…” Craig looked over the menu, taking his eyes off Tweek for the longest time since he walked in. “Latte?”

Tweek suddenly wanted to slam his face into the countertop. Instead, he said, “Steamed milk and espresso.”

“I’ll have that,” Craig said offhandedly, “And, uh, are the pastries any good?”

“Tweek makes them,” Kenny offered from the peanut gallery.

“I’ll take that one,” Craig said quickly, pointing to a cinnamon muffin near the front. “Please.”

Tweek stumbled through the iPad, punching in the order with an almost impressive unease. Without even thinking, he put in his employee discount. His dad would kill him if he gave out free food or drinks but using a discount was easy to miss. Kenny did it all the time and hadn’t had any problems, at least. And Tweek was the owners’ son, god damn it, he could do what he wanted! (As long as he didn’t get caught…) “It’ll be… Five dollars.”

Craig handed him a ten, and, without even looking back, headed towards the end of the bar. He sat on one of the stools down there, pulling out his phone. Tweek hesitated for a second before getting his change.

“You—gah!—You forgot this,” Tweek said.

“Oh,” Craig said without looking up. “Just put it in your tip jar.”

“But…”

“Hey!” Kenny called from the pastry case. Tweek watched Craig raise an eyebrow in his direction. “You want that muffin warmed up, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” Craig said.

“You’re the one paying my bills, Tucker,” Kenny replied, “Warmed up or not?”

Craig turned to Tweek. “Which is better? Probably warm, right?”

Tweek’s face flushed. Why was he suddenly the expert? He shrugged, then nodded, then shrugged again. (It was better warm…)

Craig turned back to Kenny. “Yeah.”

Tweek held onto the five-dollar bill meant for Craig, moving to the espresso machine past Kenny. Feeling weirdly overwhelmed, he pulled out the milk and started Craig’s drink. For a moment, it felt like all eyes in the cafe were on him, waiting for him to mess up. When he chanced a peek, Craig was on his phone again. Kenny stood by the pastry oven, waiting for the timer to end like it was the most boring thing in the world. Even the couple at the nearby table, who were giving him dirty looks earlier, were keeping to themselves. Everyone was locked in their little worlds.

Tweek refocused, pouring the milk into a steaming pitcher. His skin suddenly felt hot and itchy. His sweater was too tight around his neck, the once-soft wool scratching at his collarbone. Patrons around the cafe were getting louder somehow, not that he was helping as he tapped the espresso against the counter to level it. He flinched as Kenny slipped behind him to present Craig’s muffin in his usual, dramatic fashion.

God, he thought, if he hadn’t used up all his adrenaline yesterday, this would be much worse.

He cringed. It felt like every thought he had just kept bringing him back to yesterday…He looked up, again, watching Craig start to pick at his muffin. There was an oddly content look on his face as he scrolled on his phone. It was strange seeing him in the context of Tweek’s parent’s shop. Wrong, almost. Without the gloom that Stark’s Pond produced, Craig was somehow even more distracting. The warm light above the bar softened his features. It made his tanned skin look golden like the sun had blessed him, specifically. Even though Craig was only wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, Tweek was starting to feel underdressed in his apron. (God, he hadn’t even brushed his hair today…)

Tweek felt entirely unprepared for this, whatever it really entailed. Because in all honesty, after the reunion, he never expected to see Craig Tucker ever again. The embarrassment of this whole situation was starting to catch up to him already. Craig’s whole first impression of him had been skewed—not that he could do much better in any other situation. Now more than ever, he felt… Lame. Here he was, Tweek Tweak: the guy who had to beg for help to handle his own family. The guy who would have spent the whole day, crying, in his mom’s car if Craig hadn’t shown up. The guy who couldn’t even correct a simple misunderstanding.

“Here’s your latte,” Tweek said, setting the paper cup beside Craig’s mostly-finished muffin.

Craig finally looked up from his phone again with an almost smile. “Thanks.”

His attention lingered on Tweek for longer than necessary, like he was something to look at. A game. A mess. The only thing in the universe. Tweek, almost impulsively, looked back. It was like their own little staring contest. Craig’s eyes were deep enough to drown in. Tweek had always been scared of the water.

“After yesterday—” It took Tweek a few seconds to realize Craig was speaking, locking in on the words as soon as he processed them— “I was kind of interested in actually trying this place. I never got any coffee.”

“Oh,” Tweek said, “Yeah. I, uh, didn’t realize.”

Craig waved him off. “I’m gonna be honest. I’m not super crazy about it.”

Tweek wasn’t surprised. The guy didn’t even know what a latte was. “I’ve kinda always had it?”

“In a place like this? No way,” Craig said, almost flatly. Tweek was offended for a second before he realized Craig was kidding. In their moment of silence, Craig lifted his latte to his lips, taking a steamy sip.

“Yeah,” Craig said, “That sucks.”

And then, through the rest of his shift, Tweek watched him slowly finish the drink at the bar. And when Tweek went to clock out, he was gone.

Chapter Text

They fell into a routine, of sorts, over the next week. Every day, Craig would come in, and order a different item off the menu. He would usually say something about it not being good, and needing to try again tomorrow. And then he would finish the whole drink. Every day. During this time, Tweek learned a few things about Craig. 

Firstly, he still lived at home. He took classes online (like Tweek) except he had already chosen an actual major (un-like Tweek). It was something to do with engineering, Tweek remembered vaguely. He was minoring in astronomy, which he had gone more in-depth about, ironically. Kenny told him Craig had always loved space; when they were kids, he always wanted to play ‘spaceman.’ Tweek had to remind himself not to think that was kind of cute…

Secondly, he only had to work part-time since he lived at home. He’d gotten an evening job at Clyde’s dad’s shop, mostly closing up and ‘keeping customers in line’ (whatever that meant.) Which was why his schedule seemed so open. He would do most of his classes in the afternoons, after he left Tweek Bros. Tweek had offhandedly suggested that he try doing some of his work while he was in the cafe but Craig had brushed him off, saying he wasn’t here for that. (Whatever that meant.)

And thirdly, the whole reason he’d come in the first place—as early as he had—was because he drove his younger sister, Tricia, to school every morning. Since she started high school, the hours conflicted with his parents’ work schedule. Craig offered to drive her until she got her license in exchange for free housing. 

Craig was easy to talk to, and Tweek was getting used to having him around. Every morning, around 8 o’clock, Craig would wander in, talk for about an hour, and then head out. It was an easy rhythm to follow, for Tweek, who had never really had the stablest lifestyle. Though, it probably helped he hadn’t even noticed the root they’d fallen into until the following Sunday, when half of his shift had passed without Craig coming in. An uncomfortable realization settled in Tweek’s gut; Craig wasn’t interested anymore. All it took was one week with Tweek to scare him off. How embarrassing. 

“What’s got you all bummed out?” Kenny asked with that annoyingly knowing tone. Something about Kenny—maybe his years of experience being an older brother—made Tweek think he could read minds. Sure, it took him half of their shift to mention it but something about the way he asked made Tweek think that was more out of pity than obliviousness. 

Mercifully, he’d waited for a moment when they were alone. Or, alone as they could be, with Tweek’s dad in the back room working on the ‘family recipe’(that Tweek wasn’t allowed to know yet). At least his mom was out, he had yet to work a full shift with her since Craig had come in and he knew the whole thing would be a disaster. He still hadn’t recovered from last Saturday’s whole mess—and at this point, he wasn’t sure he could. 

Tweek would do anything to scrub his brain, go fully blank, and forget anything eventful had even happened this week. But he was here now, stuck in this awful situation, and there was nothing he could do but deflect. 

“I’m not bummed out,” Tweek said, “I’m tired. You—gah!—know that. This is my—ugh—seventh day in, in a row.”

“Mhm,” Kenny said, sounding really convinced, “He’s probably at church.”

“Wh—Huh?”

“Craig,” Kenny answered, “I think his family goes to church on Sundays. I haven’t been in forever, but Stan said he wasn’t there last week—because he was here.”

“Oh,” Tweek said, a little dumbfounded.

“Yeah, dude,” Kenny said, “Chill. It’s only like—” he checked the clock on the back wall— “Ten o’clock. He should be in around eleven.”

Unsure, of what else to do with his newfound knowledge, Tweek busied himself with mid-morning tasks. He cleaned the bar, as best as possible after their Sunday morning rush (33 people; new record.) He started tomorrow’s cold brew. He went back to the stain that started this all—evil as it was—armed with a bucket of bleach water this time. (Maybe it was delusion, but it seemed to reduce the size, ever so slightly…) 

And between it all, anytime the doorbell rang, his head shot up. While he didn’t usually look up at the customers (bad habit, Tweek’s dad’s voice reminded him again), he found himself almost watching the door more with Kenny’s revelation. Back and forth, between the counter and the door and the clock on the back wall. Around 11:15, he was starting to think that Craig would never come in. The crowd had thinned, other than a few stragglers trickling in to give Tweek false hope. 

It was hard not to feel dejected. Maybe Kenny was wrong. Craig had lost interest.

The bell rang again, and, almost inevitably, Tweek whipped around to see who it was. Cool blue eyes gave him pause. Black, tousled hair—clearly having been slicked back in some way, not long ago—sat atop his head. A wrinkled, button-up shirt was untucked at his hips, over an equally disheveled pair of… Jeans? Tweek had never been to church (“We can’t keep the shop closed that long, Tweek!”) but he’d seen customers come in afterward every Sunday. And—based solely on that experience—Tweek didn’t think jeans were on the list of appropriate attire.

“Dude,” A higher pitch than Craig threw everything off even further. 

Tweek shook his head, finally focusing on who had actually walked in… While he had similar features, it was almost embarrassingly obvious that this was not Craig. Tweek did his best to hide his shame behind the espresso machine as this off-brand Craig b-lined for the cash register, where Kenny stood, perplexed.

“Stan?” Kenny asked—as if this couldn’t get any worse! Tweek had immediately started ogling one of Kenny’s roommates. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see it for myself,” Stan said simply.

“See what?” Tweek started to ask when the door opened again.

The real Craig walked in. Like Stan, he wasn’t in what Tweek would describe as church attire. He was wearing a hoodie that Tweek recognized from the day they’d met; it was almost more egregious than Stan’s wrinkled shirt. Though, he’d been polite enough to wear something other than jeans—a pair of khakis that Tweek was kind of surprised he even owned. His hair was styled normally, with his usual hat covering most of it. Tweek tried not to deflate at the sudden disappointment he felt. He was kind of hoping to see Craig dress up a little. For some reason…

Craig started toward the counter with a weariness Tweek had never seen him exhibit, heaving in a few breaths. His cheeks were stained red from the wind, gusting loudly outside. A quick glance at Stan seemed to yield the same results. Had they run all the way across town?

“You’re late,” Kenny teased. 

Craig flipped him off but gave no other acknowledgment to Kenny or Stan, who continued to watch the interaction regardless. Keeping his eyes locked on Tweek, Craig walked right up to the bar where Tweek stood. He towered over it more than Tweek could. (No use hiding now.) “Sorry, I wasn’t here earlier. My mom made me go to church.”

“I know,” Tweek said, cringing before deciding to cover for himself. “Kenny told me.”

Craig nodded. “I kinda wasn’t expecting you to be here. Do you ever get a day off?”

Tweek shrugged. “I’m out at noon today.”

Craig seemed to debate something, glaring at the pastry case for 12… 13… 14 seconds before turning back to Tweek with a serious expression. “Want to get lunch or something?”

“Gah!” Tweek fumbled through his thoughts—he’d left his wallet upstairs, he was wearing a dirty shirt today, and his socks were mismatched. “If I can stop at my place first, we could—ngh—um…

“I can pay,” Craig said. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tweek saw Stan hand Kenny some cash. He looked totally shocked, gaping at Craig like he was from another planet. Tweek tried not to dwell on it, refocusing on Craig, and, by extension, his offer. “W-Where do you want to go?”

They wound up walking across town (again, for Craig, who’d recovered pretty easily through the rest of Tweek’s shift). The cool air was an instant relief for Tweek after all of Kenny’s teasing before they left. He hadn’t even brought a coat, embracing the chill in the breeze as they made their way down the winding roads of South Park. Other than Stark’s Pond last weekend, Tweek didn’t get out much. He wasn’t even sure he’d purposely been this far from home this year…

“Are you sure you’re not cold?” Craig asked.

Tweek shifted. “Huh?”

“Are you cold?” Craig repeated.

“Oh,” Tweek said, kind of lamely. “No. I’ve always run warm.”

“Oh,” Craig echoed, a twinge of something Tweek couldn’t quite place clung to the word. (Was that disappointment?) “Cool.”

“Are you cold?” Tweek asked, even though Craig was the one who suggested they walk—which worked out since Tweek didn’t have a car and Craig had apparently ridden with his parents that morning and raced Stan to Tweek Bros afterward.

Craig hesitated for a moment, then shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. “No.”

Tweek shrugged. Not sure where else to take the strange conversation, he looked at the buildings as they passed. Downtown hadn’t changed in Tweek’s twenty-one years here. The creepy photo shop around the corner from Tweek Bros always had the same pictures displayed in the window. Each sidewalk had the same, rusty old mailboxes. The same posters clung to the bulletin board near the town hall. It was like they were frozen in time—a small comfort for Tweek, who never really liked change. 

Craig had suggested the local Chinese restaurant when he learned that Tweek had never actually been in. South Park was not a big town by any means, so it always surprised Tweek how little of it he’d explored over the years. Generally, the Tweaks avoided going out. His parents were always a bit too competitive—they wouldn’t even let Tweek get a Keurig when he’d moved out! So, because they owned a local business, as a family, his dad decided that they didn’t support other local businesses. 

It almost felt illegal to be this far from Tweak Bros, even now, as an adult. His whole life felt confined there—he’d probably never fully leave… But it also felt liberating, as he followed Craig’s knowing steps. 

“Don’t get the beef,” Craig warned as he held the door open for Tweek. “It’s kind of shitty.”

Tweek nodded, both as a thank you for holding the door and to show he heeded the advice. Inside smelled like smoke, at first. Then grease—sesame oil. And then, the food hit you, savory and sweet. A little vinegary. Some spice that Tweek couldn’t quite pinpoint… It wasn’t bad. Comparatively. 

(His parents could never know he came here.)

“What can I get you?” The man at the counter asked, and Tweek jumped to attention. 

“Can we get a second?” Craig asked offhandedly. Tweek was kind of impressed at the small feat. Anytime Tweek went out, he would order online to give himself time to think—and then, at that point, he might as well get delivery, since he was already online. And then, it wasn’t really going out anymore, was it?

“Take your time,” Craig offered, pulling out his phone. They were standing a few feet away from the counter to keep out of the way. “I always get the same thing, anyway.”

“I kind of lied when I said I’d never been here,” Tweek admitted. Craig looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never been here. I’ve ordered takeout before…”

Craig shrugged. “That’s fine, dude. Let’s order then.”

Tweek and Craig ordered their usual. Tweek hated saying all of his modifications aloud, but the man at the counter didn’t miss a beat, punching in the order like he could predict what Tweek was going to say next. When he was done, the man studied Tweek for a second. “Are you the Tweak boy?”

“Um…”

“Go sit,” He said after Craig paid. Their food was brought out to them, about fifteen minutes later. And, as hungry as he was, Tweek didn’t dwell on it, digging in.

“You must be a celebrity or something to him,” Craig said, once he’d devoured a good chunk of his meal. “He never brings the food to the table.”

Tweek flushed. “I get a lot of takeout here…”

Craig laughed. “I would have assumed all you do is drink coffee.”

“That’s mostly it,” Tweek agreed, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth.

Craig seemed to debate something for a second before diving head in. “Are you busy next Friday?”

Tweek looked up from his plate, mouth full. “Ngh—!” He swallowed. “Um, no?”

“Would you want to go to a party?” Craig asked. “With me.”

“What?” Tweak squeaked.

Craig plowed on. “You obviously don’t have to—I don’t even want to but Clyde’s making me.” He was sounding somewhat rehearsed, again. It was kind of funny to see the change, the obvious suggestions Clyde had made. And then, he came back with his natural tone, thoughtful and frustratingly organic. “You being there would make it better.” 

Tweek froze. It sounded like a lot, basically meeting everyone Craig knew at once—because that’s what South Park was. He’d seen enough of it with Kenny, the constant high school reunion they lived in. (Homeschooling: 2; Public school: 4.) Tweek wasn’t sure what to say, especially in this weird, gray area they’d fallen into. 

This all started with a misunderstanding, Tweek reminded himself. They were supposed to ‘break up’ soon. Craig had said a week. And here they were a week later, hanging out. All Craig needed to do—pretend to be Tweek’s partner so his family didn’t think he was some weird, anti-social weirdo (he was) that didn’t understand what ‘bring a friend’ to a function meant (again, he was)—was done. They had no real ties to each other, and yet…

“Sure,” Tweek said. The answer slipped out against his will, so easily like it was his only one. 

Tweek had never been to a party. What if he did it wrong?

Craig smiled. Something soft and barely there, like he hadn’t done it in a while. Tweek would do anything to get more of that out of him. 

“Awesome,” Craig breathed, “I can come pick you up if you want. Or we can meet at your parent’s shop if that works better. The place is right around the corner from there, so that might be the move.”

Tweek laughed, even though everything in him was screaming. “Either works. Trust me.”

“Are you fucking serious?” A gravely voice from behind Tweek made his skin crawl. Turning around, he saw a guy around their age glaring with mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown. He was a bit bigger, all around, with crossed arms making their way around his plump stomach. He tapped his foot impatiently, awaiting an answer. After a few seconds without a response, his sneer shifted to Tweek, who wanted to run and hide. He was never good at confrontation and this guy looked pissed. 

Behind the heavy-set guy was a skinnier, extremely blonde one, that Tweek almost didn’t notice at first. He was cowering—like he was the one being accused of something. He flinched back, waiting for a blow that didn’t seem to be coming. A glance back at Craig was all the explanation Tweek needed. Craig’s expression was bordering on murderous. If that look was directed at Tweek, he probably would have died instantly. 

“N-Now, Eric…” The too-blonde guy started trying to de-escalate the building tension. 

“Craig Tucker.” Eric pushed his friend even further back, practically knocking him over. Despite his rough actions, the tone in his voice fully changed, falling into something almost casual. Bordering on comedic. He laughed, almost evilly. everything about him reminded Tweek of a cartoon villain. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

“What do you want, Cartman?” Craig’s voice fell flat again, a complete change from their conversation before the interruption. 

Cartman… That sounded familiar. Kenny had mentioned him once or twice. ‘Biggest ass in town.’ Kenny wouldn’t elaborate. Tweek could see it now—the guy was fat, rude, and kind of awful. But he also remembered that Kenny had called this guy his friend… There was something almost magnetizing about him. An aura of confidence that Tweek had never felt.

“You know,” Cartman continued, “When Kenny mentioned you were being super gay, I didn’t believe him. But now I see the rumors were true.” Snapping back to the blonde, he barked. “Who was in the betting pool, Butters?”

Butters stood at attention, like a soldier. All the sudden changes in a row threw Tweek off so much, that his fear shifted fully into confusion. As Butters started listing names and numbers, Tweek sent Craig a questioning look. Craig, exasperated as he was, waved Tweek off—for now, if ‘we’ll talk about it later’ could be a look, Craig wore it now. Tweek nodded. He couldn’t blame Craig for his apparent anger. These guys seemed like a lot. And here he was, thinking he was the craziest person in South Park. Turns out, there was much, much worse. 

“Kenny bet $100, and Clyde bet $50,” Butters finished rattling off. 

“Wait,” Craig turned back to the interruption. “Clyde bet that we were dating?”

“Kenny did too?” Tweek stared wide-eyed between Cartman and Butters. 

‘We’ve said too much,” Butters decided, wide eyed. 

Cartman seemed uninterested now. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got money to collect.”

And with that, the strange duo left. (But not before grabbing the large takeout order they had come in for.) Butters waved, and Tweek watched numbly. 

“D-Does everybody think we’re dating?” 

Craig’s glare at the door fell onto Tweek, melting into something much softer. On the outside, Tweek kind of understood the allegations. Those stupid blue eyes… 

“We should get out of here,” Craig said. 

“Well,” Tweek said simply. His feet had taken him all the way back to Tweak Bros without a second thought. The only place he’d ever known… “This is me.” 

“What?” Craig asked. “You can’t live here.”

Tweek laughed, almost surprising himself. “My parents own the building. I rent the apartment upstairs.”

“Damn,” Craig said, “Have you ever heard of work/life balance?”

“Um…” Tweek picked at his cuticles.

“Never mind,” Craig said, a little rough. “I forgot about your parents for a second there. Are you in tomorrow?”

“Hopefully not,” Tweek said, “Unless they need me.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been in for seven days now…”

Tweek shrugged. “It’s a living.”

“Well, uh… Hopefully, I won’t see you tomorrow?” Craig offered, an odd hope, but Tweek knew where he was coming from. He definitely needed a break.

“Thanks,” Tweek said, and with that, he left Craig on his doorstep.

Chapter Text

The message was straightforward like Craig always was. “I’m on my way.” It read, and yet Tweek’s stomach was doing back flips. He paced his apartment, compartmentalizing his internal conflict.

He debated a lot through the week leading up to the party, and since nothing came of it, he was still debating as he waited for Craig to come pick him up. He considered canceling but he really wanted to hang out with Craig. He considered asking Craig to stay in with him but did not want to deal with the humiliation of admitting he’d never been to a party. He considered faking his death, running away, and never talking to another human being again—or something simple like that—to avoid the whole issue.

There was something strange about going to his first party in his 20s. Something in his gut told him he was basically sneaking out, like a teenager, having to pass his parents working downstairs to leave. The only difference was he was legally allowed to drink, and he didn’t have a curfew, and his parents probably wouldn’t even notice him go…

“I can’t do it, man,” Tweek told his hallway mirror—probably looking as crazy as he felt; he refused to actually check. He paced by his front door. Back and forth. Dread filled his gut, bubbling over to create a perfect concoction of stress and regret. And, almost like it knew he was struggling, his doorbell rang.

Tweek opened the door to see Craig standing outside, leaning against the door frame. His breath fogged up in the cool air, drifting toward the cloudless sky above. Loosely, he smiled. Tweek tried not to melt under the sudden pressure. (He had run out of time; now he had to go, Craig had come all this way.)

“I wasn’t sure where you wanted me to park,” Craig said quickly, “So I just went where I usually do when I come in the morning.”

“T-That’s fine,” Tweek assured him.

