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Colors. Dapples of blue and yellow streaked across the aquarium hall, frizzy hair remaining a stark blond even when enshrouded by the dim-yet-potent lights. Under it all, Tweek tugged at Craig’s hand, pulling him along to look at a pair of fish that caught his attention.
"They’re like us," he told Craig. "Um. Kinda."
Craig's neck craned towards the fish, eyes reflecting a dim gaze off the glass, and then he turned to his boyfriend. "Yeah," he droned, voice coming out from his nose in lieu of his throat. "Kinda."
That was Tweek’s half-hearted attempt to spark some sort of conversation between them. Craig seemed content to just being there with Tweek, and the same could be said for the blond—to some extent—but the pressure of unspoken nothings kept getting in his head.
Maybe it was the lighting, or something.
Tweek’s gaze went from the dark abyss of a ceiling to the two-inch glass laid thick in front of him. And just like that, the two fish he had pointed at got devoured by a shark, making all that was left of them bits of their flesh flowing in all directions.
Such a quick death, Tweek thought, with the aftermath oozing slowly. And yet, the seconds still ticked by.
"That's morbid," he cringed. Today wasn’t turning out to be a very good one.
He looked back at his boyfriend for his reaction, and quickly realized Craig’s eyes were still lingering on his face.
Tweek’s cheeks flushed with heat at Craig’s gaze on them. He turned away, an eye of his ticking with the movement.
Why was he still so awkward around Craig? It had been months, for God’s sake. Even the town had long forgotten about them, moving on to their next catastrophic mishap within the next few days.
But things with him and Craig had been just as tender as it had been in Craig's backyard that fateful day.
Tweek's hand slightly tickled at Craig rubbing his thumb over it. Everyone in South Park had already warmed up to the idea of Craig and Tweek.
"I love you."
Everyone, except Tweek. "W-What?" he blurted, nearly biting his tongue.
Craig didn’t react at all to this; not even with a faltering frown or clench of the jaw. Instead, he just repeated himself the tiniest bit louder. “I said, I love you.”
Those were words of conviction, of cementing a proposal of commitment, and Tweek wasn’t sure if he was at all ready for the sort of pressure that came with the assertion.
“Oh.” His mind had spun blank, unable to come up with anything else to say. “I—ack!—um, thanks, Craig! I lo—“
“You don’t have to say it back.”
That was the only time Craig had ever cut Tweek off.
“Oh.” He felt like the hair that had matted itself over pockmarked skin was convulsing in much the same manner that the rest of his body had begun to, although with a tune that ought to be torn out from the fucking root.
A fist rose to yank at blond strands, but Craig grabbed Tweek’s arm. “It’s okay,” he said.
Tweek jolted, but didn’t move any more beyond that. Instead, he lay witness as Craig pulled him in, and kissed him on his cheek.
“It’s okay,” Craig repeated, once more, in a whisper only the two of them could hear. “No pressure.”
That was the last thing spoken between them in the aquarium, and it continued to be the last line either of them had said even on their way to Craig’s house.
Tweek declined taking Craig’s hand as they walked down the narrow streets of South Park, something that he was actively regretting. Even so, it wasn’t like he deserved to hold Craig’s hand. What kind of a boyfriend was he that he couldn’t say three simple words?
He wasn’t like Craig, he couldn’t just act like nothing happened earlier. The silence was massacring him from the inside out.
He had to say something; he had to salvage what he screwed up.
“I made something for you,” he blurted.
“Really?” Craig droned. “What is it.”
Absolutely zero expression; Tweek couldn’t read him if his life depended on it. “It’s some—“
A mouth with words soon became a mouth with snow as Tweek tripped, toppling over on the sidewalk with his limbs splayed out.
“No!” he shrieked as he fell, but it was futile.
He couldn’t see anything for a moment—absolutely anything—but when his vision adjusted and he could barely make out his primary colors, Craig was already lowered down to his level, a hand on his shoulder with another offered to pull him up. “Are you okay, honey,” Craig asked.