“Tolkien’s place isn’t far,” Craig continued, backing up to let Tweek lock his door so they could get going. Tweek’s hands shook against his keys, all his nerves this week were building up to this moment; it took him a minute to get the lock. Craig kicked at a half-melted pile of snow near the door. It was from last winter, actually. South Park never fully thawed out, as far as Tweek knew. He was sure there was still snow from when he was a baby somewhere in town.

“I figured we could walk from here,” Craig said, “Since we’ll probably have a few drinks.”

Tweek nodded absently, following Craig like he always did. There was something instinctual about it all. Craig was a man who knew what he wanted—or at least seemed to. Over the past two weeks, Tweek had watched him, analyzing. Every day, Craig followed the same routine. The only difference that Tweek was aware of was the coffee he ordered. Allegedly, he still hadn’t found one he liked. (Kenny didn’t believe him.)

Tweek, on the other hand, wasn’t even sure what he wanted for breakfast this morning. His final solution? Checking his pantry over a dozen times, internalizing every option for way too long, and finding nothing that would quell his growing anxiety.

As he followed Craig down the straight streets of South Park, he was beginning to wonder why he’d agreed to this. Part of him wished he hadn’t; part of him was almost excited. Every day he spent more time with Craig filled him with something he couldn’t quite place. A sense of belonging? A solution to his problems? A threat to his already adreneline-coated mind?

Tweek wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He closed his eyes, trying to ground himself. Instead, his mind reminded him of a small comfort he’d carried since Monday. The day after Craig asked him. When he had started to regret his decisions.

Tweek had gotten his (much-needed) day off. Kenny was working the counter—solo, since Tweek’s dad was running a quick errand—when Tweek decided to come down for his morning coffee. It was around 9 AM, so the shop was regularly packed. Smooth jazz—Tweek’s dad’s favorite—played over the speakers, a stiflingly calm sound. A few individual groups littered the tables, sitting closer than necessary, to ensure a quiet space for Tweek to spill all his woes while Kenny laughed at him.

A pretty average day.

“Damn, dude, you’ve got it bad.” Unfortunately, Kenny didn’t even have the decency to laugh at him. “Agreeing to go to a party?”

“Shut up!” Tweek screeched, putting his head in his hands. “What is—ngh!—wrong with me?”

Their regular customers didn’t react; they were too used to Tweek and his outbursts. Kenny didn’t say anything for a second. When Tweek looked up, he had that too-thoughtful look. After Kenny realized that he was paying attention, he sent Tweek a soft smile. Pitying. “Well, you don’t have to stress too much. You’re in luck, it’s a small world.”

“Huh?” Tweek asked.

“I’m gonna be there,” Kenny encouraged, “So if you’re absolutely dying, and Craig somehow doesn’t notice, you’ve got me.”

“Man,” Tweek mumbled, “We both know you’re not exactly the—ngh!—soberest person…”

“Relax,” Kenny insisted, putting placating hands up to comfort Tweek. “Kyle will be there, too. I know you haven’t met but I’ve talked about him enough that you know how he is. I’ll probably have one or two drinks and tap out. You won’t be alone.”

Tweek hummed. That was a bit better. He doubted that Kenny would stop short, but Kyle sounded responsible enough for a little bit of uncomfortable backup if necessary…

“This is it,” Craig announced, back in the present. Tweek looked up from the cement, surprised they’d made it so fast, even though Craig did say it was close. And then he saw where they were. The house in front of them was probably the biggest thing Tweek had ever seen. Out front, there was a gate, with a security guard and everything. A line went down the sidewalk, only a few feet, but long enough that Tweek could tell this was a big deal for their small town. Anyone who was anyone would be here. And Tweek would be walking among them.

Craig skipped the line, though no one seemed to question him as he nodded to the security guard. The guard nodded back, before sending Tweek a scrutinizing look.

“He’s with me,” Craig vouched, taking Tweek by the hand in front of all the wide-eyed onlookers. There were suspicious-sounding whispers from the line. Tweek flushed but didn’t say anything, following Craig through the gate.

“H-How did you do that?” Tweek asked as they filtered through the crowds out front toward the front door.

“Tolkien—the guy throwing the party—is a good friend,” Craig answered easily, “A bunch of us helped him set up earlier. I only left to come get you.”

Tweek thought that over for a second. Craig had already been here; he’d just made a special trip to bring Tweek. For some reason. “Why?”

“I wanted you to come to the party,” Craig said, “Not get used for free labor.”

Tweek nodded absently as they entered the house. It was much louder inside, with people everywhere, their voices echoing through the large room. There were several speakers set up throughout the space, all blasting some pop song that Tweek couldn’t quite make out. Despite its loudness, very few people seemed to be listening to the ongoing music. Other than a circle in the back lazily grinding away, everyone seemed to be talking over it, making the whole mess even louder somehow. Lights flashed, painting the room in rainbow colors that were intensely overpowering.

“Do you want a drink?” Craig offered.

Tweek flinched, already forgetting Craig was here somehow, even though they were still holding hands. Weakly, not knowing what else to say, he nodded again.

“Alright,” Craig said, guiding Tweek to a nearby set of chairs. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Tweek almost called out for him to stay but stopped himself just in time. He wasn’t a kid. He didn’t need Craig to babysit him. But as the party pressed in on all sides, he wondered if it was so bad to want someone to notice when he needed help. Regardless, he settled into one of the too-comfortable chairs and waited.

What happened next made him regret his decision. He should have gone with Craig, at the very least, to get drinks because the first unfortunate person to see him after Craig disappeared was Eric Cartman. Confidently, he sauntered up to Tweek, with booze on his breath and a strange swagger to his walk. That confidence from their first interaction still lingered, strong and certain. He held out his hands, almost welcoming, despite it all.

“Tweek,” Cartman said in lieu of greeting, like they were old friends running into each other by chance. (Tweek wasn’t sure where he’d learned his name since they were never properly introduced.) He put his hands on Tweek’s shoulders, giving them a quick shake before pulling Tweek up from his seat. “It’s good to see you again!” Eric shifted, pulling Tweek in closer, somehow, to gruffly whisper in his ear. “You know, you should be thanking me.”

“W-What?” Tweek asked. He did his best to break free, but Cartman, walking them over to a nearby couch, had a pretty sturdy grip.

“I’m basically the whole reason Craig is so in love with you,” Cartman said as they took a seat. Several people who were hanging out on the sofa vacated. Some sent Tweek pitying looks. There seemed to be no escape for him until Craig found him.

If Craig found him.

Tweek had let Cartman take him to a secondary location. (“Never let them get you to a secondary location, Tweek. Because then you’ll be dead!”) He was pretty much fucked.

“I didn’t get it at first. Who would willingly like Craig? He’s an asshole,” Cartman continued his one-sided conversation. “But then I talked with myself and I decided that it was kind of… Beautiful, in a way. So, you’re welcome.”

Tweek didn’t know what to say. Cartman was clearly too drunk to make or see any sense. He couldn’t see any of the very few people he knew. The room around them was somehow getting more blaring—the music, the talking, the colorful lights flashing dangerously across the carpet. His fingers were starting to feel numb, useless. The already overwhelming sounds around them were becoming so muffled his ears were starting to ring. Breathing was becoming more and more of a challenge. Tweek wheezed in a quick breath as Cartman probably continued to rant. It was stupid how close he was to a breakdown already. He had just gotten here!

“Cartman, what the fuck are you doing?” A redhead appeared in front of the couch.

The strangeness of the approach instantly made Tweek catch his breath. He hadn’t even noticed the guy walk up, with all the chaos going on in his head. The redhead glared, all his attention was on Cartman who barely seemed to acknowledge him. Another thing that threw Tweek off, even more, was the red solo cup in the new guy’s hand, like the movies. (Now that he noticed it, there seemed to be red cups littering the whole room.) His other hand was crunched into a fist. Even his posture looked angry—he was extremely tense. And all that energy was focused on Eric, who finally shifted in his seat to look at him.

“Fuck off, Kyle,” Cartman said, almost offhandedly. “Can’t you see Tweek and I are having a conversation?”

“Tweek as in Tweek Tweak?” Kyle looked between them, almost flatly; there was a resignation in his eyes that made Tweek hesitate. When Cartman didn’t respond, looking boredly into his drink, Tweek nodded. Kyle nodded back, decisive. “Kenny’s been looking for you, dude. Come with me.”

This must’ve been Kenny’s other roommate! Thank God.

Kyle held out a hand, clearly knowing Cartman well enough to know he wouldn’t let Tweek go without a fight. Tweek took the assistance, getting up with surprisingly little effort. Once Cartman was seated, it seemed, he was too drunk to keep Tweek trapped. So, in one, swift move, Tweek was up and into the chaos of the crowd, following closely behind Kyle, who navigated through people like it was second nature. (He must do this often; living with Kenny—‘and Stan!’ Kenny always swore—seemed to lead to a lot of similar situations.)

Tweek’s hands were shaking still, tense at his sides as he trailed behind Kyle’s confident steps. The people around them shifted like a living thing, pulling Tweek forward and back without warning. Shoulders brushed against him; someone’s drink sloshed onto his sleeve, sticky and cold. Looking down to avoid the reality of the situation, he didn’t even notice when Kyle stopped, in the middle of it all. He looked up to find Kyle, unfazed by Tweek running into him, glancing around the room like he was searching for someone—probably Kenny.

“Hey, you doing okay?” Kyle asked when his search yielded no results. In their proximity, his voice cut through the noise, calm and measured.

Tweek nodded stiffly, swallowing hard. He wondered how obvious his panic was if Kyle was clocking him already. “Yeah. Just… not really used to this.”

Kyle’s eyes softened—a sharp contrast from before—and for a moment, Tweek saw a quiet understanding there. “Don’t worry, man,” Kyle said, “You’re doing fine. Stick with me and you’ll be alright.”

He continued through the crowd, occasionally turning back to make sure Tweek was still behind him. “It’s nice to meet you in person!” Though he was yelling now, he seemed much more relaxed now that they were away from Cartman.

Tweek understood. Cartman had an uncomfortable aura. It was like the farther they got, the more relaxed Tweek felt, too. Don’t get him wrong, he still wasn’t doing great (crowds full of strangers did that to him for some reason) but now that he wasn’t actively trapped with the worst person he’d met so far, it was a bit better. “Kenny talks about you all the time.”

“Um, you too,” Tweek said.

Kyle smiled. “I’m kind of surprised you came. From what Ken’s said, this isn’t exactly your scene.”

“Yeah,” Tweek said, “I’ve never—guh!—never been to a party…” He wasn’t sure why he felt comfortable admitting it to Kyle, but the words came out anyway. He flinched as they passed a group of people doing shots. A loud celebration in the middle of a loud celebration. Tweek already felt nauseous; despite his stomach turning, he laughed. “I-I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

Kyle laughed too. Kind of like Kenny, when Tweek said something he wasn’t supposed to—but less off guard, like he was waiting for this. “Yeah,” Kyle said, “Parties like this are not for everyone. I don’t even—”

“Tweekers!” An arm threw itself around his shoulders. Excited and stronger than Cartman, it knocked the wind out of him for the second time that night, making Tweek choke on air. Another classic fumble. “Woah, man! You good?”

Taking stock of the situation, Tweek knew there was only one person who’s ever called him ‘Tweekers…’ He turned to see Clyde’s brown puppy dog eyes staring right at him. Despite his concerned words, he wore a smile, wider than usual. His cheeks were flushed, probably from all the drinking. Tweek flinched back when Clyde started talking again, right in his ear, louder than the thump of the music. “You should do a shot with us.”

“Um…” Tweek tried to look for Kyle, but it seemed like he hadn’t noticed Tweek’s second kidnapping that night yet. Deep in the crowd, Tweek could barely make out a head of red hair walking away. He mourned the loss of his only escape, turning back to Clyde to decline again, when he noticed a girl looking between them.

“Is this Craig’s…?” Tweek had to pause for a moment to look her over, not even processing her question for a moment. She was probably one of the prettiest people Tweek had ever seen. In the dark, her eyes reflected almost purple. She had long, blonde curls, thrown elegantly back in a scrunchie. Her top was sparkly, glistening in the fragments of light flashing through the room. Beside him, Clyde was practically drooling, like he was seeing her for the first time, too. Tweek shook his head to refocus. He nudged Clyde to answer her unfinished question.

“Oh shit,” Clyde snorted, “Tweek, this is my girlfriend, Bebe. Bebe, Tweek. Tweek, Bebe.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tweek squeaked.

Bebe laughed, a smile smoothing over her soft features. “You too.”

“Let’s do a shot!” Clyde whooped.

“He can’t do a shot, man,” Kyle—Tweek’s one true godsend—reappeared miraculously. “He just got here. Give him a second.”

“Boo!” Bebe said.

“You just got here?” Clyde asked. Tweek nodded absently. “That’s… All the more reason to do a shot!” Clyde pushed Tweek over to a folding table set up in the crowd. There were a variety of bottles and shot glasses already laid out. Tweek didn’t recognize any of them. “Pick your poison.”

Tweek recoiled as a girl nearby gagged on the liquor she’d chosen. “Ngh! I don’t…”

He wished Kenny were here now, even though he already knew he relied on the other blonde too much. It was hard not to. Kenny was a master at making everything seem lighter than it was. Like the time Tweek spilled an entire batch of cold brew on his shoes and debated quitting his job for the millionth time in his life. But Kenny had just laughed, grabbed the mop, and told Tweek the coffee gods demanded a sacrifice. ‘Don’t let them win, man,’ he’d said. Like fighting gods was a genuine challenge that Tweek could face. And it worked. Tweek had laughed, even—something he was still surprised about now. It was like Kenny could sense when Tweek was at his lowest and knew exactly what he needed to hear.

Almost like he had summoned him, that familiar blonde hair appeared in his peripheral vision. His silhouette mimicked an angel in the gold-toned light coming from what seemed to be the kitchen. Turning to look properly, Tweek confirmed that it was Kenny making his way through the crowd with a clear mission on his mind. His head bobbed through each scattered group, long hair fanning out as he twisted and turned and glanced around the room, an intricate dance in his probably intoxicated state. (Kyle had said he was looking for Tweek…)

Behind him, that guy Butters trailed, scoping out the hordes. Though he had the advantage of height, he shuffled his feet, almost confused, as he followed Kenny’s assertive steps. Kyle seemed to notice them, too (or maybe that was Tweek’s complete lack of subtlety.) Starting towards them, he abandoned Tweek for a second time. Tweek tried to call out, to keep his backup as long as he could, but Kyle was already too far into the sea of people; Tweek couldn’t even find that familiar head of red hair.

“Wait,” Clyde said instead, turning back to Tweek with an evil grin, too similar to the look that had gotten Tweek here in the first place. “Have you never done a shot before?”

Tweek shrugged, because what else could he do? He hadn’t ever had a shot that wasn’t espresso because he’d never been to a party. Because he’d never had a friend before. And now, somehow, he was more popular than ever, being tossed between different people faster than he could think.

“Tweek!” Kenny called excitedly. Now that he was closer, walking up with Kyle and Butters in tow, Tweek could see how fucked up he really was. His eyes were bloodshot, almost unsurprisingly—he’d showed up high to work more often than Tweek could count (working at Tweak Bros was an endeavor no sane or sober person could ever do. Tweek and Kenny were on opposite ends of that spectrum, respectively.) There was more sway to his walk than even Cartman had exhibited.

Beside him, Kyle was doing his best to steady Kenny—rolling his eyes when the blonde did nothing to help. Now that Kyle was supporting Kenny’s weight, Butters stood back. He was holding two red solo cups—Kyle and Kenny’s by the looks of it, since both of their hands were empty now.

“Dude, I’m so glad you came!” Kenny said, abandoning Kyle to free Tweek from Clyde’s grip. Once Tweek was unrestrained, Kenny took a big step back, deliberately giving Tweek space. It was a little forced like Kenny had to remind himself that Tweek didn’t like being touched. “What’s up? What are we doing?”

“Clyde is trying to get Tweek to do a shot with him,” Kyle provided.

Kenny turned to Clyde with a fake-surprised look. “Clyde!” He did his best to sound offended, but Tweek had heard him use that voice when he was asked to clean at work, so he knew it wasn’t genuine.

“Oh, c’mon, Kenny, you know how fun it is!” Clyde pouted, starting to work his way toward Tweek again, not-so-subtly. “I just like to see everyone’s reactions…”

“Alright, alright, cool it,” Kenny said, slipping between Tweek and Clyde. He raised his hands, mock-serious. “I’m gonna be honest with you dude. Tweek is allergic to peer pressure. And trust me, you do not want to deal with his reaction.”

Clyde tilted his head, genuinely curious. “What happens?”

“He starts ranting about conspiracy theories, like… Do you really want to spend the next twenty minutes learning why sparrows are government spies?” Kenny raised an eyebrow, daring Clyde to challenge him.

Tweek twitched, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. This was the Kenny he was used to. Something about it made him feel more at ease. “Kenny—ngh—stop.”

Kenny patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Tweek. I’ll protect your honor. No shots, no sparrows. Deal?”

“What if I want to hear about the sparrows?” Bebe, beside Clyde, challenged. “I mean, think about it—spy sparrows? That sounds awesome! You’d be doing us all a favor letting us know the dangers, Tweek.”

Kenny pointed at her, trying to come up with a response before settling on a solid. “Later…” And then, he turned back to Tweek with a smile. “Where’s Craig?”

And that brought Tweek’s whole predicament back up. He shrugged, feeling more helpless than before. “I-I don’t know. We came in—ngh—together…”

“Aww,” Bebe said, “You lost him?”

The overwhelming events of the party, the questions, and just about everything were catching up to Tweek. They were too close to one of the speakers, blasting the bass to a song that Tweek had never heard. The music pounded in his chest, the bass rattling his ribs like a second heartbeat. It was too warm, suddenly, with everyone around them. Sweat trickled down his back, the room’s heat pressing in like an unwelcome embrace. In the back of his skull, there was a dull pounding, becoming more and more prevalent by the second, like something was trying to get out. He wondered if he could just die here—with all the chaos going on, would anyone even notice his body?

Just as he was losing all hope, resigning himself to a fate of haunting Tolkien’s beautiful home, a tall head of black hair came into view.

“Oh, there he is,” Clyde said, too casual for the amount of relief Tweek was feeling.

When they locked eyes, Craig nodded, b-lining through the crowded living room. “What’s going on?”

“Perfect timing, man. We’re gonna do a shot,” Clyde said decidedly, “you two are too sober.”

Kenny stepped between Clyde and Tweek with a laugh. His grin was playful, but the way he planted his feet made it clear he wasn’t moving. “Dude, seriously, Tweek cannot do a shot. He’s never drank before.”

All eyes fell on him, and his whole face burnt at the attention. “Um.”

“Well here.” Craig sidestepped through the circle they’d somehow formed, ending up beside Tweek with Kenny’s unspoken permission. “I made you something I think you’ll like.”

Unlike everyone else’s red cups, Craig handed him a mug, his fingers brushing Tweek’s for a moment, a fleeting touch that left Tweek’s skin buzzing. Steam flowed from the top of the beverage, followed by a sweet, chocolaty smell. Underneath it all was something devastatingly familiar. Comfortable, even. Tweek felt his whole body perk up involuntarily.

“Is this coffee?” Tweek asked before he could stop himself. Kenny, beside him, snorted. Tweek elbowed him, but Kenny didn’t seem to mind, knocking Tweek’s arm with his own absentmindedly.

“Try it,” Craig insisted, his voice softer than Tweek expected (and if he were looking, he’d know it was much softer than anyone else around them thought he was capable of).

Blindly taking a sip, Tweek realized it was coffee. Sort of. “Hot chocolate?”

“With Kahlua,” Craig said, “And…” He pulled out his phone, showing Tweek his screen with a recipe. “Baileys, and whipped cream vodka.”

Tweek took another drink. It wasn’t bad. Not overly sweet, with the burn of alcohol hiding behind it, though there wasn’t much bite. What really got him was the fact that Craig had taken time to find a drink for Tweek. Something he’d like. He took another sip, trying not to make it obvious how much the sentiment meant to him in front of all of Craig’s friends.

“That sounds strong,” Kenny said, almost defensively.

“All the more reason not to do a shot,” Craig said pointedly. Kenny gave him a knowing look. Neither of them said anything. Tweek didn’t get it, taking another sip.

Clyde whined. Craig rolled his eyes. “I’ll do a shot with you, asshole. Come on. What do you want?”

As Clyde and Craig figured out what to shoot, Kenny sent Tweek a look. Tweek shrugged off the attention as best as he could. “How—ngh—long have you guys been here?”

“Well, we helped Tolkien set up,” Butters answered.

“You know how everyone knows everyone here,” Kenny joked, “It’s a real small world.”

“Is that why I keep getting pulled into conversations with people I-I—gah!—barely know?” Tweek asked. Kenny snickered.

“You’re new,” Kyle said, “It’s not every day that we interact with people we haven’t known all of our lives.”

“One, two, three!” Bebe counted down for Clyde and Craig’s shot, drawing back the attention of the rest of the group. For someone who kept insisting he take a shot, Clyde could not handle his liquor, it seemed. He flinched down the shot like it wronged him. While Craig took it like a champ, emotionless as always. Tweek tried to keep himself from staring, impressed.

“Are you happy now, dude?” Craig asked, knocking Clyde on the head. Clyde whined again, and Bebe patted his shoulder encouragingly.

“Dude, why are you asking people to take shots with you if you can’t handle taking a shot?” Kenny teased.

“C’mon,” Clyde slurred his words more now, though Tweek wasn’t sure he noticed. “It wasn’t that bad. You should do one with me, Ken.”

Kenny waved him off. “Maybe later. I’m not about to get that cross-faded an hour into the party.”

“It’s only been an hour?” Bebe snorted, watching as Clyde slumped against her.

Tweek stepped back as the group closed in, laughing and talking and falling into a normal rhythm that he was happy to observe. Though he was the one watching, he felt eyes on him. The pressure of being swallowed by strangers was almost too much; occasionally, he felt people slide by, bodies getting far too close for comfort. His shoulder was still wet from earlier, the dampness making his skin itch. Looking around, his thoughts flickered back to Kenny’s assurances that he wouldn’t be alone. And he really wasn’t—feeling small in a sea of people, Tweek couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that everyone was watching him.

Tweek felt himself becoming more self-conscious as he stood back. Disconnected from Craig’s slowly closing circle, he felt unneeded. In front of him, Craig was laughing with Clyde, more at ease than Tweek had ever seen him. Surrounded by all of Craig’s friends, Tweek was even less sure what Craig saw in him. At this point, there was no denying the way Craig had been with him tonight—protective, kind, and maybe, just maybe, a little too careful with him. But Tweek was lost as to why. Why did Craig want him here?

A few minutes into standing on the sideline, twitching, Craig appeared beside him again, almost like he could sense Tweek’s mind spiraling. Tweek noted that Craig’s drink was also in a mug, though it didn’t seem hot. Ice cubes rattled against the ceramic, the high pitch of their clinking felt louder than anything now.

“Doing okay?” Craig asked, soft enough that his friends couldn’t hear.

It took Tweek a second to process the question, but when he did, he nodded. Trying to ignore the flush creeping up his neck, he took a long sip of his drink before settling on an answer. “Yeah. This is… This is fine.”

It was hard trying to navigate the increasingly blurry lines between discomfort and belonging. Between the chaos of the party and the fuzziness of the alcohol hitting him, he wasn’t really sure where he fell in here. If he even fell in here. (Something in Craig’s eyes said he wanted Tweek to; his stomach swirled at the idea.)

“You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Craig reassured him. His hand brushed against Tweek’s, a quiet but grounding gesture. Tweek’s skin was buzzing at the contact.

Tweek’s throat tightened. A part of him wanted to nod, to tell Craig he was fine. Another part wanted to ask Craig to take him home, to forget this whole night ever happened. But the words caught, tangled in his chest. Instead, surprising both of them, Tweek laughed, almost involuntarily, against the rim of his mug.

He pulled back, sending Craig a small smile. It was strange, feeling the warmth of his drink seep through him, settling a part of his mind that always felt like it was screaming. “I’m just not used to this.”

“That’s alright,” Craig said softly, “You’re here. That’s what counts.”

Tweek glanced up at him, his heart doing something strange. Despite everything—his nerves, his anxiety, his overwhelming desire to be anywhere but here—Craig’s presence felt like a lifeline. And for a moment, Tweek allowed himself to settle into the night, to simply be present in this chaotic, unfamiliar place, with Craig by his side. He hadn’t expected the night to go like this, but maybe that was part of the beauty of it. Tweek wasn’t sure if he belonged here—or if he even wanted to. But when Craig was near, it felt like the noise softened. Like maybe he could find a way to exist here, one moment at a time. His eyes met Craig’s—farther out than the depths of space—and in that moment, the rush of the party dissolved. It was just them. The only people in the universe, relying on steadying breaths, strangely grounding touches, and a shared warmth from more than just the bite of alcohol. Until—

A sudden crash of glass shattered throughout the space, and they were back in Tolkien’s living room. Kenny, about 5 feet away, whipped his head around to check on Tweek before shifting to the sound. His easy-going demeanor flickered, replaced by a sharp alertness. “What the hell?”

He backed up, even as the crowd started pushing in, getting closer to Tweek like a barrier between him and the impact. The overhead lights flickered on, and Tweek squinted against the sudden brightness encompassing them. The music cut out, replaced by the hum of startled whispers and the sharp shuffle of bodies shifting toward the commotion. Tweek’s breath caught in his throat as he was pushed, falling into the stream of people looking to see whatever had happened.

Somehow, in the confusion, he’d lost Craig but Kenny stuck close to him as they were forced toward the stir with everyone else.

“Ugh, can’t take this shit anymore!” Cartman’s unmistakable voice rang out, loud and slurred, cutting through the gathering tension like a knife.

Tweek winced, shrinking back instinctively. His heart began to hammer as his gaze darted nervously around the room. The crowd kept closing in, pressing Tweek forward against his will. He gripped his mug tighter, wishing it could make him invisible. His breath quickened, the heat in the room stifling, and his pulse pounded louder than the whispers swirling around him. What if this turned into something worse? What if—

“Hey! Knock it off, Cartman!”

It was sharp. Steady. Unwavering.

Tweek froze, every nerve in his body alight. His stomach dropped, and his heart hammered. Clutching his mug tighter, the sound of Craig’s voice echoed in his ears.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Knock it off, Cartman!” The command was sharp, unmistakable. Craig stepped forward, cutting through the rising tension like a razor. Everything about him was calm—deliberate—as if the chaos couldn’t touch him. Craig’s composure was effortless, a part of him. But behind those steady eyes, Tweek couldn’t help but wonder how deep that resolve went.

The firmness in his voice was like a lifeline thrown into rough waters. Craig’s figure stood like a pillar in the crowd, his gaze even as it swept over the gathered faces. He scanned the room, a quick glance; he was looking for something. When their eyes met, his posture relaxed slightly. Something shifted in Tweek’s chest. Quiet. Certain. Grounding. In that moment, maybe for the first time all night, Tweek believed he could get through this. He felt his pulse, still racing, began to slow—just slightly—as he looked on.

And then the crowd erupted.

“Yeah, sh-shut up!” A voice jeered from Craig’s right. Tweek squinted and spotted a smaller guy with crutches leaning defiantly into the fray. Despite his apparent stutter and unassuming stature, he carried the same confidence Craig exuded—like he was right where he belonged.

“Fuck you, Cartman!” Bebe’s voice rang out from across the circle, clear and cutting. Clyde, predictably, stood proudly beside her, as if her declaration was a battle cry.

“Why do you always have to break something?” Another guy near the front muttered, broom in hand. He stood, visibly annoyed but resigned. Tweek realized this was Tolkien, the host. He looked less concerned with Cartman and more concerned with the mess.

Tweek watched with awe. Here he was, as close to the middle of the fray as they could get. His brain was screaming at him. To leave. Flee. Escape. And everyone around him was treating this like it was normal. He stood, frozen, unable to look away.

“Oh, come on, Tolkien,” Cartman sneered, his voice heavy with slurred indignation. “You can’t leave glass out at a party. Everybody knows that.”

“Not with your fat ass around!”

The jab came from Kenny, who grinned wickedly from Tweek’s side, his voice was too casual for the insult he was hurling. Tweek—finally freed from whatever stillness spell he’d fallen under—whipped his head toward him, alarmed. Kenny caught his gaze, smirked, and shrugged like this was nothing new. His dangerous eyes flicked back to Cartman, watching carefully, as though this exchange were part of a strategy.

“Ey!” Cartman’s head snapped toward Kenny, his neck craning like a viper ready to strike. His entire body shifted as if trying to decide to lunge or (more likely) stumble.

Kenny, unfazed, flipped him off with a lazy grin.

“You know what?” Cartman snapped, his words thick with frustration. The room seemed to hold its breath, the lull almost suffocating as the crowd awaited his next move. Tweek’s ears pounded with the tension, the hum of adrenaline still coursing through him, ready to pour.

“Screw you guys!” Cartman’s pout was practically audible as he stomped toward the door. “I’m going home!”

As Cartman stormed out, Tweek’s shoulders sagged with relief. The tension in the room broke like a snapped rubber band, but his chest still felt tight. Craig hadn’t even raised his voice—just one sharp command and the disaster folded. Tweek couldn’t help but feel small in comparison like he’d been clinging to driftwood while Craig steered the ship.

The room exploded into a mix of cheers, laughter, and scattered applause as Cartman disappeared into the night. Voices were quickly drowned out by the rising music as someone cranked the volume back up. The circle around the broken glass began to disperse, bodies shifting back into the ebb and flow of the party like nothing had happened.

Tolkien, sighing heavily, bent to sweep up the shards of glass, muttering something about “always cleaning up after him.”

Kenny stayed close, his grip firm on Tweek’s arm, steering him gently but purposefully through the shifting tide of people. Tweek blinked, disoriented but grateful for the solid touch grounding him. The crowd’s chaotic energy felt less oppressive now, almost distant, with Kenny acting as his anchor.

By the time they made it to the middle of the room—where the glass had fallen—the tension in Tweek’s chest had eased slightly. Craig was already there, helping Tolkien sweep up the remnants of the commotion with an almost calculated efficiency. For a moment, Tweek just stood there, watching the way Craig moved. He wasn’t talking, just working, but somehow that unshakable steadiness radiated in everything he did.

“You good?” Kenny asked, leaning close to Tweek’s ear to be heard over the music. His tone was softer now, less teasing, more sincere.

Tweek nodded, though his breath still felt shallow. “Yeah. Just… ngh!—a lot.”

Kenny patted his shoulder. “You’re doing great, dude. You survived your first Cartman meltdown. It’s like a rite of passage.”

That got a weak chuckle out of Tweek, who glanced nervously back toward Craig. His pulse picked up again—not from panic this time, but something softer, stranger. He couldn’t explain it, but something about the way Craig had taken charge, the way he’d diffused the tension without so much as breaking a sweat—it made Tweek feel… Something.

Still, Tweek hovered awkwardly as Craig and Tolkien cleaned up the glass. At first, he tried to help, crouching to pick up a larger shard, but he realized his hands were shaking. Having cleaned up plenty of glass at work in the same condition, he tried to persevere but Craig stopped him with a quick, “Don’t.”

Tweek flinched, looking up at Craig’s blank expression. For a second, he worried he’d messed up again. Then Craig added, softer, “You’ll cut yourself. Just… stand back for now.”

“Oh.” Tweek straightened, his face burning with embarrassment. He wanted to argue, to prove he wasn’t useless, but the steadiness in Craig’s voice left no room for protest. Instead, he stood back, watching as Craig swept the shards into the dustpan with quiet precision. His chest ached with something he couldn’t quite name—relief, maybe? Gratitude?

He looked on, letting the rest of the room disappear as he watched Craig’s movements, efficient but not unkind. Tweek noticed how careful Craig was with the broom, never rushing, as if even this small act deserved his full attention. As the room buzzed with cheers and laughter, Tweek’s gaze stayed fixed on him.

Even in the chaos, Craig moved with purpose, stable and grounding. Something in his chest loosened, all his tension fading away with something as simple as Craig’s presence. It was like some of that steadiness bled into him. There was something about Craig that Tweek saw himself relying on. It wasn’t just calm—it was care. Craig cared about things, even the small ones. And it was comforting in a way Tweek hadn’t realized he needed. (It was almost embarrassing.)

Kenny reappeared at Tweek’s side, giving him a pointed look. Tweek brushed him off, but Kenny’s expression shifted into something gentler. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

“I’m fine,” Tweek muttered, even as his hands trembled around his mug. He took another, long sip. His drink was almost gone.

“Liar,” Kenny said easily, “It’s cool if this isn’t your scene, you know? Nobody’s grading you on how much fun you’re having.”

Tweek hesitated, then let out a shaky breath. He eyed the slowly dissipating pile of glass, swallowing his pride. It was time to be honest. “I just—ngh—I don’t want Craig to think I can’t handle it. He’s the one who brought me.”

“Craig didn’t bring you here for the party, you know,” Kenny said, a certain tone in his voice. “He brought you for him.”

“What?” Tweak asked.

“Craig brought you because he likes you, dude,” Kenny said, nudging Tweek’s shoulder. “Come on. You have to see it. It’s not that he expects you to be the life of the party.”

Tweek blinked, his breath catching. “You think so?”

“For what it’s worth, I think he would ditch this whole thing if you asked him to,” Kenny said.

Tweek did his best to shrug off the comment. “I don’t know…"

“Tweek,” Kenny said with a laugh. Tweek waited for him to keep going but he just smiled with his usual, lopsided grin. Something in his eyes said he knew a secret Tweek didn’t. (Maybe he did. Tweek always felt left out of the loop.) And, of course, instead of revealing anything, he continued to be cryptic. “He found a way to make you hot chocolate at a rager. He’s gone for you, man.”

Tweek rolled his eyes, but the thought lingered. Gone for him. Could that be true? The thought sent his brain spiraling, flickering between disbelief and something that felt dangerously close to hope. He kept snagging on all the reasons Craig couldn’t like him. Sure, Craig was… Kind, but people were kind for a lot of reasons. Maybe this was Craig’s default setting—calm, helpful, distant. But then there was the hot chocolate—Craig had clearly worked hard to find a drink that Tweek would like. Something special. Like the way Craig looked at him. He wondered if, to Craig, he was something special. The only thing in the universe. That wasn’t even including all the times he had seemed to step in when Tweek needed it the most!

His stomach flipped. He pushed the thought away—this wasn’t the time to lose his mind.

Turning to watch Craig clean again, he realized that he’d disappeared. Luckily, Kenny lingered, scanning Tweek’s face for signs of distress. In the pseudo calm they’d fallen into, Tweek let his guard down. Sure, the party was still raging around them, but it was like they’d fallen into the eye of the storm.

“There you are!” A familiar redhead worked his way through the crowd. He held two red solo cups, like Butters had before. When he joined them, he handed Kenny one. His drink from earlier, Tweek guessed.

“Hey, Ky,” Kenny greeted. “How’s it going?”

“Well, Cartman’s finally gone,” Kyle said.

Kenny laughed. “I was wondering when he’d cause a scene.” He gestured towards Kyle’s cup with his own. “Where did Butters go?”

“Where do you think?” Kyle asked. “He was Cartman’s ride, dude. There’s no way that fatass is walking home right now.”

“He’s gotta stop letting Cartman walk all over him,” Kenny’s mouth fell into a straight line, pursing his lips. “That sucks.”

“You did good, though,” Kyle said, “Delivering the final blow, and all.”

“Oh, please,” Kenny brushed him off. Though his smile returned quicker than it’d gone away. “He left because he didn’t want to clean up his mess. He already texted me thanks for giving him an easy out.”

With his full focus on Kyle, his grin lit up the whole room, brighter than anything Tweek had ever seen from him. There was a flush to his cheeks that hadn’t been there before, but he continued like he didn’t notice. Tweek didn’t blame him. There was something natural about the teasing between him and Kyle. Their words flowed like they were reading from the same script. Tweek envied how easy it seemed for them—like they just fit. He wondered if anyone had ever felt that way about him.

“God,” Kyle groaned, turning to Tweek with an exhausted look. His tone was more biting than Kenny’s but not necessarily unkind. “Did someone warn you about Cartman or is this all new to you?”

Tweek shrugged. “Um, well, we met before. Briefly.”

“Oh, yeah, he trapped you in a conversation earlier,” Kyle said, “It’s been such a long night I almost forgot.”

“Oh shit,” Kenny turned to Tweek. His grin faded slightly. “You didn’t tell me that. What did he do?”

Tweek hesitated. “Just… Made things—ngh!—weird.”

“Classic Cartman,” Kyle muttered.

But Kenny was still watching Tweek, not letting them drop it. “Weird how?” he pressed, his voice was low like he already knew the answer.

Tweek shrugged, his chest tightening under Kenny’s gaze. He glanced toward the window, almost looking for an escape. The snow outside was coming down harder now, fat flakes swirling under the streetlights. The thought of stepping out into the cold made him shiver, but he couldn’t deny the appeal of leaving this whole mess behind. “I-I don’t know. Just… Weird I guess. Kyle stopped him before things got worse.”

Kenny’s smirk returned, but softer this time. “Yeah, that checks out.”

“He—guh!—said something about, uh, being the reason Craig… Wants to hang out with me,” Tweek admitted, a slightly abridged version of the truth. (Cartman’s real words echoed like a drumbeat. Craig is so in love with you. That couldn’t be true. Right? He shuddered at the thought.)

Cartman’s words echoed like a drumbeat. Craig is so in love with you. Tweek’s stomach flipped, his chest tightening. That couldn’t be true. Could it?

“Oh really?” Kenny gave him a look.

Kyle’s brow furrowed slightly. “You two know each other pretty well, huh?” he said, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

“Huh?” Tweek asked.

“You and Craig,” Kyle said.

Tweek froze. “Uh, not really. I mean—”

“They’re getting there,” Kenny interrupted smoothly, shooting Kyle a look that made him nod slowly.

Tweek’s face burned as he took another sip from his now-empty mug.

Kenny followed suit, emptying the cup that Kyle had brought him like it was nothing. “I wouldn’t overthink it, dude,” he kept his tone light but there was meaning behind it. Trust me. “Craig wouldn’t be sticking around if he didn’t want to.”

“W-What does that mean?” Tweek’s voice wavered, his mind spinning in a dozen directions. His pulse thudded in his ears as he glanced nervously toward the glass-free zone where Craig and Tolkien had been cleaning.

Kenny smirked—the kind that held too many secrets. “Weren’t you guys supposed to ‘break up’ like a week ago?” His tone was casual, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

Before Tweek could reply, Kyle glanced at his phone and groaned. “Um, Stan’s waiting for me to help him with the beer pong table,” he muttered. He gave Kenny a pointed look. “Don’t break him, alright?”

Tweek blinked at the jab, but Kenny just smirked, lifting his empty cup in a mock salute. “Scout’s honor.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, turning to Tweek one final time. “Good luck.”

As Kyle disappeared into the crowd, the gap he left behind felt oddly heavy. Kenny, now free from Kyle’s scrutiny, shifted his focus fully to Tweek, his gaze somehow sharper and quieter than before. Tweek’s nerves only tightened, a wire pulled too taut. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Kenny’s gaze lingered a second longer before something shifted in the air.

A presence—subdued but grounding—slipped into the space between them. Tweek glanced up and froze. Craig was suddenly there, his gaze flicking briefly to Kenny before settling on him. It was like the air shifted around him, muted somehow, and Tweek’s pulse hitched without warning.

“Tolkien’s cleaning up the rest,” Craig said, his tone casual, but his eyes—steady, caring—felt like they were speaking to something deeper. “You good?”

“Perfect timing,” Kenny said, straightening up. The mischievous look in his eyes remained, but it seemed like he was giving Tweek a break for once. He turned to Tweek, leaning in to give his shoulder a supportive squeeze. “You should go if you need to, dude. You’ve survived more of this chaos than I expected. I’m just glad you came. No shame in calling it.”

“What?” Tweek asked, genuinely confused.

Stepping back, Kenny’s gaze shifted from Tweek to Craig. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Tweek’s stomach flipped. “Ken—” But Kenny was already gone, disappearing into the crowd with his usual effortless grace. Tweek had no time to process the betrayal before Craig started talking again.

“What was that about?” Craig asked, his tone neutral but with an edge of concern.

Tweek shrugged, trying to get himself together. “Y-You know Kenny.”

Craig seemed to take his word for it, his glance shifting to Tweek’s mug. “Want a refill?”

“Huh? Oh! No, I’m—ngh!—fine. Thank you,” Tweek stammered, his face heating under Craig’s steady gaze. “I just, um, didn’t know where you went.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Cleaning up. Thought you saw.”

“I-I did,” Tweek said quickly. “I mean, yeah, I just…” He trailed off, realizing he was rambling. “Thanks. For… earlier. With Cartman.”

Craig shrugged like it was nothing. “He’s easy to deal with if you don’t take the bait.”

Tweek blinked at him. “You make it sound so—gah!—simple.”

“It is,” Craig said matter-of-factly. Then, his expression softened just slightly. “You did fine.”

“Fine?” Tweek repeated, the word strange in his mouth. “I-I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t leave,” Craig said, his voice even. “That’s something to me.”

Tweek didn’t know how to respond to that, so he looked down at his mug instead, his fingers fidgeting with the handle. The silence between them wasn’t heavy, but it was charged with something unspoken. The music shifted, a slower song drifting through the room. The crowd had thinned, the party losing some of its earlier energy as people either left or settled into hushed conversations. Tweek glanced toward the door, then back at Craig.

“I think I’m—ngh!—ready to go,” Tweek said, his voice quieter now.

Craig nodded. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Craig interrupted, his voice was as even as his stride. No hesitation, no second-guessing—just simple certainty.

Tweek fumbled for a response, his fingers twitching at the hem of his sweater. “I—I mean, I don’t want to ruin your night…”

Craig’s expression softened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Trust me, leaving now sounds good to me.”

Tweek hesitated, glancing around the room. Bebe’s laughter cut through the music from somewhere in the crowd. He saw Kenny, Stan, and Kyle playing beer pong against some of the drunkest people he had ever seen. The rhythm of the bass thumped through his chest, like a second heartbeat, holding him hostage. He felt like a mismatched puzzle piece, edges fraying against the noise and motion.

When he looked back at Craig, though, everything was muffled. Craig wasn’t rushing him, wasn’t expecting anything—he was just there, patiently waiting. A soft breath hitched in Tweek’s chest. “O-Okay. Can we go?”

Craig nodded, the faintest hint of something in his expression—relief, maybe? Affection? Tweek couldn’t tell, but it made his chest ache in a way he didn’t understand.

“Let’s get out of here,” Craig said, his voice low but sure like it was the easiest decision in the world.

Leaving a party was a lot simpler than going to one, Tweek realized. Or, maybe it was the fact that they didn’t say any goodbyes. Sure, Kenny had given them a sort-of send-off, but Craig didn’t go out of his way to let anyone know they were leaving. It was like the party didn’t cling to him the way it did to everyone else—like he could walk away without it leaving a mark.

The music swelled again as they wove through the crowd, every beat vibrating through Tweek’s chest like a physical weight. The alcohol was hitting him harder and harder by the second, the buzz in his head matched by the swirl of heat in the room. He focused on Craig’s back, the confident rhythm of his steps cutting a path through the noise.

The crowd seemed to part for him like he was the victor of some great battle tonight. The Cartman incident, Tweek thought, though it might’ve just been his own opinion. He doubted anyone else saw it that way—Craig didn’t seem like the kind of person to draw attention to himself. But there was something in the way people moved aside for him like they respected him without needing to say it out loud.

Tweek stayed close, his shoulder brushing Craig’s arm more often than not. Each touch was fleeting but grounding, like a tether keeping him from floating away in the chaos. Craig didn’t pull away or comment, and his steps were as measured as ever. The party’s pulse dulled as the door shut behind them, the bass line fading into a distant hum. The cold night air swept in, brisk and clean, chasing away the sticky heat that clung to Tweek’s skin. He shivered, but it felt… lighter, like stepping out of a too-warm room into the snow.

They didn’t talk much at first. The silence between them was comfortable but charged. Tweek glanced at Craig, who looked more at ease now, his face less guarded under the dim streetlights. The snow continued to flurry around them; another layer to last year’s fall. The heat of alcohol kept Tweek going despite the cold, even as his breath clouded up around them.

He glanced at Craig again, his heart doing something weird in his chest. He was still walking at the same measured pace, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, his breath coming out in even puffs of fog. How did Craig do that—just exist like nothing could throw him off? Tweek felt like he was made of jangling wires most of the time, but Craig was all… straight lines and smooth corners. It didn’t make sense.

Or maybe it did.