“Y-Yeah,” Tweek winced, taking his boyfriend’s hand. “It looks worse than it is. I just have to—ack—um…” He paused, looking for the culprit, and he just as quickly found it. Of course. Of fucking course his laces were undone. “…tie my shoes.”
Craig pulled Tweek up, and his head cocked. “You don’t have to,” he said.
Did Tweek’s words fall on deaf ears? “What the hell do you mean I don’t have to?” he snapped. He felt disregarded; so much so that he entirely forgot what he was just about to tell Craig. “I do that, I don’t trip again,” he explained. “And—ack—Craig, weren’t you the one who told me to switch from the straps?”
“Yeah, but..what do you want?”
“I..want my shoes tied,” he replied. It couldn’t be that hard to comprehend. “And, if anything, you should be tying them.”
“Okay. May I?”
“No!” Tweek spat. He wasn’t going to have someone swoop in to save little old defenseless him once more. “That’s not the point. I—ack!—I got it.”
“Okay. Okay. There’s no rush,” Craig insisted, his voice a hushing tone. “Take your time,” he said. With that, he squatted down by the road, immediately being infatuated with a beetle skittering along.
Tweek was now left to his own devices.
The blond gave a small sigh, and leaned against a nearby stopsign for balance. Snowflakes were trickling down the clouds of South Park, as usual, and his breath came out in a tiny fog as he tried to tie his shoes.
He tried to do it just as his parents told him, but the more he tried, and failed, and struggled, and ticked again and again and again in an ever-increasingly-pitiful attempt to tie his shoes on his own, the more his mind instead focused on how his parents tried to scare him out of it a dozen times over, before finally conceding and permitting him to wear them anyway.
You won’t be able to tie it on your own, they tried to say. It’ll be too dangerous, they had insisted. And yet look at him now, proving them splendidly right.
This was why they gave him strap-on shoes in the first place. This was why they made him play with all those Legos and darts and other tiny, ever-so-complex mechanisms that required motor skills he so miserably didn’t possess.
This was why he couldn’t do anything right.
“The offer still stands,” Craig suddenly said. It must have been a few minutes of silence at that point. “But you have free will.”
Tweek looked up at him, yet nothing came from his mouth. It wasn’t like he could say anything, though, even if he wanted to, considering how his face had scrunched up and his body was convulsing again like he was made bare in the plains of Antarctica.
His tics already made his neck sore on the way here; he really couldn’t possibly deal with any more of that discomfort pain fucked-up-ness for the rest of the day.
Craig didn’t immediately shoot up and cradle Tweek at the sight of this, though, which he was half-surprised-by and half-grateful-for.
“And I don’t mind staying here all day,” Craig continued, still staring at the bug. “If it means I get to stay here with you.”
“You..wh—you would?” Tweek’s large eyes riveted on Craig, stinging with the threat of spilled tears.
“Yeah,” Craig replied simply.
“But w-what about, um, Stripe? Or Red Racer? You’d miss out on seeing that because of me.”
Craig nodded, almost as if he didn’t realize that until now. “Eh. That’s okay. I’d forgive you.”
How odd. How so very, very odd. It was so odd, in fact, that, for a brief moment, Tweek remained absolutely still. No tics, no fogging breath. No pulse. “…W-Why?”
Craig turned to the gray sky in a sluggish, almost decomposing manner, and then tossed his shoulders up in a limp shrug. “I want to,” he said.
And just like that, so easily with that, Tweek’s tics came back, and although less potently, it still seemed to serve as some sort of response. Craig added; “And we could stay here, if we want. But what do you want to do?”
Tweek squinted up at the cloudy sky, attempting to spot what Craig was looking at. “I wanna go home.”
“And you still want your shoes tied,” Craig confirmed, eyes returning to the beetle.
Tweek was somewhat thankful he was denied eye contact. And now he was back to the ground; back to those untouched laces. “Yeah,” he muttered.