Tweek’s foot slipped on a patch of ice, his heart leaping in his chest before Craig’s hand caught his arm, pulling him upright with a steadiness that made Tweek’s breath catch.

“Watch your step,” Craig murmured, his tone so calm it almost made Tweek’s embarrassment worse.

Tweek blinked, the warmth of Craig’s hand lingering even after he let go. “Y-Yeah. Thanks,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. Craig’s gaze flickered to him for a moment, before returning to the path ahead. The silence between them felt heavier now—charged with something Tweek didn’t know how to name.

“Do you—uh—always go to parties like that?” Tweek asked. His voice came out more slurred than he expected. Part of him regretted downing most of his drink at the end, another part of him didn’t care anymore, under the warmth of alcohol.

“No,” Craig said simply. “But you saw how Clyde is. He really wanted me there tonight. Said I needed to ‘get out more.’” He rolled his eyes slightly, the smallest hint of exasperation slipping into his tone. “Not my thing, though.”

Tweek nodded, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie. “Yeah. Same.”

They walked a little further, the lull between them no longer holding that weight. Tweek found himself relaxing slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing with each step. The houses lining the street were dark and dulcet, a stark contrast to the hell they’d just left behind.

Craig spoke first this time, his voice low. “You did good in there.”

Tweek blinked, startled. “Huh?”

“At the party,” Craig clarified. “I know you didn’t want to be there, but you handled it. Better than most people would.”

Tweek’s face burned. “I-I don’t know about that…”

“I do,” Craig’s voice was even, low enough that Tweek almost missed it over the crunch of snow beneath their feet. “You’re tougher than you think.”

He said it like a fact, not a compliment—and something about the certainty in his tone made it stick. The words settled over Tweek like a blanket, warm and grounding.

They kept walking, and maybe it was his lack of focus on their way to the party, but Tweek was struggling to recognize any buildings nearby. Something in his heart sank.

“Are we—ngh—lost?”

Craig gave him a sidelong glance. “We’ve been walking in a straight line for two blocks.”

“Oh…” Tweek looked around as if to confirm. “Cool. Cool, cool.”

Craig snorted softly, a sound so unexpected that Tweek whipped his head around to look at him. “You okay?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Fine,” Craig said, deadpan, though his lips twitched. “You’re entertaining.”

“I—guh—what?” Tweek’s steps faltered, and he nearly tripped over the curb. Craig caught his elbow, steadying him with an ease that made Tweek’s face heat.

“You ramble when you’re nervous,” Craig explained, his tone lighter than usual. “It’s kind of… funny.”

“Oh, great,” Tweek muttered, looking down at the snow-covered sidewalk. “Glad I’m entertaining.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Craig added, and Tweek could have sworn there was the smallest, almost imperceptible curve to his lips. It wasn’t a smile exactly—Craig didn’t seem like the kind of guy who smiled often—but it was close enough to send Tweek’s stomach into freefall.

Soon, their surroundings did seem familiar. And, even sooner, they were approaching Tweek Bros.

They stopped in front of Tweek’s door out back, the old neon sign out front flickering faintly in the distance. It took Tweek a minute to fumble through his pockets to find his keys. The gentle sprinkling of snow started coming down harder. It was pretty common this time of year, but Tweek was starting to get worried. He looked up to see the sky painted with clouds, thickening by the second. Turning to look at Craig, he hesitated. There was something in his eyes that threw Tweek off. Gentle. Kind.

Tweek fumbled with his keys, nearly dropping them. “Uh—thanks for, you know, walking me back.”

Craig nodded. He was standing just a little too close with his hands still buried in his jacket pockets. It was starting to get colder by the minute. “No problem. I’m glad I did. That drink hit you all at once, huh?”

“Kenny did say you made it pretty strong,” Tweek said, almost teasing.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the streetlights and the faint car in the distance. Tweek shifted on his feet, unsure what to say or do next. His head was still fuzzy, his stomach warm from the alcohol—or maybe from something else.

“So…” Craig’s voice cut through the stillness. He glanced toward the door. “You good?”

“Y-Yeah. I think so,” Tweek stammered, though his fingers fumbled again with the keys. He caught Craig watching, his expression unreadable.

“You’re sure?” Craig pressed, his tone softer now.

Tweek nodded, despite himself, finally moving to unlock the door. He struggled to work his key into the lock, the cold biting at his fingertips. The neon sign out front flickered like his thoughts—unstable, relentless, buzzing at the edges. When he glanced at Craig, the lack of tension in his posture only made the storm inside him feel louder.

It took him a minute, with his nerves and the chill, to open the door, but after what felt like hours of struggling, he started towards the stairs inside. His stomach sank, as he realized the challenge he was about to face. He’d never drank alcohol, so he wasn’t aware of the consequences. Now, it seemed like they were all catching up to him.

“Do you want some help?” Craig asked from behind him, and Tweek did his best not to jump at the sound.

Tweek hesitated, glancing at the stairs like they were a mountain. He felt Craig step closer. “This is always the hardest part,” Craig added, slipping an arm around Tweek’s waist before he could respond. The contact sent a jolt through him, but Craig’s grip was so steady it felt like the most natural thing in the world.“At least we don’t have to worry about being quiet.”

Tweek let out a shaky laugh, the sound barely above a whisper. “Y-Yeah. Stairs are the worst.” His hand clutched the banister tightly, and he tried not to focus too much on the warmth of Craig’s arm around him, strong and sure.

Craig hummed in agreement, his grip secure but not overbearing. They climbed the stairs slowly, Tweek’s footsteps heavier than he intended. The alcohol, the lingering buzz, and the weight of the night had all settled in his limbs. By the time they reached the top, he felt like he’d run a marathon.

When they reached the landing, Craig’s hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, solid against Tweek’s back, before he pulled away. It was barely noticeable, but Tweek felt the warmth of it long after.

Tweek turned toward his door, fumbling again with his keys, his hands trembling for reasons he wasn’t sure he wanted to examine too closely.

“You made it,” Craig said, his tone almost teasing but still soft enough that Tweek glanced back at him, startled.

“Y-Yeah,” Tweek mumbled, turning back to the door as he pushed it open. Inside, the dim light from the window barely illuminated his apartment—small, cluttered, but unmistakably his. He hesitated in the doorway, gripping the edge of the frame as he looked over his shoulder at Craig.

The words slipped out before Tweek could stop them, clumsy and uneven: “You want to come in?” His pulse spiked as soon as they were out, a sharp rhythm against the muffled silence of the hallway. What was he doing? It was just a polite offer—normal. Right? But as Craig’s gaze flickered between the stairs and the open door, Tweek couldn’t stop the rush of what-ifs crowding his head.

(What if Craig said no? What if he said yes?)

“I mean—just for a second. Or—ngh!—whatever.”

Craig stayed still, his expression unreadable under the dim light. For a breathless moment, Tweek thought he might say no, and the thought twisted his stomach into knots.

“Sure,” Craig said finally, stepping inside with the kind of ease that made Tweek’s chest ache.

Tweek hovered by the entrance, his heart racing for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down. “Uh, I’ve got water. Coffee. I mean—I guess not coffee, it’s late, but—”

“Tweek,” Craig interrupted, his voice calm but firm. Tweek stopped rambling, his mouth snapping shut as Craig tilted his head toward the couch. “You should sit down.”

“Oh. Uh—yeah. Okay.” Tweek shuffled over, collapsing onto the couch with a sigh. The couch groaned softly as Tweek sat, its familiar squeak oddly loud in the quiet. He rubbed at his temples, the fuzziness in his head starting to subside but leaving behind an overwhelming exhaustion.

Across the room, Craig eyed the old armchair the last tenant had left before Tweek moved in. The apartment was still, save for the faint hum of the heater kicking on. The clutter around him—piles of unopened mail, stray coffee mugs—felt overwhelming in a way it usually didn’t, but Craig’s calm presence dulled the edges.

Craig moved with a collected ease, dropping into the armchair across from him. He leaned back, his usual stoicism intact, but there was something softer about him now. Tweek couldn’t place it—maybe it was the way he seemed to settle into the space like he belonged there. For a moment, they sat in silence, the ambient sounds of Tweek’s apartment filling the gaps where words might have been.

As Tweek sank into the couch, he couldn’t help but glance at Craig, now fully settled in the armchair like he had always been there. There was something about the way Craig moved that made Tweek’s usual nervous energy feel almost… Silent. It wasn’t that the noise in his head had disappeared entirely, but for once, it wasn’t the loudest thing in the room. The tension in Tweek’s shoulders eased despite himself, the calming sound of Craig’s breathing anchoring him in the quiet.

Tweek’s eyes felt heavy, his body sinking deeper into the cushions. He wanted to say something—to thank Craig, maybe, or to apologize for dragging him here—but the words never came.

Instead, he let his eyes drift closed, the room’s warmth and Craig’s relaxed presence lulling him into a peace he hadn’t felt in years.

Somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, Tweek heard Craig shift, his chair creaking in the softness. A murmur followed—low, deliberate, just loud enough to make Tweek wonder if it was meant for him. His chest tightened, the words slipping into the haze of his thoughts before he could make sense of them. When he cracked an eye open, Craig’s gaze was on the window, distant and thoughtful, his expression unreadable.

Tweek let his eyes close again, the room fading into a gentle blur. In the dull hum of the room, Tweek felt something he hadn’t expected—safe. It was unfamiliar, fragile, and fleeting. But for now, it was enough.

Chapter Text

A sharp knock on Tweek’s front door was all that woke him. One short, simple knock. Something about its familiar rhythm grated his nerves. It crept under his skin. It was like a second alarm clock, pushing him over the edge, even on his days off.

Help was needed downstairs, he noted. It seemed like it always was.

Distantly, he could hear the telltale sound of his father’s voice, calling his name through the door. If he had his keys on him, Tweek was willing to bet the man would be inside already, shaking him awake like there was some emergency (“Short staffing is an emergency, Tweek,” His dad’s voice lingered, as if he’d had been trying to hire employees to cover the holes in their schedule.) Tweek tried not to roll his eyes at the thought—there was a dull ache behind them that he didn’t exactly have the time to address with his father pounding at the door.

A faint rustle came from the corner of the room, but Tweek ignored it, too busy trying to piece together his surroundings to focus on anything else. He sighed, rubbing the sleep from his still-tired eyes as he mentally prepared to talk to his dad. The light from the window was shining so brightly he could see it behind his eyelids. Part of him was surprised he hadn’t woken up from that alone. It couldn’t be later than 9 AM, but Tweek was raised to be an early riser.

Part of him, drowsy and weighed down, remembered the vague events of the night before. Deep down, he wondered if it was some kind of miracle that he woke up at all.

His head throbbed faintly—leftover fuzziness from his drink, he thought. That haze worked its way down to his chest, calming the flush of emotions he felt as he remembered scattered events from the night before. Kenny’s sly message still echoed in his mind, “He’s gone for you, man.”

Tweek shook his head at the thought. His dad’s knocking was bordering on impatience, and Tweek started to wonder how long he’d been there as he pushed himself up, blinking as he realized he wasn’t in bed but sprawled on the couch. Confusion gnawed at him.

And then he heard it—a groan. His head snapped toward the armchair across the room; the soft slideshow playing through his head was put on pause.

“Tweek!” His dad continued to knock, though it fell further into the background as Tweek debated confronting the intruder.

“W-Who are you?” Tweek barely got the words out, though he tried to sound confident. He could already feel himself shaking.

He’d never had someone break into his place before. (Maybe it was the alcohol from the night before—if it was still making things feel hazy now, who knows how bad it was last night… Of course! He’d left his door unlocked and one of the homeless men from downtown snuck in while he was sleeping—one of his biggest fears, now a harsh reality before him.)

“Oh god…” He searched the room. He was looking for a weapon—a loose butter knife, a half-empty coffee cup, anything—before his eyes fell on one of his old boxing gloves, discarded from his last lesson. The sight made his heart sink.

Right—kickboxing. He hadn’t trained in over a year, not since work had taken over his life. He was out of practice but it was better than nothing. He took a shaky breath, picking up the single glove. The leather was stiff from disuse. He slipped it on anyway, ignoring how lame it made his naked hand feel—it wasn’t like he had options. (Yeah, because that’s intimidating.) “I-I-I’ll have you know I’m a trained—ngh!—kickboxer!”

Steadying himself, Tweek prepared for a fight—possibly to the death. And then a familiar pair of blue eyes glared his way. Harsh. Dark. Daring. Familiar.

“Craig?” Tweek’s voice cracked as he stared at the figure slumped in his armchair. Relief flooded his chest for half a second before panic clawed its way back. His mind scrambled to piece together the events of last night. Had Craig stayed? Did he ask him to? His heart raced as flashes of the walk home surfaced—Craig steady beside him, the way his hand had lingered on his back. Tweek’s face burned. Oh god, what did he say?

Craig ran a hand through his hair, his glare softening into something more neutral as consciousness consumed him. His eyes lingered on Tweek for a second longer than necessary before he turned his gaze toward the door. “You always get woken up like this?” he muttered, his voice low and scratchy from sleep.

Tweek blinked, his brain scrambling to catch up. “Wha—what are you—”

“Tweek!” His dad’s voice interrupted, louder now. Tweek realized his dad was still pounding on the door. Something about the familiarity of it all brought Tweek back to the present.

“Oh god,” Tweek muttered, yanking off the boxing glove and letting it land on the ground with a soft thump. He stumbled to the door. It was kind of a miracle that he didn’t fall with his legs still half-asleep beneath him. The cold floor jolted his senses as his mind raced. His fingers fumbled with the lock. When it finally swung open, his dad stood there, arms crossed, his frown deepening.

He winced when he remembered that Craig was still slouched in the armchair, looking like he belonged there. What would his dad say if he saw him?

“Tweek,” His dad said when the door swung open, his tone sharp with irritation. “Why didn’t you answer me? There could have been a fire!”

Tweek flinched. “Oh my god! I-Is there a fire?”

“No,” his dad said simply. He sighed like he didn’t have time for this. “But you never know.” He paused, giving Tweek a pointed look to let his words sink in before he continued. “We need help in the shop. The espresso machine’s acting up again, and your mother is getting overwhelmed.”

Of course. Tweek bit the inside of his cheek, his shoulders sagging as the familiar disappointment settled over him. Tweek’s days off weren’t really days off—not working at Tweak Bros.

He gave Tweek a once-over, his frown deepening. “Are those your clothes from yesterday? It’s past nine and you’re not even dressed yet?”

“Um…”

“We don’t have time for excuses, Tweek,” His dad stepped past him, pushing through Tweek like he was a second, weaker door. Tweek rushed to follow him, to stop the inevitable, but his dad kept going. “We need to get you dressed and downstairs. I can’t leave your mother alone for long and—” Craig looked up from the armchair, and Tweek’s dad stopped in his tracks.

“Who’s this?” His dad’s tone was clipped, but his eyes lingered over Craig like he was assessing something important. Tweek’s stomach flipped—was that suspicion? Or just curiosity?

Tweek swallowed hard, the stress of the situation building in his chest. He could already imagine his dad’s questions—why didn’t you say something? Why is someone here when there’s work to do?

Tweek shifted nervously, posthumously trying to block Craig from view, knowing it was too late. Craig, as usual, looked completely unbothered, scrolling on his phone like nothing had changed.

“Uh—guh!—this is Craig,” Tweek stammered. “Y-You might’ve seen him at the family—ngh!—picnic?”

Craig raised a hand in a small wave, barely looking up as he did. “Hey.”

Tweek’s dad frowned, eyes flicking between the two of them. “You didn’t tell me you had company.”

“I-I didn’t—ahh!—it’s not—” Tweek flailed for an explanation, his heart pounding.

His dad’s gaze shifted to Tweek, sharp now. “How long’s he been here?”

“He, uh—he stayed over,” Tweek admitted. There was something in him that could never lie to his dad. The guilt would eat him alive forever. (Something else told him that he didn’t owe anyone an explanation. He was a grown man, living on his own. It wasn’t like his dad could ground him or something. Right?)

“Stayed over?” His dad repeated, his tone unreadable. He didn’t look at Tweek this time—his eyes were locked on Craig, assessing. Craig seemed to notice the attention, locking eyes with Tweek’s dad like an unspoken staring contest. The silence stretched for a beat too long, thick enough that Tweek wanted to crawl into the couch and disappear.

Tweek’s pulse paced as he watched his dad size up Craig, the way his gaze lingered like he was trying to solve a puzzle. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Craig wasn’t supposed to meet his dad—at least not like this. Tweek felt like a teenager getting caught sneaking someone in, even though he hadn’t. He was twenty-one, for god’s sake. Why did his dad always make him feel like this?

Craig straightened slightly in the chair, his gaze steady as he held Tweek’s dad’s stare. “I walked him home last night.”

Tweek’ dad crossed his arms. “And decided to stay?”

“Didn’t feel right to leave,” Craig said. His tone was casual, but there was a quiet defiance behind it like he’d already decided this conversation wasn’t going to rattle him.

“Why not?” Tweek’s dad asked, and Tweek kind of wanted to know too.

Craig shifted, his whole demeanor changed, as he turned to look at Tweek. The hard look in his eyes faded into something softer. Gentler. Tweek twitched under the sudden pressure. “He didn’t feel great.”

“Huh,” Mr. Tweak said, “I didn’t know you went out last night, Tweek.”

“Um…” Tweek twitched.

“I guess there’s a time in every parent’s life when their child starts keeping secrets,” Tweek’s dad’s tone was offhanded but pointed nonetheless.

Tweek twitched. “I—I wasn’t—oh god!—it’s not like that—”

“So, Craig,” his dad said, stepping closer, fully ignoring Tweek. His tone was polite, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re… What? A new friend? Something else?”

“Dad!” Tweek yelped.

Craig didn’t even blink. “Friend.”

“Ah,” Mr. Tweak said, but he didn’t sound convinced. “And you… walked him home, because he didn’t feel good? That’s… Considerate.”

“Yeah,” Craig tilted his head slightly. His shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his eyes didn’t waver. Maybe it wasn’t defiance, exactly—just a quiet assurance. Confidence. Tweek didn’t understand where it came from… “I wasn’t going to leave him like that.”

“Good to know Tweek’s got someone looking out for him,” Mr. Tweak said. He shifted his weight, those sharp eyes falling on Tweek for a moment. “He doesn’t always tell you when something’s wrong, you know.” The words hung in the air, more observation than accusation, but Tweek’s shoulders tightened anyway. Was his dad… Embarrassed? Concerned? It was impossible to tell through the usual wall of brisk efficiency. (He talked like Tweek wasn’t even there.)

Craig’s jaw tightened briefly before he responded but his voice came out even as he said, “Doesn’t mean I won’t show up.”

Now that his dad wasn’t locking in on Craig, Craig didn’t seem to care about him. Or, maybe he had never cared at all, because now he was looking at Tweek in that annoyingly soft way he did. Only Tweek.

Tweek tried to shrug off all the sudden attention forcing itself his way. He wasn’t sure what to do with it.

His dad—thankfully—only studied him for a moment longer before turning back to Craig with a nod. “Fair.” He paused, thinking. “Must be a good friend to stay the night.”

“He is!” Tweek blurted. He just wanted out of this situation. He’d say whatever he needed to, even if the honesty left his face burning. “He’s—uh—he’s just really nice like that!”

Craig’s eyebrow twitched—almost a reaction.

Mr. Tweak frowned slightly, crossing his arms. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Craig.”

The silence that followed stretched too long. Tweek opened his mouth to break it, but Craig beat him to it.

“I was about to leave,” Craig said. “Don’t want to get in your way.”

“You’re not,” Tweek’s dad replied, though his gaze continued to linger on Craig for a moment too long, pointed. “Make yourself at home. But don’t keep him too long. We need him downstairs.”

His dad started to leave—a swift and dizzying exit. “And, Tweek?”

Tweek snapped to attention instinctively, the way he used to as a kid when his dad’s voice called him to task. Back then, he craved the approval that gaze withheld. Now, it just left him squirming. (It was more than he could handle.)

“Next time, let me know if something happens. I don’t want to hear about something secondhand.” His gaze lingered on Craig.

Tweek’s chest tightened. “Dad—” Tweek started, but the door was already closing. He sagged against the frame, his heart pounding like he’d just finished a marathon.

“Your dad’s intense,” Craig said, breaking the silence. His tone was calm, but there was something in his eyes—curiosity, maybe? Amusement? It was hard to tell.

Tweek was too tired to try. He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “Sorry. He’s—ngh!—like that. Um, all the—all the time.”

Craig shrugged, standing and stretching. “Doesn’t bother me.”

Tweek blinked, his heart skipping a beat. “R-Really?”

“Yeah.” Craig met his gaze, and for the first time that morning, there was the faintest hint of a smile. “It’s not like I’m here for him.”

Tweek shifted, letting out an almost disbelieving laugh at the notion. Craig didn’t move to leave immediately. Instead, he stayed by the armchair, watching Tweek carefully. Finally, after a moment, he stepped forward, meeting Tweek in the front hallway.

“You okay?” He asked, nudging Tweek with a gentle elbow.

“Fine,” Tweek muttered, though they both knew he was shaking. An understanding silence fell over them, almost comforting despite it all. Tweek breathed in Craig’s presence like fuel, too exhausted to care about how pathetic he felt. Finally, he settled on the fire of frustration brewing in his gut. It was hard not to let it simmer beneath his skin—take him over completely.

But then he looked at Craig.

“Sorry about him,” Tweek said, softer than he meant it. A secret. Just for him and Craig.

“Not your fault,” Craig assured, “Some parents suck.”

“I wish he was a little more normal but I don’t know if he knows how,” Tweek admitted, the words coming out broken and bitter. “He makes everything feel like—like I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing,” Craig said firmly. His tone was so certain that Tweek froze, startled. He didn’t even notice he’d stopped shaking. “You show up. You try. That’s more than most people can say. Trust me, compared to most people our age, you’re doing fine.”

Tweek blinked. “But—”

“No,” Craig cut in gently. “You’re doing better than fine. Don’t forget that.”

Tweek froze, Craig’s words settling like a weight he didn’t know he needed to carry. Better than fine? The thought felt too big to believe—but for a fleeting moment, he almost wanted to try. Tweek tried to cling to the words. To absorb them. He didn’t know how to hold onto them yet, but for now, just hearing them felt like enough. “You keep saying things like that.”

Craig shrugged, leaning against Tweek. Tweek closed his eyes, trying to embrace the calm before the storm. But in the dark, even in their close proximity, all he could do was imagine the scene downstairs.

Saturdays were inconsistent at Tweak Bros. Sometimes it felt like the whole town organized to come in, others it felt like there was a state-wide boycott of all things coffee. He’d seen lines down the sidewalk from his bedroom window, moments before his dad called him in. He’d had whole days without a single customer.

Now, with his dad’s insistence that Tweek come help, they were probably packed. He could picture it now, everything had to be backed up. He’d worked days where every order was almost an hour behind, too stuck between the espresso machine and taking orders to do anything else. He’d worked several solo Saturdays in his life, tired and anxious and in desperate need of a dishwasher—fresh mugs and steaming pitchers were essential.

Tweek could almost hear it—the busy sounds of the cafe. He’d long since memorized the cafe’s ambient sounds, which played in his dreams, a familiar backdrop. Now, in the softness of his apartment, those faded away. A distant memory.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Craig said suddenly. (And Tweek knew he was right.)

They stayed close, Craig watching Tweek with that quiet patience Tweek didn’t understand but desperately needed. The space they’d fallen into was silent, but not suffocating. And when the sharp sound of the coffee grinder downstairs broke through their peace, Tweek knew it was time to go. Something in its steady hum sent a jolt through Tweek, dragging him back to reality. The reality where his dad was waiting. The reality where Craig didn’t belong here right now.

“You should get going,” Tweek said, his voice small as he busied himself adjusting a loose thread on his sweater.

Craig didn’t budge. “Why?”

Tweek blinked, glancing up at him. “Because—ngh!—you’ve already done enough.”

Craig tilted his head, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s not about doing enough.”

“Don’t you have to get home?” Tweek asked. “Won’t your parents be worried if you’re out all night?”

“Not really,” Craig took a step back. “They knew I was at a party last night.”

“What?” Tweek squeaked.

“You know we’re allowed to drink, right?” Craig asked.

“I mean…” Tweek started, before realizing Craig was distracting him from the situation at hand. He let out a sigh, refocusing. “Look, I need to go work or my dad will kill me and I—gah!—I can’t deal with him and you in the same space. It’s too much.”

Craig’s mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to laugh, but his tone stayed even. “You don’t have to deal with me.” He straightened, stretching lazily. “I’ll grab a coffee and leave. No big deal.”

“What? No! You can’t—” Tweek stumbled over his words, but Craig was already putting his shoes on. His assertive movements made it impossible for Tweek to stop him and both of them knew it. Tweek groaned, dragging his hands through his hair. This was going to be a disaster.

“You coming?” Craig called over his shoulder.

Reluctantly, Tweek followed, dread pooling in his stomach as they descended the stairs. The shop was about to get a lot more complicated.

Tweek followed Craig downstairs, the sharp hiss of the espresso machine cutting through the air as they entered the shop, just like Tweek remembered. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and stress… Just like Tweek remembered.

Tweek sighed as the familiar chaos greeted him like a slap to the face—mugs clinking, orders being called out by his dad, the grinding whir of beans for each espresso shot his mom pulled. Mrs. Tweak darted between the espresso machine and the pastry case, her movements a blur of efficiency. (Tweek had learned from the best, after all.)

Tweek’s chest tightened as he reached for his apron, his trembling hands fumbling with the knot.

“Craig leaned against the counter, watching the chaos with a calm detachment. He was a quiet anchor in the noise, his gaze flicking to Tweek every so often like he was keeping tabs on him.

“Does it always get like this?” he asked, his tone curious.

Tweek let out a shaky laugh, already starting his own list of tasks in his head. He found an unused tray and started to stack dirty mugs from the bar onto it. His hands shook, but he forced himself to steady them, the familiar motions of his job kicking in despite his quickly fraying nerves.

“This is nothing,” he muttered. “It kind of varies.”

Craig’s gaze followed him as he moved between tables, his brow furrowing slightly. Tweek knew he could see it—the tension in Tweek’s shoulders, the way his dad’s voice made him flinch. Craig leaned silently against the counter, taking it all in. Craig frowned slightly.

“Tweek!” Mr. Tweak finally spotted him, his tone impatient, like Tweek wasn’t already working. “Get over here. We’re drowning! And—” He froze, his gaze landing on Craig with the same sharpness from earlier. “Oh. You’re still here.”

Tweek’s mom looked up at her husband’s tone before falling on Tweek and Craig, too.

Craig didn’t flinch. “Grabbing a coffee,” he said simply, shoving his hands into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

Tweek wanted to sink into the floor. “H-He’s just leaving!” he stammered, fumbling for his apron. “I-I mean, after—ngh!—a coffee! Real quick!”

His dad’s eyes narrowed slightly before he let out a sharp sigh. “Fine. But we need you to focus, Tweek. No distractions.” The words landed like a weight on Tweek’s chest as his dad turned away to deal with a demanding customer.

Tweek let out a sigh, turning between his parents, making sure his dad was busy enough not to notice as he turned to his mom. “Mom, could you make Craig a coffee for me?”

She looked up from the latte she was working on, sending Tweek and Craig a soft look. “What can I get you?”

“What haven’t I tried yet?” Craig asked Tweek like he had all of Craig’s orders so far memorized. (He did. Embarrassingly so.)

“Um,” Tweek pretended to think. “Could you just get him a medium cold brew with sweet cream?”

His mom nodded, “I’ll have it right out.”

Tweek went back to work, scrubbing at the counter to stick close to Craig, who was waiting for his order. He didn’t want any possibility of his parents interacting with Craig one-on-one. He wasn’t even sure he’d survive them interacting supervised. His blood pressure was definitely in danger.

“You good?” Craig asked, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.

Tweek let out a breathless laugh. “Not really.” His hands trembled but he continued to wipe the counter.

Craig sent him an almost worried look before settling on something softer. “You’re still doing better than fine.”

Tweek froze, his breath catching. For a second, the noise of the shop faded, and all he could hear was the quiet certainty in Craig’s voice.

“You work hard.” Craig continued his tirade of encouragement, making Tweek struggle not to melt under the sudden public pressure.

“I-I guess?” Tweek said.

“No,” Craig said firmly. “You do.”

Tweek’s face burned as he busied himself with wiping his hands on his apron. “It’s not—ngh!—a big deal. I’ve been doing it all my life, I’d hope I’m good at it by now…”

Craig didn’t argue, but the weight of his words lingered. As the shop buzzed around them, Tweek found himself standing just a little taller.

“Order for Craig!” Mrs. Tweak’s voice broke through their moment, though Tweek wasn’t complaining.

Craig stepped forward, taking the paper cup with a nod. “Thanks.”

“Good to see you again, dear,” Mrs. Tweak smiled at him warmly, her movements practiced and efficient as she grabbed the next ticket. She was clearly trying to set an example for Tweek’s dad. All it did was garner a sideways glance from Mr. Tweak.

“You too,” Craig said as she went back to work.

“Tweek,” His dad piped in, taking sharp steps to join them at the end of the bar. “What did I say about distractions?”

“Oh, come on, Richard,” Mrs. Tweak said, “Let Tweek spend some time with his boyfriend.”

And Tweek felt his soul—bruised and beaten—leave his body.

Chapter Text

It felt like all eyes were on Tweek, each one holding a silent, unseen question. It was like a spotlight had turned to him—like they were waiting for something. He could feel the weight of the word settle over the room, crashing throughout the room. Tweek nearly choked on air. His face burned—hotter than any of the coffees floating through the cafe. Steaming, really.

He stammered, looking for an out. Craig was sipping his drink, unbothered as ever. His mom was smiling keenly. Dangerously. He didn’t even chance looking at his dad, gaping in the corner of his eye. He knew what he would find there—his dad’s eyes would be narrowed in disbelief, the look in them too intense, too searching…

Tweek fumbled for something to say, but all that came out was a series of strangled syllables. Finally, he was able to piece together something that sounded like words. “M-Mom!” His voice cracked, loud enough to turn a few heads.

Boyfriend.

Tweek’s mom had said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, so—so far from subtle. And yet he felt like the entire world had tilted on its axis, the ground beneath him shaking just enough to make him dizzy. Just a single, simple word hit him like a slap in the face.

His dad had frozen mid-step, his back stiffening, as though the word itself had paralyzed him. Slowly, he turned, his gaze landing squarely on Tweek. “Boyfriend?”

The word hung between them, a gauntlet thrown down in the middle of the room. It was like his dad had tossed the question out like a challenge, waiting for someone—Tweek—to correct him.

Tweek’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the counter, his breath catching in his throat. He opened his mouth, trying to find his voice again. “I—I—uh—”

His dad’s gaze flicked over to Craig, who stood there completely still, the same unshakable calm that Tweek had come to expect from him. Craig’s face was a perfect mask of indifference. It was almost frustrating to see the detachment of someone who had absolutely no stakes in this conversation. The dark look looming in Craig’s eyes…

(Tweek wondered how his day would be going if he had been less hesitant with his threats this morning… His boxing gloves could benefit from some use and Craig’s face was looking pretty punchable right now.)

“Since when do you have a boyfriend?” Mr. Tweak asked, his tone sharp. His gaze darted back to Tweek, his brows furrowing. “You didn’t think to mention this?”

“I think it’s cute,” Tweek’s mom said, her knowing smile was becoming sharp enough to cut through steel. If Tweek weren’t busy short-circuiting, he would have flinched. (She was enjoying this way too much.)

Words tumbled over themselves in his head, none of them forming anything coherent. “I, um—it’s not—”

“Boyfriend,” His dad repeated, in disbelief, almost, like he didn’t believe Tweek could do that.

“Relax, Richard,” Mrs. Tweak said, voice a little too encouraging, the absolute traitor.

He really wished he still had his boxing glove. Not because it would help, obviously, but because at least then he’d have something to do with his hands—other than waving them around like an idiot while his mother smirked like she’d already won.

His mom continued. “It’s not like we haven’t seen this coming.”

“Seen what coming?” Tweek squeaked.

Tweek’s dad furrowed his brow, his voice rising. “How long has this been going on?”

Craig set his cup down, the soft, almost defiant thunk, breaking the tension in a way that made Tweek’s stomach twist. He met Mr. Tweak’s gaze without flinching, but Tweek caught the subtle tightening of his jaw—the flicker of something in his eyes that wasn’t as casual as he tried to make it seem. Craig might be pretending to be unaffected, but Tweek could tell there was more underneath the surface. Craig was in this, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

“A while,” Craig answered for them vaguely.

“A while?” Tweek’s dad repeated, his voice rising, demanding more.

“Four months,” Craig decided. No hesitation. No second guessing. No thinking.

“Four months?” Tweek whipped around, his panic flaring. “What are you—”

Craig met his gaze—calm, relaxed. The same way he had this morning. Like he was still working some angle only he understood.

Tweek wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

Tweek’s dad leaned in. Tweek wouldn’t be surprised if he jumped the counter right then and there. “What are your intentions—”

“Richard!” Mrs. Tweak’s voice cut through his dad’s rising anger.

“Dad!” Tweek squeaked, trying to interject, but his voice failed him.

“—With my son?” Mr. Tweak’s voice didn’t waver, and he turned his gaze between Tweek and Craig, weighing them both. “Why were you really here last night?

“I just walked him home,” Craig said, and Tweek could tell he was trying (and, honestly failing) not to sound indifferent.

Mrs. Tweak smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “See? He’s responsible. I like him.” Her voice was honey-sweet, but Tweek knew better than to trust that tone. It was the same one she used when she was pulling the strings from behind the scenes, guiding everything to fit her vision of how things should be.

He wanted to yell at her, but her knowing smile kept him quiet.

“And you… Stayed over?” Mr. Tweak voice dropped, and his eyes narrowed.

“And I stayed over,” Craig amended, “To make sure he was safe.”

“And I’m supposed to just…” Tweek’s dad waved his hands in the air. “Take your word for it?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Craig said, shrugging a little, as if the question were irrelevant. “Besides—” Craig leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world. His voice dropped, just low enough to force Mr. Tweak to lean in, straining to hear. His tone was slow, deliberate. Daring.

“Do you really want to know?”

The air shifted, thick with implication. Mr. Tweak’s expression flickered—annoyance? Concern?—before he caught himself. Craig’s lips twitched, amused by the reaction.

“Craig,” Tweek scolded, wacking him on the chest, a little harder than he meant to. Part of him felt bad but he was so overwhelmed, he almost couldn’t care less.

Craig didn’t seem to mind, luckily. Instead, he sent Tweek an amused look, clearly finding some enjoyment in the chaos around them.

Tweek’s dad pinched the bridge of his nose, hiding his face enough that Tweek couldn’t tell what he was feeling. Instead of pushing the subject of Craig’s intentions, he let out a long sigh. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Come on, Richard,” His mom said, “You had to have met Craig at the reunion. Can’t you be happy for your son? It’s his first relationship. It’s cute!”

“It’s not—!” Tweek’s voice cracked. He needed to get control of the situation. (This was really getting out of hand…) “We’re not—”

“Oh, Tweek. You’ve always been terrible at lying,” His mom said, playfully pinching one of his cheeks. “You don’t have to hide it, Sweetheart.” She sent a pointed look to Tweek’s dad, who shifted. “They’re dating. Don’t be mean.”

Tweek’s face burned like the sun. He wanted to disappear. Right here, right now. Just evaporate into nothing. Anything to not be here.

Mr. Tweak’s skepticism remained, though the tightness in his expression loosened. “I don’t know. All of this seems very sudden. I mean, how well do we know this boy?”

Craig’s jaw twitched, but his calm facade didn’t falter. “I’m standing right here.”

“Yes, and I’m talking about you,” Mr. Tweak shot back, his tone cutting. “Do you have a job?”

“Yeah?” Craig answered like it was obvious.

“Are you going to school?”

“Online,” Craig confirmed.

“Major?”

“Mechanical Engineering,” Craig shot back, “Minoring in Astronomy.”

“Do you have a criminal record?”

“What is this? A job interview?” Craig quipped, raising an eyebrow. “Do you need to do a full background check so I can hang out with your son?”

“Are you evading the question?”

Tweek let out a strangled sound. “Dad!”

“Richard,” Mrs. Tweak interjected, her voice taking on a gentler tone now like she was about to win this argument too. “Don’t you think Tweek deserves to have someone in his life who makes him happy? Look at him—when was the last time you saw him smile this much?”

Tweek froze. Smile? What smile? He hadn’t smiled since… Since… Last night. His thoughts faltered as Craig turned to glance at him, the faintest hint of amusement slipping into his expression. Oh no.

Mr. Tweak’s jaw worked like he was chewing over something bitter. His arms crossed tighter. He glanced between Craig and Tweek again, searching for something—some crack in their story, some detail that didn’t fit. “I don’t know,” he muttered, shaking his head. “All of this seems… sudden. And convenient.”

Craig, predictably, didn’t blink. “You want me to file the paperwork?”

Mr. Tweak huffed, but there was no more fire behind it. “I’m just saying—”

“And I’m just saying,” Tweek’s mom cut in, her voice as sweet as sugar, “That letting him date isn’t going to affect his work ethic. He’s here now, isn’t he? Even though you clearly interrupted his time with his boyfriend.”

His dad faltered, seemingly at a standstill. “Well… Alright, but we do need help here.” He shifted, pointing at Tweek. “As soon as possible.”

Tweek nodded quickly, and both his parents shuffled off to help a new customer lingering at the register.

“So sorry for the wait!” His dad fell back into his customer service voice like it was a second personality. “Family businesses can lead to family problems, you know.” He said it with a laugh, but Tweek could tell it was meant for him. He felt nauseous—from more than just the alcohol the night before.

Still, he grabbed Craig’s hand and led him out the front door, heading toward his van, still sitting in the same spot he always parked in.

The moment dragged on, Tweek’s heart still hammering in his chest. His parents were gone, but the tension hung around him like a weight he couldn’t shake. He had expected a fight, but it was worse than that. The questions, the disbelief… He hadn’t been ready for any of it. He let out a breath, almost tasting the relief in the outside air, but it was mixed with something else—something sharp and unsettling that he couldn’t quite place.

Craig stood solidly beside him, looking satisfied with his work. He took another long sip of his drink, seeming to like this one more than his first. (Probably because Tweek’s mom was a better barista than him…)

“That—ngh—sucked,” Tweek mumbled.

Craig nodded, giving Tweek’s hand a gentle squeeze. A small comfort until he opened his mouth again. “You’re welcome.”

“For what?!” Tweek let go of Craig’s hand with a frown, a little more irritated than he meant to sound. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or just embarrassed at this point. (Every part of him wanted to crawl into a hole and die.) “Convincing my parents that we’re dating, even more than before?”

Craig tilted his head, his expression unbothered. (He was frustratingly cute like that but Tweek swallowed that discovery.) “You’d rather he think I’m some random guy crashing on your couch?”

“I—” Tweek’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. It was hard to find the right words. “That’s not—ugh!”

“You’re the one who called me your boyfriend first,” Craig pointed out.

Tweek’s entire body went rigid. “What? I did not!”

“Sure,” Craig said, his tone infuriatingly nonchalant. “Your mom did at the picnic, and you never corrected her.”

“You’re the one who said we shouldn’t!” Tweek shot back, finally gaining some semblance of control over his voice.

Craig held a hand up in mock surrender.

“You are never allowed to talk to them again,” Tweek decided, finally finding something solid to cling to.

Craig stifled a laugh. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“N-Not that bad?” Tweek whirled on him, his hands flying up in exasperation. “We’ve been dating for a—agh!—‘while,’ apparently.” He twitched. “Oh, god! Do you even know what that means?” He tried to imitate Craig’s voice when he said, ‘a while’ but it came out more cracked than he would admit.

Craig shrugged. “It’s believable.”

Tweek buried his face in his hands, feeling his eye twitch even with the pressure. “This is a—gah!—disaster.”

Craig didn’t respond. When Tweek finally peeked at him through his fingers, Craig’s expression softened. “You’re overthinking it. Your parents just accepted you no matter who you are. That’s kinda awesome, dude.”

Something in Tweek’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t even considered that. Sure, his parents sucked most of the time, but he wasn’t scared of them assuming he was dating another man. He was only worried about clearing up the confusion.

Maybe he was luckier than he thought.

“Your dad kinda sucks,” Craig said, “But your mom seems… Decent?”

Tweek sighed, leaning back against the van. “You don’t know my mom.”

Craig grinned faintly. “She’s a little pushy, but I think that’s just a mom thing.”

Tweek wanted to argue, but he was too exhausted. He let his hands fall at his sides, frustrated.

Craig seemed to consider Tweek’s frazzled state for a moment before reaching out, flicking a stray hair that had fallen over Tweek’s forehead. “You look like you just ran a marathon.”

Tweek twitched at the touch, scowling at him. “Good to know I look as bad as I—ugh—feel. I’m surprised I survived that, honestly.”

Craig hummed, stepping back and joining Tweek against his van. “You did, though. No casualties. I’d call that a win.”

Tweek let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair. His nerves still buzzed, but Craig’s easy tone took some of the edge off. “Okay, maybe next time you can handle my parents.”

“Didn’t you just ban me from talking to them ever again?” Craig asked, teasing.

“I’m a complex guy,” Tweek said tiredly, “I can change my mind on a dime.”

“Guess so,” Craig said, scooting closer so Tweek’s head fell on his shoulder.

Tweek didn’t pull away. He was too drained to. The quiet hum of cars passing by filled the space between them, and for the first time since stepping into the café, Tweek felt like he could breathe again.

It was almost peaceful. Almost. Until Craig shifted.

“I’m sorry that I kind of pushed the situation in there,” Craig said.

Tweek lifted his head, looking Craig up and down.

“You’re kinda cute when you freak out,” Craig confessed.

Tweek’s entire body went rigid. His head turned slowly, his eyes narrowing at Craig. He debated his words carefully for a minute, but something about his earlier frustration slipped in, and instead of a normal response, what came out was: “I will deck you.”

Craig laughed but otherwise didn’t seem phased. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Tweek groaned, burying his face in his hands. He was going to combust. That was the only possible outcome. Craig was insufferable. Infuriating. Unbelievable.

He was about to fire back when Craig shifted again, his tone softer now. “But seriously, your mom’s right about one thing.”

Tweek blinked, thrown off by the sudden change. “What?”

Craig met his gaze, steady. “You do smile more around me.”

Tweek’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to do with that. He wanted to argue—deny it, brush it off—but the words wouldn’t come. His heart beat harder, but not in the usual, panicked way. Something else settled in his chest, something warm and unfamiliar.

Craig let the moment hang between them before casually pulling out his phone. “When are you out tomorrow?”

Tweek blinked, lifting his head to glance at Craig. “What?”

“Work,” Craig clarified, glancing at him. “When are you out?”

“Um,” Tweek blinked, trying to think. He usually didn’t check his schedule until the night before. It was too much to plan around sometimes; the weight of his shifts felt easier to carry one at a time. Still, his days off were burned into his mind—and those brief moments of freedom were all he could think about some days, though he’d never admit it to his parents. All he knew off the top of his head was that he worked with Kenny tomorrow….

“One, I think?” He said, “I probably open.”

Craig nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Cool. I have a dentist appointment in the morning, so I’ll just swing by after work and pick you up.”

Tweek hesitated, thrown off by how normal Craig was acting—like this wasn’t a big deal. Like they did this all the time. He fidgeted, his fingers twitching against the fabric of his apron. “Uh… Yeah. That works. I’ll text you when I’m done?”

“Sounds good,” Craig stood, stretching lazily before pulling out his car keys. “We can do something at my place,” He said as he started his van. “My mom wants to meet you.”

Craig, already unlocking his van, either didn’t notice or did not care that he had just detonated a bomb in Tweek’s brain.

Tweek froze. His mind spiraled so fast it made him dizzy, the weight of what just happened hitting him like a freight train. Tweek barely registered the van pulling away. His hands felt cold, even though the rest of him was boiling. His throat was dry.

Craig’s mom wanted to meet him.

Tweek’s stomach lurched as he rushed back inside. He swayed slightly on his feet, catching himself against the counter, knuckles gripping the edge like a lifeline. He needed something—water? A distraction? A goddamn reset button? His pulse roared in his ears as his breathing hitched, shallow and uneven.

Okay, okay. This is fine. Totally fine. He forced himself to breathe, counting the beats in his head.

Craig had met his parents—awkwardly, sure—but this was different. This was Craig inviting him into his world, his home. And inviting Tweek to meet his mom.

“Oh god,” Tweek muttered, dragging his hands down his face. The anxiety buzzing in his chest was almost enough to drown out the flicker of warmth buried beneath it. Craig wanted him to meet his mom. That meant… That Craig had talked about him. That Craig thought he was important enough to introduce to his family.