“They don’t need to be tied, you know,” Craig reiterated.
Tweek’s eyelid snapped itself shut for a second. “I know,” he replied. “But I want them to be.”
Craig then nodded, slowly, as if he had just proven a point. “Who will do it?”
Tweek took the question to mean ‘what ought to be done’ and, for another short span, his body was made devoid of tics again. “Um. You should,” he said.
“Why me?”
Craig was swift to reply; uncharacteristically so. It made Tweek lean a little less on the stopsign pole, as if he came to realize he wasn’t supposed to be; as if he were caught committing a crime. “I..I don’t know,” he admitted.
Craig’s hiccup sounded too much like a scoff. “Really?”
Tweek was getting sick of the questions, and with that came the quick return of the convulsions and scrunching. “B-because you’re my boyfriend, okay!? I’m supposed to rely on you and you’re supposed to help me.”
“Hm.” Craig looked off at something, and then back to the beetle. “Is that why you said no?”
“Huh?”
A car passed by, trundling along to its own beat; marching through the day at its own pace. “Did you say no to me offering you help because I was supposed to offer you help?” Craig asked.
Tweek was taken a bit aback. It was somewhat of a comforting question, or at least seemed to be made from earnest intentions, but it was so sudden; so out of place. “I.. I guess. It feels, um..patronizing,” he said, picking at bitten nails. “Like I need your help, or something.”
“Hmm.” Snow fell on Craig’s skin, and the only reaction he gave to this was a small blink. “What else?”
“It feels forced,” Tweek added, giving a weak kick to the snow around him. “Like, e-even if I want it, it doesn’t matter because I need to do it. And even if I do do it—“
Craig exhaled at this, as if he were holding back his amusement at Tweek saying do do. “Uh-huh. Go on.”
Tweek shook his head. “Even if I do what I’m supposed to, apparently I always fuck it up anyway. The whole pressure of..fucking everything makes me not wanna try at all.”
“You actively avoid it.”
“Yeah.”
Craig blinked again, slower this time. His mannerisms were so odd, but Tweek could find some sort of endearment in knowing he was processing his words. “Screw that abstract shit, Tweek,” he said. “Rejecting what you want just because of some random rules is..wrong.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s about what you want. So, what do you want?”
Tweek thought about it for a moment, groaned, and then slumped against the stopsign. “I wanna go home.”
“Hm.” Tucker’s face was still blank as ever. “We don’t have to.”
“What the hell, Craig?” Tweek stood up straight, frustrated at nothing having changed. “I want to go home, what’s the problem?”
“No problem, babe. Just saying, your options are open.” He put his palm on the ground, letting the beetle climb onto the back of his hand. “What else do you want?”
“I want my shoes tied.”
Craig’s eyes were dull as the bug clambered up his forearm. “We can go home without them tied,” he said.
“No, I want them tied,” Tweek insisted.
“You want me to tie them?”
The blond sighed once more; deeper this time. “I..Yeah,” he conceded, stammering. “I’m sure as hell not trying it again. We probably would stay here all day if I did.”
“Okay.” He blinked. “May I?”
“Please.”
Craig gave a short grunt in acknowledgment, and almost-begrudgingly placed the beetle down. “Okay,” he mused. As he stood up, the star tassels hanging off his hat swung in the air, and he slowly made his way over to Tweek.
Once he was face-to-face with his boyfriend, he crouched down on one knee, in perhaps an even slower manner, and began work on Tweek’s shoes, tugging and tying along.
As he did that, Tweek stood awkwardly, fidgeting about with his pocket. He considered this act of charity by Craig to be weirdly…intimate. He never had anybody lose tie his shoes for him before. And the notion of even having laces was a pretty new concept to him in the first place.
It’s why, as he stood there looking down at his boyfriend, he felt a strong urge to run his hand through his hair.
“You can,” Craig mumbled, not looking up.
Tweek slightly jumped at Craig’s words. “Ugh. Stay still,” Craig scolded.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Craig didn’t respond to that. “You can,” he simply repeated.