Tweek’s stomach flipped, a nauseating mix of panic and something softer he didn’t want to name.

Chapter Text

“What if she hates me?” Tweek asked for the millionth time that day.

Kenny threw an ice cube in his direction; it flew over Tweek’s head. “You’re not allowed to think that.”

It had been a long shift. Longer than that first day Craig had come in. Longer than Tweek’s first double. Longer than any day he had to run the shop alone.

Tweek was meeting Craig’s mom today. Craig had dropped the bomb on him so casually that it felt like Tweek’s brain was still trying to catch up. And now, somehow, he only had ten more minutes before he was out for the day.

His feet shuffled against the floor, the nervous energy humming in his chest. He had tried to sit still, but it was impossible. His body betrayed him every time. His heart felt like it was pounding in his throat, threatening to choke him.

Tweek rubbed his temples, trying—and failing—to will his nerves away.

An ice cube thunked against his shoulder.

“Bad thoughts,” Kenny scolded.

“I can’t just turn them off!”

“Try harder,” Kenny said, reaching for another ice cube.

Tweek glanced at Kenny, his hands fidgeting with the frayed edges of his apron. “I’m serious, Kenny. What if she thinks I’m a nervous wreck and never lets me see Craig again or—”

“She’s not gonna think anything bad,” Kenny assured, setting down his cup of ice on the counter between them, just close enough to still be a threat (“We don’t have an empty spray bottle, so this will have to do for the bad thoughts.” Kenny had decided earlier—like Tweek was a cat.) “She lets Clyde into her house. Her standards are low.”

“Clyde isn’t that bad…” Tweek started, but Kenny tossed another ice cube in his direction.

“No,” He scolded, “No defending Clyde.”

Tweek hesitated for half a second, the weight of his nerves pressing against his ribs—then the absurdity of Kenny’s war on Clyde finally hit, and he let out a tired laugh. “You’re terrible, you know?”

“And I’m your best friend for it,” Kenny grinned.

“Oh,” Tweek said, “You’ve upgraded yourself to best friend now?”

“I’ve earned it,” Kenny said, “I have the credentials.”

“Mhm,” Tweek rolled his eyes.

“And if you disagree, there’s a whole chest of ice in the back I’m willing to throw at you,” Kenny warned.

Tweek deflated, remembering the matter at hand. He looked at the clock on the wall. Five minutes. “I don’t know if I can do this, Kenny.”

“Didn’t the guy literally spend the night at your apartment the other day?” Kenny asked.

Tweek flushed. “I mean, yeah, but this isn’t about Craig it’s about—”

“Impressing his mom,” Kenny repeated the same thing Tweek had been stressing over all day. “Look, man, I get it. Moms are a big deal. It took me like ten years to get Ky’s mom to like me. Sometimes it takes time, but you want to make a good first impression.”

“Would it have been better if he hadn’t put such an emphasis on his mom wanting to meet me?” Tweek asked.

“Knowing you?” Kenny huffed out a short laugh. “No. You would have spiraled further if he didn’t tell you.”

He was right, but Tweek still slammed his head into the countertop in despair. Kenny made a sympathetic-sounding groan. Tweek didn’t even have the energy to lift his head. “I’m a disaster, Kenny.”

Kenny let out a long, pitying sigh. “Come on,” He said, tapping Tweek’s shoulder for him to get up. Tweek groaned but obliged. “We’ll do a practice round. What’s the absolute worst-case scenario?”

“I don’t—”

“Okay, here.” Kenny adjusted his posture, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear with a practiced ease. “Pretend I’m Craig’s mom.”

“Do we have to do this?” Tweek whined.

“What are your intentions with my son?” Kenny asked, with a poorly pitched-up voice.

Ever since Tweek had told him about Craig’s interaction with his parents, Kenny had been asking the question. ‘What are your intentions?’ As if it hadn’t been one of the worst moments of Tweek’s life. His dad’s voice still sat, like a stain, in the back of his mind. (“Do you really want to know?” Craig’s deep, teasing voice lingered, too but Tweek did his best to shake it off. For now.)

Kenny stood still, his shoulder twitching with the only indication that he was trying not to laugh at his joke. Tweek had half a mind to start throwing the ice cubes back at him.

“I don’t even—Craig and I aren’t dating, Kenny!” Tweek pulled at his hair.

Without looking, Kenny tossed a secret, hidden ice cube in Tweek’s direction. That one hit his chest. “Wrong answer! You just got uninvited from Thanksgiving.”

“Why was I invited to Thanksgiving in the first place?” Tweek squeaked.

“Because Mrs. Tucker is gonna love you,” Kenny said like it was obvious. “You can’t go around telling her you’re not dating her son.”

“Why not?” Tweek asked. “We’re not together.”

“I know that, and you know that, and Craig… Well.” Kenny snorted. “That’s a toss-up.”

Tweek frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, does he know?” Kenny asked, “Have you actually asked?”

“I shouldn’t have to ask,” Tweek huffed, “We’re not dating.”

“If you say so.” Kenny held his hands up in surrender. “All I’m saying is no one is going to believe you at this point. We live in a small town, and word travels fast. I heard people talking about you two at the grocery store the other day. Do you know how many queer couples there are in this town, Tweek?”

Tweek twitched. He hadn’t thought about it. Kenny pushed on anyway.

“Two. You and Craig, and an old married couple that live over by the park. Until you two stage a breakup or stop hanging out, you’re basically stuck,” Kenny finished.

Tweek’s heart sank. Kenny was right. There was no stopping the rumors organically. Something drastic would have to happen…

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve inspired me,” Kenny said.

“To make fun of me more?” Tweek slumped.

“To be brave, idiot,” Kenny said like it should be obvious, though there was no frustration behind his words. Instead, he puffed out his chest proudly. “I’ve got a date this week. With an old coworker of mine.”

“Really?” Tweek asked, voice coming out higher than intended.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Kenny said, “I’m a hunk.”

Tweek stifled a laugh with his hand and Kenny looked mock-offended. “What? You think you’re the only one here with game?”

Tweek rolled his eyes. “You’re the only one here going on dates, Ken.”

“Sure, Tweek. Sure,” Kenny said, a soft look in his eyes. He nudged his cup of ice further onto the countertop, letting out a long sigh. “I figured if you were brave enough to meet Craig’s mom, I could handle one lunch.”

There was a beat between them, heavier than before. Kenny shifted, leaning against the counter. His back faced the handful of customers still lingering from the lunch rush. Tweek looked on, wide-eyed.

“It’s, uh, it’s been a while,” Kenny admitted, almost forlornly. Tweek wasn’t sure what to say.

The silence between them lingered on before Kenny turned back to Tweek with a smile. “I’m pretty excited, honestly.”

Tweek nodded slowly. “That’s good,” he said again, unsure what else to offer. He wasn’t used to Kenny being the nervous one.

Kenny gave him a soft look, then scoffed like he couldn’t let the moment sit any longer. “Jesus, you’re worse at this than I am.”

Tweek blinked. “At what?”

“Supportive best friend mode,” Kenny said, straightening up and flicking another ice cube in Tweek’s direction like he hadn’t just dropped a personal bombshell. “I bare my soul, and you give me ‘that’s good?’ Tragic.”

“Hey!” Tweek started, but Kenny was already cutting him off.

“Don’t worry, I forgive you,” he said airily, switching gears with zero warning. Then, slipping into that overly high-pitched tone again, he asked: “Tweek, honey, how do you feel about marriage?”

Tweek took a handful of ice from the cup between them and chucked it at Kenny, who snorted. A stray chunk flew off his shoulder, and toward the door, that was opening to reveal Craig walking in. While it didn’t hit him, he still sent Tweek and Kenny a confused look.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I did what I could,” Kenny said, putting his hands on Tweek’s shoulders and steering him around the bar to Craig. “He’s in your hands now.”

Craig gave Kenny a skeptical look before his eyes fell on Tweek. “That sounds… Ominous.”

“That’s because it is,” Kenny said offhandedly.

“Should I be concerned?” Craig shifted his eyes from Tweek to Kenny, and back to Tweek, who shuddered under the attention.

“Um,” Tweek said, “No?”

“He’s just excited to meet his future mother-in-law,” Kenny said with a shit-eating grin.

Craig blinked. “Wait.” He glanced at Tweek. “Am I supposed to be introducing you as my—”

“No!” Tweek snapped, his face burning.

Craig’s brow furrowed. “Okay, but like. Hypothetically. If my parents ask…”

Kenny groaned, rubbing his temples. “Oh my God, Craig.”

Craig frowned. “What?”

“Let’s get out of here,” Tweek said in one breath, taking Craig by the hand and dragging him out the door.

Behind them, Kenny cackled. “I’ll clock you out!”

Tweek flipped him off through the window, barely remembering to untie his apron before pulling Craig toward his van. His pulse hammered in his ears, the nerves settling in again. Craig followed without resistance, a small smile forming on his face—one Tweek chose to ignore.

By the time they were in the car, the reality of what was about to happen had fully set in. The ride was quiet, save for the steady hum of the engine filling the space between them. Tweek’s thoughts raced as he stared out the window, the scenery blurring into a backdrop for his spiraling mind. He tried to imagine what Craig’s mom was like.

Closing his eyes, he pictured her—maybe she’d be sharp-eyed and hard; the kind of person who saw right through him. Maybe she’d be disappointed the moment she met him. He thought about his own mom, the way she had looked at him with disappointment like he was always a burden. Would Craig’s mom feel the same way?

Craig shifted his grip on the wheel. Not by much, but enough for Tweek to notice. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the engine and the unfamiliar pop song playing on the radio. Craig didn’t seem like the type to listen to stuff like this. Was it for him?

“You okay?” Craig asked suddenly, eyes still on the road.

Tweek startled. “Y-Yeah.”

Craig didn’t look convinced. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, considering. Then, with a small shrug, he turned the volume up a notch, letting the music fill the space between them. Tweek wasn’t sure if it was supposed to help, but he appreciated the effort.

And Tweek felt bad enough to try grounding himself.

A few receipts sat, all crinkled up, in the cup holders, mostly from Craig’s trips to Tweak Bros, it seemed. The beat of the song picked up, sounding like an overly cheerful blanket over Tweek’s bad mood. Outside, Tweek watched as they left downtown behind, turning down a few side streets until they were pulling up to a house.

Tweek unbuckled his seat belt, stepping out of the van. The air felt colder out here, sharper. The street was quiet—too quiet. His stomach twisted, nerves still coiled tight. He stared down at his shoes, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Okay. He could do this. He could—

A gust of wind hit his face.

Looking around, the street looked too familiar. The cracked sidewalk, the big oak tree by the corner, the stop sign some teenager had once plastered with a “Don’t Stop Believin’” sticker.

He knew this place. His breath hitched as his gaze followed the houses, then—something shifted in his periphery. Familiar. Unmistakable.

His stomach dropped. No. No way.

The porch. The curtains in the window. The stupid mailbox that had always leaned a little too far to the right. A house he hadn’t set foot in for years—but one that had haunted his dreams more times than he cared to admit.

His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out the sound of Craig shifting in his seat. His vision tunneled, focusing on the one place he swore he’d never have to see this close again.

Tweek looked around the familiar road, confused.

“You live here?” Tweek asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Craig parked the car, giving him a confused look. “Yeah?”

Tweek slowly lifted a shaking hand, pointing across the street. “That’s my parents’ place,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Craig’s head snapped toward him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

No. Nope. Absolutely not. This was a nightmare. It had to be. Out of all the places Craig could live—out of the entire goddamn town—it had to be here? Right where his parents could see?

“Oh my God,” he whispered, gripping his arms like he could physically hold himself together. “This is bad.”

Craig turned to glance at the house across the street, eyes narrowing just slightly like he was trying to piece something together.

“…Yeah. That explains some things.” He said. Then, gentler: “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

Tweek didn’t move for a minute, processing. Craig turned to him, holding out a hand. “You ready or what?”

Tweek got a nauseating sense of déjà vu from the day they met.

He took Craig’s hand, almost instinctively. Neither of them said anything as Craig guided Tweek to the door. Tweek followed reluctantly, his legs feeling like jelly beneath him.

The house was modest but cozy, with a small porch and neatly trimmed bushes lining the walkway. Craig opened the front door without hesitation. The scent of vanilla lined the slightly cluttered front room. In the distance, Tweek could hear some jazzy music playing. Something similar to what his dad played at the cafe.

“Mom, I’m home,” Craig called casually. When there was no answer, Craig gave Tweek a look. “And I have company!”

There was some noise from the kitchen, music pausing. And a voice that called: “Is it Tweek?”

Oh God, she already knew his name? How much had Craig told her about him?

“Are you okay?” Craig asked, looking Tweek up and down.

Tweek, stuck in place, shook his head.

Craig hesitated for a second, turning between the hallway beside him—where his mom’s voice had come from—and the stairs ahead, before settling on a decision. “Yeah, but we’re gonna go upstairs real quick first. We’ll be down in a sec, okay?”

His mom started to protest (Tweek couldn’t make out what she said) but Craig was already dragging Tweek up the stairs. Craig guided him down the hall, to a bedroom door that was probably his, if the painted-on, blue stars were anything to go off of.

Tweek followed blindly.

The room was clean and organized. Everything seemed to be labeled and neatly tucked away. (Tweek felt more and more embarrassed over the state of his apartment by the second.)

Craig paused, debating. He studied Tweek for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line like he was weighing his options. Then, finally, he reached for something in his closet. He shuffled around for a minute, before re-emerging with a small, metal tin. “Look,” He said, “This is either going to be a terrible idea or a great idea. But either way, I will get you through this. Do you trust me?”

“W-What?” Tweek asked.

“Do you trust me?” Craig asked again, a seriousness hidden behind his eyes.

Tweek froze, barely thinking about it before saying, “Yes.”

Craig nodded, one sharp nod. He pulled out a blue gummy from the tin, inspecting it between his fingers. He started to hand it to Tweek, before hesitating once again. He pulled back, biting off a little over half of the gummy before reaching it out to Tweek. “Eat this.”

Tweek stared at the half-gummy in Craig’s outstretched hand. His fingers fumbled at his sides.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, “Is that an edible?”

Craig’s face stayed completely neutral, except for the slight raise of his eyebrows. “Yeah? I figured it might help you chill out. Have you ever had one?”

Tweek swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He shook his head. “B-But you saw me at the party. My tolerance is, like—ngh!—nothing.” He ran his hands down his face. “This is—gah!—a bad idea.”

Craig let out a short laugh. (Real comforting.) “That’s why I’m only giving you half.”

Tweek stared at him, then at the gummy, then back at him. “How-How much did you take?”

Craig eyed what was left of the gummy he’d bitten, tilting it back and forth. “More than I’d give you.”

Tweek groaned, really thinking it over. “I don’t know, man, what if—ngh!—what if I freak out? What if I say something—oh God!—weird? What if I—”

Craig nudged his hand forward again. “Or, hear me out, what if you relax for five seconds?”

Tweek stared at the gummy like it might sprout legs and bite him.

Tweek ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he could just breathe through this. Maybe if he counted his heartbeats, tapped his fingers—something! But his chest still felt tight, and his thoughts wouldn’t slow down.

Then there was Craig, standing there like he already had the answer. Like he knew this would work. Like he had already thought this through.

“You said you trust me,” Craig said softly.

And he did. God help him. (Craig hadn’t let him down yet…)

“…Fine,” Tweek muttered, snatching the gummy. “But if this goes bad, I’m blaming you.”

“If anything happens, I’ve got you,” Craig said, too calm, too certain—and just earnest enough to make Tweek’s face burn.

Electing to ignore it, Tweek’s eyes settled back on the half-eaten gummy. With one last nervous twitch of his fingers, he popped it in his mouth. It tasted like blue raspberry chemicals and regret.

Craig nodded approvingly, taking a seat on his bed. He patted the spot beside him.

Tweek hesitated before sitting down with a frustrated sigh. This whole day had been a mess. “This better work.”

“It will,” Craig said, “Give it, like, thirty minutes.”

Tweek let out a weak laugh. “Great. So I just get to sit here and think about how doomed I am until then?”

Craig seemed to think about it for a second. “No.” He stood up, stretching. “I was gonna save this until later, but now’s as good a time as any.”

Tweek hesitated.

Craig walked over to a table on the far side of his room that Tweek hadn’t noticed when they walked in. On top, there was a wirey, metal cage with a few inches of bedding. Inside, Tweek could hear something squeak softly as Craig approached.

“Hey, buddy,” Craig said, voice gentler than Tweek had ever heard him. Fond, almost. “I have someone here to meet you.”

Tweek stood slowly and chanced a few steps forward. He had to lean in to see who Craig was talking to. When he was closer, he could see a nearly geriatric-looking guinea pig. Tweek wasn’t sure how old they usually got, but it was clear that this one had been around for a while. Other than its creeky little wheeks and its scruffy coat, it was hard to tell how old he really was. All that was obvious was how well he had been taken care of.

Beside the cage sat a few pictures, all framed.

The first that Tweek noticed was of Craig and the guinea pig. Craig looked pretty young in the picture, maybe eleven or twelve, and the guinea pig looked pretty young—a little over half the size he was now. The next picture appeared to be a family photo of sorts, with a man that was likely Craig’s dad, a girl that Tweek could guess was his sister, Trisha, and Craig’s mom standing beside him. Craig proudly held the guinea pig, front and center. The only other picture, was, funnily enough, what looked like Craig’s school picture—a bit outdated, but not too bad.

When Craig saw where he was looking, he let out a sigh. “He gets stressed when I go out, so I had to make a little shrine for him to look at while I’m gone.”

Tweek felt his stomach shift. Not bad, like usual, but something… Light. (Like butterflies.)

Craig held out a hand, gesturing for Tweek to ‘come here.’ His hands curled into the fabric of his sweater. Craig didn’t rush him. Just waited, steady and patient.

Tweek took a cautious step forward. Then another.

The cage door clicked open with a soft snick. The scent of hay and cedar bedding hit Tweek’s nose as Craig reached inside, hands careful and practiced. And then—

A soft squeak. Tiny, twitching whiskers.

Before he knew it, Craig was holding the guinea pig right in front of him. It nestled into Craig’s hands, his fur slightly unkempt but still impossibly soft-looking. His dark eyes gleamed, beady and alert.

Tweek swallowed. His heartbeat, still erratic from the past twenty minutes, slowed just a little.

This was… Unexpectedly adorable. A tiny, scruffy thing, just as anxious as he was. Maybe even more. The guinea pig squeaked, shifting in Craig’s palms.

Tweek let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“This is Dr. Stripe Tucker,” Craig introduced as Stripe cuddled into his hands.

“Doctor?” Tweek asked.

“His thesis was on the psyche of test subjects,” Craig answered like it was clockwork. “In other words, guinea pigs.”

Tweek let out a weak laugh.

Craig held out his hands, to let Stripe smell the air near Tweek, testing. “I would let you hold him, but he has this whole thing against other people. He doesn’t even like Trisha.”

“Huh.” Tweek tilted his head. “Then why is he coming up to me?”

Craig paused. His brow furrowed like he was actually thinking about it.

“I dunno,” Craig said finally, shifting the guinea pig in his hands. “Guess he likes you.”

(Kenny’s voice from earlier echoed in Tweek’s head: Have you actually asked?)

“You wanna try to hold him?” Craig asked, holding Stripe out like an offering between them. “I can’t promise he won’t bite but he usually doesn’t draw blood.”

Tweek considered it for a second. Stripe leaned out of Craig’s hands slightly, sniffing the air between them. Tweek held out his hands, though they were already shaking again.

If he dropped Craig’s guinea pig—God, would Craig ever forgive him? Would Stripe?

Craig pressed the tiny, warm bundle into his hands, and… Stripe didn’t panic. Didn’t bite. Didn’t flinch. The guinea pig sniffed at his fingers, then curled up against his palm, pressing his tiny paws against Tweek’s wrist. Warm and soft, completely unafraid.

“Well,” Craig said, looking proud, “you passed the first test.”

Tweek swallowed, unable to stop himself from stroking Stripe’s fur with his thumb. The warmth in his hands seeped into his chest. “…Good.”

Stripe sniffed at his fingers, then curled up against his palm, pressing tiny paws into Tweek’s wrist. Warm and soft. Trusting him.

Tweek blinked. The tension in his shoulders uncoiled, dropping an inch or two, and—without thinking—he exhaled slowly, feeling calm for the first time since stepping out of Craig’s van.

Huh.

His hands weren’t shaking anymore. Stripe shifted in his palms—soft, trusting. And for the first time all day, Tweek remembered he wasn’t doing this alone.

Chapter Text

According to Craig, Stripe had decided that Tweek was cool because after Tweek had him, he refused to return to his owner.

So, there they were, sitting on Craig’s bed—Craig on Tweek’s right, and Stripe on his left. Craig had put on an episode of an old cartoon he liked, to try to calm Tweek down. But, at this point, Stripe was doing most of the work, cozying up to Tweek’s side like he’d always been there.

Tweek had never had a pet, so it was a little strange having a small creature sitting beside him, eyes locked on the screen like he was enjoying the show more than Craig.

Silence settled between them. The kind of silence that would have made Tweek’s skin crawl not even a month ago. But now, with Craig sitting on the bed beside him, completely unbothered, he found himself sinking into it.

Time stretched in a weird way. Maybe five minutes passed. Maybe twenty. Tweek wasn’t sure, but at some point, his body started to feel lighter. His fingers, which had been tense and twitching all day, finally stilled against the blanket.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled. “It’s happening.”

“Hmm?” Craig turned to him, looking concerned before he realized what Tweek was talking about and laughed. “It’s hitting you?”

Tweek nodded, trying to blink off the feeling. He felt… Different. Not in a bad way, just—like his thoughts weren’t trying to choke him out anymore. Like the buzzing anxiety that had been screaming in his head had finally taken a breath.

He turned his head to look at Craig, who was still lounging like he had no cares in the world.

“Do you do this all the time?” Tweek asked.

Craig smirked. “What, breathe?”

Tweek groaned, roughly rubbing his face with his hands. Craig pulled them away from his face, holding them for a moment—his thumbs brushing softly over Tweek’s knuckles—before settling them back into his lap like they were something delicate. Tweek’s heart fluttered. The touch wasn’t demanding. Just there. Steady. Present.

Tweek watched, almost dumbfounded.

Craig nudged his knee against the bed frame. “Not all the time. Just when I want to turn my brain off for a bit. I get my stuff from Kenny’s roommate, actually. Most of us in town do. His dad has a farm. It’s a whole thing.”

“Kyle?!” Tweek asked, sounding more surprised than he thought he would.

Craig laughed, settling a hand onto one of Tweek’s. “Stan,” He corrected.

“Oh. Stan,” Tweek repeated, letting out a breath of relief. He paused, turning back to look at Craig. “You two kind of look alike.”

“That’s the worst thing anyone has ever said to me,” Craig said, shifting his fingers to pet down Tweek’s arm. Tweek shivered at the contact. Craig didn’t mention it, but his fingers slowed, like he’d felt it too. “But I get that a lot, unfortunately.”

“Makes sense,” Tweek said, almost offhandedly, before adding: “That day you were at church when he came through the door first, I-I thought he was you.”

“He cheated, just so you know,” Craig said.

“Ngh—What?” Tweek asked.

“Stan cheated,” Craig said, which didn’t elaborate much. Luckily, he continued. “When we were running to Tweek Bros. after church, he took a shortcut and I got a red light. It’s the only reason he beat me.”

Tweek held back a laugh bubbling in his chest.

“Don’t laugh,” Craig prodded, poking at Tweek’s side with his free hand, forcing out a snort that Craig almost looked proud of. “Stan’s an asshole.”

Tweek shifted, adjusting to make sure Stripe stayed comfortable. He scooted a bit closer, leaning his head on Craig’s shoulder without thinking. “Maybe you did something to piss him off?”

Craig groaned. “I feel like everything I’ve ever done has pissed him off.”

Tweek nudged him with his head.

“Okay, so maybe there was one thing that he’s never really forgiven me for,” Craig amended, “But it wasn’t my fault.”

“What happened?” Tweek prompted.

Craig sighed like he wasn’t sure how to say it. But then, after a brief pause, he said, “I might have kissed his girlfriend.”

Tweek twitched.

“But that was back in middle school,” Craig clarified, “And she kissed me!”

Tweek laughed, and Craig twisted, trying to see his face, but Tweek pulled back, making sure not to crush Stripe in the process.

Craig huffed, turning away. Somehow—even with a bitter rise of anxiety shifting in his gut—Tweek could tell he was faking the offense.

Maybe it was the softness in his eyes, shifting intermittently to glance at Tweek and Stripe (who had somehow crawled his way into Tweek’s lap now). Maybe it was the not-so-subtle quirk to his lips that he was forcing down. Maybe it was the fact that, when Tweek had moved, much like Stripe, Craig’s hand had landed in his lap.

Tweek wasn’t sure, but there was a gentleness about the way Craig presented his faux indignation. It was thoughtful, almost.

“You’re laughing at my trauma,” Craig said flippantly.

Tweek snorted again, and Stripe squeaked disapproval at the movement. “You were twelve, everything was traumatizing.”

Craig paused, seeming to consider that for a second. “Okay, that’s fair. But still rude. I will be suing for emotional damages.”

Tweek relaxed a little, letting his head fall back onto Craig’s shoulder like it had never left. “You’ll never win.”

“Oh really?” Craig asked. He leaned into Tweek. Just slightly. Just enough to be noticed.

His hand stayed on Tweek’s thigh. Neither of them moved it.

Craig’s hand was warm. The kind of warmth that makes your shoulders drop, that tells your brain it can finally stop bracing for something bad.

“Why’s that?”

“I have the best lawyer in town,” Tweek said, presenting Stripe like a prize.

“He’s faking his license,” Craig said, “He could never pass the bar.”

Tweek laughed, setting Stripe back down. The guinea pig shuffled for a second before settling between them. Craig used his free hand to give him a little pat that Stripe squeaked at.

There was a moment of silence between them. Peaceful in a way that Tweek had never known. It was strange, almost, to just sit, without the ever-present buzzing in his brain telling him he was doing something wrong.

Craig’s breathing beside him was oddly soothing, along with the tiny wheeks from Stripe. The cartoon’s cheesy theme song played quietly in the background. A calm had settled over the room like a blanket, and Tweek was surprised that its warmth didn’t suffocate him.

“You know,” He started speaking almost involuntarily, “I’ve never kissed anyone.”

Craig hummed, not uninterested but not putting pressure on the statement.

Tweek flushed, starting to shift away anyway. “Sorry,” he said, “That was—ugh—stupid. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that.”

“It’s not stupid,” Craig turned to him, blue eyes locking in. Something about the way he said it—the look in his eyes, the gentleness, the way it didn’t seem to cross his mind—made Tweek melt a little.

They were close, Tweek realized suddenly. Somehow closer than before, and all he could see was the ocean staring back at him.

Tweek opened his mouth to say something—anything!—but nothing came out.

Craig shifted forward slightly. Slowly. Testing the rippling waters between them, waiting for Tweek to pull away.

But he couldn’t. (Didn’t want to?)

His heart hammered in his chest, so loud that Craig could probably hear it with how close they were.

So close he was able to see flecks of green hidden among the blue he’d gotten so used to. So close he could hear Craig’s breath hitch, almost minutely. So close it didn’t matter to Tweek that his brain was screaming abandon ship! Abandon ship!

Stripe wriggled between them, but even that wasn’t enough to break through whatever was happening between them.

And then, Craig’s eyes flicked down—just a glance—to Tweek’s lips, and Tweek was ready for anything at this point. Fully hypnotized. And then—

Knock, knock, knock!

“Craig?” A girl’s voice called through the door. Trisha, probably. Craig’s sister. “Mom said to come get you. She wants to meet your boyfriend!”

Tweek jumped so hard he almost fell off the bed. Stripe scurried between them, squeaking in protest. Craig cursed under his breath, catching Tweek before he even realized what was happening.

They both froze, eyes locked on the door in a silent staring contest.

It didn’t open, but Trisha’s voice still lingered outside. “Can I come in, or am I about the be traumatized?”

Craig groaned, gaze shifting from Tweek to the door. He seemed to be waiting for something. Tweek shrugged. Craig relented. “You can come in.”

The door opened the second Craig said ‘can,’ and Trisha hurried in. “Co-parenting already, I see?” She pointed to Stripe sitting between them, though they were now a good two feet apart, giving Stripe plenty of room.

Craig got up suddenly, taking Stripe with him back to his cage on the other side of the room. Trisha lingered near the bed, eyeing Tweek like she wasn’t sure what to expect from him.

“We were gonna head down in a minute,” Craig mumbled as he locked Stripe away again, freshly restocked on vegetables.

“Sure,” Trisha said, clearly not believing it. “Come on, I was sent to bring you down to introduce Tweek to Mom, so I can meet him.”

“You’re looking at him?” Craig said.

“Yeah, but I’m not supposed to talk to him until Mom does,” Trisha said with a shrug. And then, completely indiscreetly, she turned to Tweek. “I’m Trisha, by the way. In case this dumbass hasn’t brought me up.”

“I-I’ve heard,” Tweek said.

Trisha looked proud for a second before whirling around to Craig, hands on her hips like she meant business. “You better not be talking shit about me to Tweek.”

Craig rolled his eyes, ignoring her to focus back on Tweek, still stuck on the bed. Passing Trisha, Craig held out a hand to help him up.

Tweek hesitated, still buzzing with nerves—and not just from the edible. His heart hadn’t quite slowed from the maybe almost-kiss, and now it was racing all over again. But Craig’s hand stayed steady, waiting, warm. So he took it.

The moment passed between them like a silent agreement: later.

Craig’s grip was firm but gentle as he helped Tweek to his feet, and for a brief second, they stood too close again—until Trisha cleared her throat and turned on her heel.

“Let’s go, Romeo,” she said. “Mom’s been pacing down there like she has a job interview.”

As they made their way back downstairs, Tweek blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. On the way up, he hadn’t really noticed much—too stressed to care. But now, his mind was clearer, the house settling in around him like a picture finally coming into focus.

Along the stairs were several family photos—each different than the ones Craig had collected for Stripe.

There was one of Craig’s senior pictures, beside a newer school photo of Trisha, both neatly framed. Below that, a picture of the whole family at a beach, sun-drenched and smiling, even Craig, which startled him a little. Another showed who had to be Craig’s mom, holding a baby who looked like Trisha, with a noticeably younger Craig peeking in from the corner, mid-eye-roll even as a child.

And then, they were in the kitchen. That same woman in the photo stood with her back to them. She busied herself with a pot, simmering over the stove. It smelled amazing, whatever it was. Tweek couldn’t tell, but there was definitely garlic in it.

“I did the deed,” Trisha said, sounding solemn.

Craig’s mom turned around. “I didn’t want you to kill them, Trish. I said bring them down.”

“Gotta be more specific next time,” Trisha teased, making her way to the stove to take over the pot without question.

Craig’s mom rolled her eyes, bumping Trisha’s side with her hip as she walked past, finally ending up in front of Craig and him.

When her eyes finally locked on Tweek, they lit up. They were that same blue that Tweek couldn’t seem to get away from. “So this is the famous Tweek?”

Tweek froze. That was a big title to live up to. “Um…”

“Mom, don’t start. You’re gonna scare him,” Craig said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Don’t start what?” Craig’s mom asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just excited to finally meet the person who’s been getting you out of the house.” She turned to Tweek, a warm smile on her face. “I’m Laura. It’s good to meet you, honey. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tweek stuttered out, “Thanks for having me.”

“Oh, please,” she said, waving him off. “Any friend of Craig’s is family here.”

“She’s only saying that because Craig never brings anyone over,” Trisha added from behind them.

Mrs. Tucker hushed her. “What took you so long to come down? Are you boys okay?”

“Yeah,” Craig said, “We took half an edible and hung out with Stripe upstairs some.”

Tweek choked. How could Craig just tell his mom that? Would they be in trouble? He was never getting invited back here—!

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Laura said calmly, without missing a beat. “So don’t go raiding the snack drawer.”

That was it. No judgment. No lecture. Not even a follow-up question.

Tweek blinked at her. “Are you… Serious?”

Laura looked over her shoulder, confused. “What do you mean, honey?”

Tweek turned to Craig, like he would be able to explain what Tweek couldn’t understand. Craig looked equally confused, though. Unhelpful.

Tweek shifted. “You’re just cool with that?”

Laura laughed, putting a soft hand on Tweek’s arm. “Trust me, I’ve learned to pick my battles with these two.”

Craig crossed his arms. “Mom.”

“What?” Laura asked, giving Craig a pointed look. “You've done way worse.” She turned back to Tweek, like she was telling a secret. “When he was ten, he ran off to join some Peruvian flute band.”

“Those assholes still owe me a hundred dollars,” Craig said like Tweek was supposed to know who he was talking about.

Laura tsked. “You’ve gotta get better about holding grudges, sweetie. You get that from your dad.”

“Aren’t you still upset that Mrs. Biggle hasn’t given back your good casserole dish?” Trisha asked.

“That’s different, sweetie,” Mrs. Tucker said, letting Tweek go to take her place back at the stove. “Good casserole dishes are hard to come by, and Harriet knows that.”

“Mhm,” Trisha said, but she gave Tweek a look that said she didn’t believe her. “So, Tweek, why is someone as cool as you hanging out with my brother?”

Tweek blinked at her, caught off guard by the question. “I—ngh—wouldn’t say I’m cool…”

“I would,” Craig said easily.

“You don’t stop saying it,” Trisha said pointedly. "All you ever talk about is how cool Tweek is."

Tweek glanced at Craig to gauge how true that was. Craig just shrugged it off. Nothing in his posture seemed to deny Trisha’s claims.

Tweek shifted. “I don’t know.” He answered honestly.

There were about a billion reasons building up in his brain, but none of them exactly pinned it down. Craig was sweet. And gentle and strong, which still didn’t make sense to Tweek. He was sturdy. Unbothered. Unmoving. Craig was there in a way that Tweek had never experienced. Reliable. Understanding.

“He just… Gets me in a way no one else does,” Tweek settled on, even though the words made him a little nauseous.

Craig’s eyes met his. Blue and beaming. And maybe it was the edible, but Tweek fell into them.

Trisha’s snort broke the moment like a pin to a balloon. “God, that was so gross. I’m gonna throw up. You two are like, one declaration away from a Hallmark movie.”

Tweek flushed red enough to match the tomatoes Laura was slicing. “I-I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I think you did,” Trisha shot back with a toothy grin that almost reminded Tweek of Kenny. “Please! At least wait until I’m out of the room before you start professing your undying love or whatever.”

“Trish, be nice,” Laura warned, sliding the cutting board over to Tweek. “Here, sweetheart—can you help toss the salad?”

“Mom,” Craig stepped in, “You can’t make me invite him over to use him as free labor.”

“Well, Craig, would you like to do it?” His mom asked.

Craig stepped back. “Hell no. What if I touch a tomato?”

Tweek laughed. “I don’t mind.”

He grabbed the wooden salad tongs and started carefully mixing the vegetables in the big glass bowl. Laura had already laid everything out—romaine, diced tomatoes, cucumber, thin slices of red onion, and crumbled feta. There was even a small dish of sliced almonds on the side. It was too nice to just be a casual dinner.

“You’re doing great,” Craig said, sidling up behind him and peeking over his shoulder.

Tweek jumped. “Ngh! Don’t sneak up on me while I’m tossing things!”

“You’re tossing them too gently,” Trisha said, “You’ve gotta get violent.”

“Here,” Craig reached over, lightly guiding Tweek’s hands to demonstrate as if he hadn’t just said he hadn’t wanted to do it himself.

Laura looked over her shoulder. “Hey! No double-handling unless you two are married.”

Tweek made a noise that could have passed for a steam kettle.

Craig just grinned. “You heard her. We’d better get on that.”

“Craig!” Tweek protested.

Trisha leaned on the counter like she was watching live entertainment. “Please elope. I wanna see Mom try to plan a wedding in two weeks.”

“Oh, please,” Laura muttered. “It wouldn’t take that long. I already have a Pinterest board.”

Craig looked appalled. “Why do you have a wedding board?”

“For fun! I plan a lot of imaginary weddings,” Laura sounded proud. “I’m sure if we did matching tuxes…”

“I’m not wearing a matching tuxedo,” Craig said immediately.

“Please don’t say something gross like ‘he’d wear it better,’ please,” Trisha pleaded.

“I can’t even tie a tie—” Tweek muttered, cheeks redder than the tomatoes in the salad.

“That’s okay,” Craig said, right against Tweek’s ear now. He almost dropped the tongs—and half the salad. “I’d do it for you.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to see each other before the wedding?” Trisha teased.

Before Tweek could reply—or combust—a key jangled at the front door.

“That’ll be Dad,” Laura said with the click of the burner turning off.

“Hey!” A deep voice came from the entryway. “Where is everybody?”

Craig stiffened immediately. His hands slid off Tweek’s, and he stepped back, retreating to the other side of the counter like someone had just flipped a switch.

“In the kitchen!” Laura called, starting to sort out the pots on the stove. “Trish, can you start setting the table?”

Trisha flitted through the cabinets, pulling out plates, cups, and bowls with a militant-like efficiency.

The man who stepped in was tall, sharp around the edges in a way Craig sometimes was. He was balding some, with red hair like Trisha’s covering parts of his head. His eyes were dark, also like Trisha’s, but there was something familiar behind them. Something… Dangerous.

Craig’s dad scanned the room, locking onto Tweek almost immediately. His expression didn’t change much, but it held an appraising look that wasn’t cold, but wasn’t warm either.

“Who’s this?”

No one answered right away.

Then Laura spoke, too casually. “That’s Tweek, hon. Craig’s friend.”

Thomas’s eyes didn’t leave him. “Friend, huh?”

Tweek felt his throat close. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dry little noise, like a hiccup or maybe the start of a word he couldn’t finish.

Thomas stared at him for a second longer. Then, without warning, he held out a calloused hand. “Thomas Tucker.”

Tweek scrambled to wipe his hands on a nearby towel and gave what he hoped was a decent handshake.

Thomas nodded, apparently satisfied. “Not bad. You make the salad?”

“Y-Yeah. Kind of. Mrs. Tucker chopped everything. I just—ngh—tossed it.”

“Salad’s the most important part. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” Thomas said solemnly, moving to kiss Laura on the cheek and steal an extra cucumber slice.

Craig was leaning on the far counter now, arms crossed, unreadable. Tweek had the sudden, stupid urge to reach for him, but the space between them felt wider than it had all night.

He almost hadn’t noticed how touchy Craig had been until it was gone. (Part of him missed it. Another part of him wondered why.)

Laura moved in again, lightening the mood without breaking stride. “Tweek was a huge help. And he’s polite, which is more than I can say for some people.”

“I’m polite,” Craig muttered.

“You’re stoned,” Laura replied, smacking his arm gently with a wooden spoon.

“I’m lightly mellowed,” Craig said.

Thomas huffed a breath—maybe a laugh, maybe not—and turned to wash his hands at the sink. The water ran loudly in the quiet that followed.

Tweek stood awkwardly beside the salad, trying to look like someone who belonged there. Like someone who wasn’t suddenly spiraling into secondhand shame.

Craig watched him, jaw tight. He hadn’t said much, but his shift in posture, the distance, the way he avoided even brushing against Tweek now—it all said plenty.

“Boys, why don’t you go help Trisha?” Laura offered them an easy out.

Whether she meant to or not, Tweek appreciated it as he followed Craig into the other room.

They got in right as Trisha dropped her stack of bowls on table with a little too much force. “This is gonna be the most awkward dinner since Grandma tried to come out as a libertarian.”

“I still have nightmares,” Craig murmured.

And then Craig’s parents were joining them, all too soon.

Thomas looked over his shoulder at Tweek. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Tweek nodded quickly, even though Mr. Tucker wasn’t looking anymore. “Y-Yeah. Thanks for having me.”

Thomas didn’t reply.

Everyone took their apparent usual spots, with Thomas glaring down at him from the head of the table. Tweek swallowed his pride and took the seat next to Craig. And for the first time in hours, he felt completely out of place.

Chapter Text

Dinner was as delicious as it smelled, though that was hard to focus on with the sudden tension in the room. Tweek kept his eyes on his plate, letting the rhythm of eating keep his hands busy. His stomach was tight, but he forced himself to chew—if only to avoid the silence stretching around the table.

Craig passed him a cucumber slice under the table like it was a secret. Tweek stabbed it with his fork and took a bite, pretending not to notice the way Mr. Tucker’s eyes narrowed.

The food was good. Warm, comforting. But it sat oddly in his chest, like it wasn’t meant to be enjoyed under scrutiny.

No one said it out loud, but the conversation had already happened—just not with words.

Then Laura tried to ease the silence.

“So, Tweek,” she said, smiling warmly. “Craig tells us you work at your parents’ coffee shop?”

Tweek blinked, a little surprised to be addressed so directly. “Uh—yeah. Since I was—gah!—five.”

“Oh, that’s impressive,” Laura said. “It’s hard enough to get Craig to wash a dish.”

“Hey,” Craig said without looking up.

Trisha snorted. “Do you make the drinks? Like the fancy ones?”

“Yeah,” Tweek nodded, relaxing a little. (This was his element, whether or not he liked to admit it.) “Lattes, cold brew, even pour overs. Our—ngh—training videos are of me when I was, like, eleven, which is awful.”

That got a laugh out of everyone but Thomas. Even Craig cracked a small grin.

“Do you want to go into the business someday?” Laura asked.

Tweek hesitated, then he let out a nervous laugh. “Um. I’ve never been asked that. My parents just kinda… Decided I would. Family business and all…”

Laura hummed at that. “But what do you want to do?”

Tweek blinked. “Oh. Um. I guess… I could stay at the shop. I like the routine. A-And I’m good at it. But sometimes I think it’d be nice to—to try ssomething—ngh!—different.” He twirled his fork absentmindedly. “Maybe something quieter. Less… People.”

“That makes sense,” Craig said. 

Tweek shrugged it off. “Yeah, um, I don’t know. I’m taking some basic online classes r-right now.”

“Anything you’re thinking of going into?” Laura asked. “College is a good start.”

“I-I don’t know,” Tweek said honestly. “Something small. Something mine.”

He felt Craig’s hand squeeze his from under the table. Gentle. Encouraging. Tweek didn’t realize how much he’d missed these small reassurances until Mr. Tucker had arrived. 

Laura nodded kindly. “That’s a good instinct. There’s nothing wrong with small.”

Trisha sent him an encouraging smile. “Honestly, that sounds kind of nice.”

Tweek smiled, shoulders loosening just a little. For the first time since sitting down, it felt like maybe he could just be here—no explanation required.

And then—

“So,” Thomas said, voice cutting through like the scrape of a chair on tile. Calm. Too calm. “Are you two… Together?”

Tweek choked on his water.

Craig’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

The moment shrank in on itself.

“Now, Thomas,” Laura said, her tone clipped, warning.

“I feel like it’s a reasonable question,” Thomas continued, gesturing vaguely with his fork between the two boys. “Considering the amount of time you spend together.”

“Really, dad?” Trisha muttered. 

Thomas hesitated. “Well, just… How close you are. The… Uh, sleepovers. The—”

“What if we were?” Craig asked.

It was quiet. Forks paused mid-air. Tweek’s throat clicked as he swallowed.

Thomas stabbed at his plate. “Then I’d want to know. Because it’s important for you to be honest with us.”

“About what?” Craig asked, more evenly now. “Who we hang out with?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Thomas said, his voice tightening.

“I’m not,” Craig mumbled. “You’re the one asking dumb questions.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Then Trisha reached for the Parmesan like nothing had happened.

Thomas let out a slow exhale, the kind that tried to disguise frustration as restraint. He set his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin even though it was already clean.

“I lost my appetite,” he said, pushing his chair back. The legs scraped loudly against the floor.

He stood, straightening his shirt like he needed something to fix. Then, without looking at anyone, he walked out of the room.

His footsteps receded down the hall.

Tweek stared down at his plate. His stomach felt like it had been swapped out for a stone.

No one moved for a long moment.

Then Craig reached out under the table—just a quick brush of fingers against Tweek’s knee. Not much. But enough.

Laura cleared her throat softly, the sound paper-thin. “Well,” she said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “The food’s not going to eat itself.”

Trisha nodded, still chewing like nothing had happened. “Seriously, this pasta is insane.”

Tweek let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He glanced at Craig, who offered the smallest tilt of his head—you okay?—and Tweek nodded once. Barely.

They both picked at what was left on their plates, but the mood had shifted permanently. The warmth hadn’t quite returned.

When Laura started collecting dishes, Craig stood up too.

“We’ll take ours upstairs,” he said, grabbing his and Tweek’s plates without waiting for permission.

Laura just nodded, giving Tweek a faint look that almost read as sorry.

Trisha offered them both a thumbs-up, as if she wasn’t sure what else to do.

Tweek followed Craig out of the room, his footsteps light behind Craig’s steady ones. The air in the hallway felt cooler somehow—less stifling.

But as they reached the stairs, Thomas’s voice came low and sharp from the hallway.

“Craig. A word.”

Craig paused, one foot on the step. He didn’t look back. His eyes landed on Tweek, softening slightly. “Go on up. I’ll meet you up there.”

His tone left no room for argument, not that Tweek wanted to. He felt like such a coward as he marched up the stairs like he was told. He didn’t look back as he climbed. He didn’t want to. The quiet behind him felt like a knife waiting to fall.

He reached the top landing and hovered there for a second, listening. Just in case. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Craig’s voice was low. Not quite angry, but definitely bordering on it.

“I just asked a question,” Mr. Tucker replied. Just as quiet. Controlled. “One that you still haven’t answered, by the way—”

“You wanted to corner me,” Craig shot back. 

A pause. Then, the soft shuffle of Thomas shifting his weight. 

“I asked because I care.”

“What do you want me to say?” Craig asked evenly.

“I want you to be honest,” Mr. Tucker said.

“I am,” Craig said, “Tweek is just a friend.”

“You’ve never been this close to anyone,” Thomas said, “If there’s something going on, I need to know.”

“Why?”

That stopped Thomas for a second. He cleared his throat, like that would help him come up with something to say. After a moment, he offered, “Because I’m your father.”

“Then why are you interrogating me?”

“Because you haven’t said anything,” Mr. Tucker said.

Craig’s voice came quieter now, but no less firm. “Maybe there’s nothing to say.”

“You expect me to believe that?” His father asked. “You’re being defensive.”

“I wonder why!”

The pause in the air was heavy. Tweek barely breathed. The moment felt vacuum-sealed.

“Are you..?” Thomas said, his voice quieter now. Less sharp. Like the words tasted wrong even as he said them.

Another pause. Heavier than the last. 

“You can’t even say it,” Craig said. Steady, like he’d expected it.

The silence stretched out between them.

After another beat, Craig let out a humorless laugh. “Goodnight, dad.”

More silence. Tweek’s hands had gone clammy. He wanted to walk away, but couldn’t stop listening.

“I—” Thomas tried. “Goodnight, son.”

Tweek stepped back quickly as Craig’s footsteps came up the stairs, slow and measured. He looked calm, face unreadable, plates still in his hands.

But when he pushed open the bedroom door and Tweek followed him inside, the quiet shut in around them like a lid.

Craig set the plates down on his desk with more force than necessary. Then he stood there, not moving.

“You heard all that, didn’t you?” He asked, still facing away.

Tweek hesitated. “I—” His voice caught. Unconvincing. “Yes.”

Craig deflated against his desk. 

Tweek panicked for a second, not sure what to do. Everything had gone bad so fast, he was still struggling to catch up. And now Craig, the strongest person he’d ever met, was down

His mind flashed back to Kenny in the cafe. “Jesus, you’re worse at this than I am!” It was innocent at the time. A playful jab to distract him from his growing anxiety. But now, with Craig slumped against his desk, it hit a nerve. 

And then he realized something kind of dumb. 

Kenny had said Tweek was worse at comfort than he was. Kenny, who had been his one real supporter the past month and a half. Kenny, who was probably better at handling other people’s feelings than his own.

Kenny, who thought he was bad at comforting people but still tried. 

Even when he didn’t have the words. Even when it made things messy. And, somehow, that worked better than doing it ‘right.’

Tweek stood there for another second, frozen in the middle of the room. Craig hadn’t moved. His shoulders were tight, like they were bracing for something. Maybe for Tweek to say the wrong thing. Maybe to say nothing at all.

And Tweek—God, he wanted to say something right. Something smart and cool and comforting. But his brain was doing that thing again, where it spun too fast and gave him nothing useful. His hands twitched at his sides.

So instead of thinking, he moved.

He crossed the room and stood beside Craig. Not touching. Just close enough to be there.

Craig didn’t look at him, but he didn’t move away either.

“I suck at this,” Tweek said softly.

Craig let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I mean it,” Tweek continued. “I freeze up, or say the wrong thing, or panic. It’s like… I’m trying to do calculus in my head while someone’s yelling in my ear.”

Still no response. But Craig’s breathing was quieter now. Not so shallow.

“But…” Tweek breathed. “I want to help. If—If I can.”

Craig didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. His shoulders were bunched to his ears, like if he tried hard enough he could block the whole world out. 

Tweek wondered if he’d already messed up. 

But then, he remembered: he’d been here before. Worse, really. And every time, even when he was alone, he’d made his way out—through sheer force of will or something more powerful. Tweek had made it here. To help Craig. 

So, with one big breath, he started talking. “I don’t really know what to say, but I guess no one ever does. Not really. I—I guess I should start with letting you know that I’m here for you. (Even though that’s a little obvious.) And if you want to talk about things I’m all ears.”

Craig shifted. Barely. If Tweek weren’t looking like his life depended on it, he wouldn’t have seen. 

“But you don’t have to talk, either,” Tweek continued, “Since it’s family stuff, and I know family stuff is kind of the worst. You would know. You’ve met most of my family.”

Tweek laughed. “And now I’ve met some of yours.”

He paused, gauging Craig’s reaction. Craig was always hard to read, but Tweek had started to understand the little things. The cracks between the mask. 

Craig’s arms were tense, like they were the only thing holding him up against the desk. He kept his head angled away, but Tweek knew the sound of frustrated tears when he saw it—had experienced it enough times to know the tight feeling in his chest at hearing it. For a second, Tweek was worried they would be stuck like this. He had to remind himself to take control. 

“Hey,” He said gently, putting a hand on one of Craig’s arms. “Let’s sit down, okay?”

Craig didn’t put up much of a fight, other than keeping his head down. He followed Tweek back to the bed, and sat beside him. And things were quiet for a moment. 

Finally, before Tweek could stop himself, he said, “I care about you.” His hand had landed on Craig’s. Not quite holding it, but close enough. “A lot. A-And it’s not because you’re at the coffee shop every day and I like consistency. Or—Or because you invited me to that party and tried to make me feel included the whole time. Or, even, because you’re really good at secretly giving me the parts of your salad you don’t like under the table. That was like—half your salad, by the way. Are you still hungry?”

Craig was looking at him now. With wide, wet blue eyes. Soft and intense, and deeper than any body of water Tweek had ever seen. 

Tweek didn’t think he’d ever miss someone looking at him like he did with Craig. 

He paused to take it in. 

“Hi,” Tweek said, almost on instinct, like his aunts would say hi when one of his baby cousins looked their way. Like it was all he knew how to say. 

“Hi,” Craig said back. Softer. Testing. 

For a beat, neither of them said anything else. The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It felt tentative—curious. Like they were figuring out what came next together.

Then Craig blinked a few times and looked down at their hands—Tweek’s still resting near his—and said, “You’re a lot.”

Tweek winced. Craig did too.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Craig said quickly, shaking his head. “I mean, you’re very… here. And real. And kind of loud.”

“Oh,” Tweek said, uncertain.

Craig swallowed. “I usually don’t like that. But I like you.”

Tweek shifted, trying to understand what Craig meant by that, when it hit him. “Were you trying to compliment me?”

“I’m working on it,” Craig said.

Tweek didn’t say anything else. He just shifted his fingers the last inch forward until they touched Craig’s—really touched—and didn’t move away.

Chapter Text

Tweek had never felt well-rested in his life. Every day felt like a constant cycle of not enough sleep, not enough coffee, not enough time. Never enough. But the day after meeting Craig’s family, he woke up without being tired for the first time in his life.

Shifting in bed, he wondered briefly if it was a fluke. An illusion. A facade. A dream within a dream, perhaps?

But, without opening his eyes, nothing changed.

Until something beside him groaned.

Flying off the mattress, Tweek didn’t expect carpet below his feet. He didn’t expect blue walls and star-shaped stickers. He couldn’t have expected the offended squeak of Stripe the guinea pig, behind him, if someone paid him.

Unlike in his apartment, Craig spared him a glare, setting his phone on his chest from where he was scrolling. “Morning.”

“What time is it?” Tweek asked, dreading the answer to his question. He was supposed to work today! How on earth had he been so irresponsible last night? Had he even set an alarm?

He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembered the warmth. And the quiet. And the odd sense of comfort that seemed to carry over into the calm of the morning.

“Six,” Craig said, “You work at seven-thirty, right?”

Tweek nodded dumbly.

“Wanna come with me to bring Trish to school, and I’ll take you to work?” Craig offered.

Again, Tweek nodded.

Craig sent him a soft look. “You want something else to wear?” He started to get up without an answer, opening his closet and shuffling through things. Tweek was ready to decline when Craig continued: “I know you literally live upstairs, but it might be less stressful to get ready before we go, in case we run into any snags on the way.”

Tweek hesitated. “I-I guess that makes sense.”

Craig reemerged from his closet. “These should fit you. We’re probably about the same size.”

He handed Tweek a soft, forest green hoodie and a pair of well-worn jeans. He stood for a second, awkward, before shuffling to the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready.”

Before Tweek could answer, Craig was gone.

He let out a sigh as he compartmentalized. His phone sat on the nightstand, plugged in (thank god). And, like Craig had said, the time read 6:03.

Tweek pulled on the hoodie first. It smelled vaguely like laundry detergent and something else he couldn’t name—something warm and lived-in. It was soft from one too many washes, and the sleeves fell over his hands a little, but it would work. The jeans fit better than he expected, maybe a little loose in the waist, but they felt like clothes someone could breathe in.

He made a quick stop in the bathroom to splash water on his face and run his hands through his hair. It didn’t help much, but it made him feel like he had some kind of control over his morning.

Downstairs, the kitchen light was already on.

Trisha was seated at the table, swinging her legs and crunching loudly on dry cereal, sipping a big cup of milk intermittently. Craig leaned against the counter, sipping from a chipped mug. The unforgettable smell of coffee lingered in the air.

“Morning, Tweek,” Trisha greeted.

“Want some breakfast?” Craig asked, setting down his mug to open a cabinet. “We don’t have anything fancy, but if you’re nice, Trisha might share her Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”

“Don’t offer my cereal, Craigory.” Trisha shoved another spoonful in her mouth.

“You never finish a box,” Craig shot back.

“I don’t need anything,” Tweek held up his hands in surrender.

Trisha looked Tweek up and down. “Hmm… Humble. I like it. You may have some if you want. I’ll allow it.”

“Seriously,” Tweek said, taking a seat at the table in front of Trisha. “I’m good. I get free breakfast at work.”

“Oh, yeah,” Trisha said thoughtfully. “The pastries there are so good.”

“Tweek makes them,” Craig offered.

Trisha turned to Craig with wide eyes. “Craig, if you don’t marry him, I will.”

“You’re seventeen,” Craig said flatly.

“Guess you’ll just have to marry him,” Trisha said, sounding resigned. “Bummer.”

Craig chugged the rest of his coffee like his life depended on it.

Trisha laughed. “You know, Tweek, you’ve given him a real caffeine problem. He never used to drink coffee before.”

“What?” Tweek squeaked.

Craig ignored the comment, motioning toward the door with his thumb. “We should head out soon. Trish wants to pick up Karen.”

“She says thank you, by the way,” Trisha said, getting one last mouthful of cereal.

Tweek stood and stretched as Trisha started to clean up her breakfast.

“I call shotgun,” Trisha called as she grabbed her backpack from the floor.

“You are literally a child,” Craig said, giving Tweek a look that said she would not be getting the front seat. He started toward the front door, and Tweek trailed behind, pulling the hoodie sleeves over his hands.

“Okay, maybe Tweek can have the front seat,” Trisha amended, “I’ll sit with Karen in the back.”

“Good idea,” Craig said as he put on his shoes.

The morning air was crisp when they stepped outside, the sun just barely cresting the rooftops. Craig unlocked the car with a beep, and Trisha tossed her bag in the backseat before sliding in after it.

She shot her head out after a moment. “Come on, slow pokes!”

Craig shot Trisha a dry look but didn’t comment beyond grumbling under his breath. He opened the passenger door for Tweek, motioning with a tilt of his head. Tweek mumbled a quick thanks and slid in.

Tweek was almost too tired to notice his parents’ house sitting ahead, almost ominously. The kitchen light was on there, too. He wondered who was up.

Craig got in and started the engine. The radio was low, just background noise, and they drove in companionable quiet until they pulled up in front of a small house with a sloped lawn. Karen was already outside, waiting on the porch with her backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Hey!” Trisha called, sliding the door open before Craig had fully stopped the car.

Karen bounded down the steps. As she opened the door and climbed into the backseat, her eyes landed on Tweek—and lingered for just a second longer.

“Karen, this is Tweek,” Trisha introduced, “Tweek, Karen.”

“Tweek Tweak?” Karen asked, and for once, Tweek knew why.

“Yeah,” Tweek said, “You’re Kenny’s sister, right?”

“You know Kenny?” Trisha asked.

“They work together,” Karen answered, turning back to Tweek. “Kenny’s mentioned you.”

Tweek wondered, briefly, if that was good or not.

Craig took over before Tweek could overthink. “You buckled?”

“Yes, Dad,” the girls chorused.

Craig rolled his eyes but pulled off the curb, toward the high school.

Tweek had only seen it a handful of times, since he hadn’t gone. Students buzzed around it like bees, and somehow just as threatening (Tweek was allergic).

Trisha and Karen got out without a reaction, joining the other teenagers and heading toward the building. Before they were out of earshot, Trisha called out some sort of goodbye, flipping them off before Karen was laughing, and dragging her toward the entrance.

Once the girls were out of sight, the quiet in the car stretched long.

Craig didn’t move right away. He just sat there, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, watching the teens flood the school entrance like it was a wildlife documentary.

Tweek glanced at him, tugging the hoodie sleeves down over his hands again. “Hey, uh… thanks. For letting me stay over.”

Craig tilted his head, still watching the sidewalk. “You didn’t snore, so you’re welcome anytime.”

Tweek snorted, soft. “Sorry if I made things weird.”

“You didn’t.” Craig finally turned to him. “Not even a little.”

The air between them shifted—barely—but enough. Tweek felt it in his chest before his brain could catch up. The space in the car suddenly felt small, and the quiet stopped being comfortable. It was charged. Not dangerous. Not bad. Just… Something.

Craig was still looking at him. Calm. Like always. But his eyes lingered a second too long. Tweek didn’t look away.

Neither of them spoke.

Tweek swallowed. “So. Work.”

“Right.” Craig blinked, as if shaking himself out of something. He shifted into gear and pulled back onto the road.

The drive to the coffee shop was short, but the silence didn’t go away. It hung between them like a question neither of them was brave enough to ask.

Craig parked in front of the store, engine still running.

Tweek didn’t move to get out right away.

“Thanks again,” he said, and then, impulsively, added, “It was nice meeting your mom and Trisha. And just… Being there with you.”

Neither of them talked about Craig’s dad. Not now. Instead, Craig turned to him, a soft look in his eyes.

“You’re welcome anytime,” Craig said, “I think my mom would be offended if you didn’t come over again.”

Tweek nodded, suddenly aware of how close they were in the quiet car. He could feel the heat of the hoodie, still faintly carrying Craig’s scent. His heartbeat felt louder than the soft hum of the engine.

There was a pause.

And then—Craig reached over. Just briefly. His fingers brushed Tweek’s wrist, gentle, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch him.

“You looked like you actually slept,” Craig murmured, half a smile playing on his lips. He brushed some of Tweek’s hair back like it was second nature. “That’s a first.”

Tweek’s breath hitched. He didn’t pull away. “I think I did.”

Craig’s hand lingered another beat—then he fully withdrew.

“Go make your fancy coffee,” he said, like nothing had happened. But his voice was quieter. Almost careful.

Tweek opened the door with shaky fingers. “See you later?”

Craig nodded once. “I’ll be in tomorrow morning.”

That shouldn’t have made Tweek’s chest flutter. But it did.

He stepped out and shut the door behind him, trying not to think too hard about it. About the warmth in his chest or the phantom feel of Craig’s fingers on his skin.

He pushed the door to the shop open, the bell jingling above his head. The smell of espresso hit him like a wave, grounding.

For the first time in longer than he could remember… He didn’t feel tired.

And then Kenny started speaking.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day that you, Tweek Tweak, did the walk of shame into work,” Kenny said, almost proudly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tweek said, brushing past Kenny to grab a spare apron. No point going upstairs now—he was already exposed.

“Mhm.” Kenny didn’t seem convinced. Tweek didn’t blame him. “Is that Craig’s hoodie I see?”

Tweek whirled around, trying not to seem flustered. “How do you know it’s his?”

“Because you didn’t go to South Park High School, so you sure as hell weren’t on our baseball team,” Kenny teased.

Tweek looked down at his chest, glaring at the faded cow mascot.

“Plus, the back says Tucker,” Kenny said, like that wasn’t his first hint.

Tweek scurried to the back room, pausing briefly to quip back. “Is that Kyle’s sweater?”

Kenny stopped, seeming to think about his answer for a moment before settling on: “Touché.”

Tweek reemerged with an apron, tying it haphazardly around his waist as he went. As he finally got settled by the bar, giving it a quick wipe, he could feel Kenny’s eyes on him.

“So, how did it go?” Kenny asked when he finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. “His mom is super cool, right?”

“Yeah,” Tweek agreed, “His mom was cool. His dad was… Different.”

“Tracks,” Kenny said, “That guy’s probably homophobic.”

“We’re not dating,” Tweek said automatically. “But yeah, he was not super happy when he thought we were.”

Kenny gave him a sympathetic look before something mischievous settled behind his eyes. “Guess it wasn’t a total bust, though.”

“Huh?”

“You spent the night, you’re wearing his clothes, and you got a ride to work?” Kenny pointed out.

Tweek rolled his eyes. “He dropped me off after Trisha and Karen.”

“She told me she met you,” Kenny said, “And that Craig looks at you like a lovesick puppy.”

“Oh my god,” Tweek muttered, “It’s not like that.”

“You met his mom and spent the night,” Kenny said like it was obvious, “I hate to break it to you but that’s relationship stuff, Tweek.”

Tweek didn’t answer. His ears were pink. He groaned, leaning his head on the espresso machine.

A customer walked in, and Kenny shot him a look that this wasn’t over as he did his best customer-service greeting. Tweek fumbled through the first part of their drink, hoping Kenny would drop it. When the customer left, Kenny’s eyes were right back to Tweek who sort of wished he hadn’t come in today.

“Okay,” Kenny said, “Let’s set the record straight once and for all. Did you or did you not sleep in his bed?”

Tweek hesitated. That was all Kenny needed, apparently.

“Jesus Christ, Tweek,” Kenny said, “Thats—”

“I tried an edible,” Tweek confessed in one breath. Anything to get Kenny distracted enough to back off.

Kenny’s mouth actually dropped open. “You? An edible?”

Tweek nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah. It was like… Barely a quarter of a gummy, but yeah.”

“Damn,” Kenny breathed, sounding impressed. “I can’t believe he got you to take an edible.”

Tweek shrugged it off, but Kenny was already slipping back into dangerous territory.

“I’m so proud of you,” Kenny said, “You’re trying so many new things these days.”

Tweek flushed this time.

He turned away, pretending to refill the syrup bottles even though they were all full. “You’re making it weird. It’s not a big deal.”

“I don’t know,” Kenny said, a spark behind his eyes. “You’ve changed. There’s a pep in your step now, Tweek. It’s not subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Tweek muttered.

“You’re in love, baby,” Kenny leaned on the counter, clearly delighted.

Tweek groaned again, hiding behind the milk steamer. “Stop.”

“Oh, come on,” Kenny begged, “You can’t be the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“No one sees anything,” Tweek argued, “Because there’s nothing to see.”

“I see it,” Kenny shot back, “And Trisha. And Karen. And that lady who orders a nonfat, decaf mocha every Thursday—the one who’s legally blind.”

Tweek turned back to his second biggest enemy (after Kenny, at this point), the stain on the counter. He scrubbed at it dry this time. Kenny didn’t comment.

“Come on, man,” Kenny said, “You know I’m kidding. Mostly. Just include me in your wedding speech and I’ll let it go.”

Tweek couldn’t help it—he laughed, short and sharp, half a wheeze. “God, shut up.”

Kenny’s grin settled into something else. Considering. “Did you like being high or did you get all paranoid, like Ky does?”

Tweek thought about it for a second. “It was nice, actually. I’ve never felt… Relaxed, like that?”

“That’s good,” Kenny said, “I was a little worried, honestly. It’s a little ballsy of Craig to test that out on a whim like that.”

Tweek wasn’t sure it was that much of a gamble. Craig knew him so well that he was sure Craig had thought about it enough to weigh his options. Tweek deliberately did not bring up the thought.

Instead, he decided to clarify something. “Um, Craig said he gets his stuff from Stan?”

Kenny looked him over for a second. “You wanna come by when we’re out and get some stuff? I think he’s home.”

Tweek froze. Other than the party, he had never seen Kenny outside of work. And here Kenny was, casually inviting him over. A few weeks ago, Tweek probably would have thrown up at the idea, too anxious to think rationally. Now, it just felt… nice. Like he wasn’t an outsider anymore.

Tweek smiled. “If you’re not busy, that’d be cool, I think.”

“I’ll have you know you have to pay the toll,” Kenny said, super serious suddenly.

Tweek was starting to regret his decision. “W-What?”

“You have to smoke with me,” Kenny said sorrowfully, “We need to get rid of some of our shitty blunts somehow.”

Tweek let out a sigh of relief, throwing his cleaning cloth in Kenny’s direction, and making the other blonde laugh.

“You should have seen your face,” he snorted, “You’re too easy to mess with, Tweek.”

“Ugh,” Tweek groaned, rubbing at his eyes with closed fists. Part of him didn’t mind the teasing. It was almost like things were normal again, despite the air of change echoing around them.

Kenny nudged Tweek’s side with a pointy elbow, and despite everything, Tweek let him.

“I am serious though,” Kenny said, “We have so many joints it’s not even funny. House rules declare we gotta smoke one together.”

“You just want to see me high,” Tweek moped.

Kenny didn’t deny it, as he kept joking through the remainder of their shift. And Tweek settled into the new normal, starting to suffocate him.