“I can what?”
He sniffled. “Play in my hair.”
Tweek hesitated, frozen for a second despite knowing precisely what he intended. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he had stopped ticking in the last few minutes, but with his boyfriend kneeling before him, not much else mattered.
He brought his hand to the side of Craig’s head, although quite slowly, and his hand grazed Craig’s ear and part of his cheek.
The skin was soft there, the little bit that Tweek had touched. He wondered if it would be just as soft if he grabbed Craig’s cheeks with both hands and planted a fat kiss on him.
Maybe, maybe not, but Tweek’s own cheeks became a vibrant pink at the thought. Soon enough, his fingers slipped under Craig’s wooly hat, and it was so warm under it; a stark contrast to the frigid air of the world around them. Tweek’s hand ventured further, deeper, fingertips curling around the ends of soft yet spiky hair.
This was nice, he thought. Maybe even more-so considering Craig never let anybody else see, let alone touch, his hair. This was an act of patience on his part; of compassion.
Tweek smiled. This day wasn’t so bad after all, he decided. This moment was kind in the end, he realized.
With that, Craig stood up and wiped his nose with his bare hand, knuckles raw and pink against the cold. “Do you like it?” he asked. Cold air bristled from his nose, and he sniffled once more; He was colder than he was letting on.
Tweek looked down at his shoes, and frowned a bit. “It’s messy,” was all he said.
Craig shrugged. “It’s okay if it isn’t perfect, babe. Nothing is. But what works, works.”
Tweek shrugged, too. “I guess.”
“Hey. There’s no pressure to be perfect,” he said, offering a hand.
Tweek very nearly snarked in response, but stopped himself. It wasn’t just Craig excusing himself, he realized; it was a message to the both of them.
Was that what this whole thing was about?
Tweek nodded, and finally took Craig’s hand in is, walking together all the way to his boyfriend’s house. Nothing eventful happened on the way, and Tweek didn’t trip again as they walked.
He liked it that way, and he prayed that this wasn’t a nothing-statement. Holding Craig’s hand meant a lot to him.
It meant a lot to him how the sun beamed overhead, until it soon began to set. Once they stood on the doorstep of Craig’s house, they were washed over in an orange hue, the sky bleeding all over the small town of South Park.
Craig and Tweek scraped their shoes against the mat before stepping inside, and their coats were tossed up on the rack when they entered.
Tweek tore his boots off, uncovering white socks, and he wiggled his toes for a moment with this newfound freedom.
Tweek turned to Craig, who had UFO-themed socks on, and who was still sporting his hat. “Craig,” Tweek said, his boyfriend turning to look at him with a blank expression. “Um, a-are you gonna take off your hat?”
“No.”
“Okay,” came Tweek’s meek reply. “Um, the—ack—the thing I made for you is in the kitchen.”
“Okay,” Craig repeated, heading off without him.
“Ack! Wait, Craig!”
He stopped right by the stairwell. “What?”
“Um, l-let me get it for you.”
“Okay.”
Tweek went in the kitchen as Craig sat on the couch, rummaging through the fridge for Craig’s gift. Thank God he made it earlier. Maybe Craig would forgive him then.
Maybe this would make up for his rudeness earlier.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” came a sudden voice. It made Tweek’s heart skip a beat, especially considering it was just a deeper, more resounding version of Craig’s voice.
Tweek practically squealed as he stopped dead in his tracks. Was it Craig? Was he trying to punish him?
Or-or maybe.. maybe it was a murderer—a vicious one, with dreadful intent—sent by the Devil himself to kill Tweek and send him to the blazing pits, or, or, or—
Or maybe it was only Craig’s dad. “Was it you?” he asked, rubbing the growing bald spot on his head.
“Um..w-was what me?” Tweek stammered. “Sir?” The support of his legs nearly crumbled under the weight of the man’s gaze. He had no idea why he was so terrified, but something about the way he looked at Tweek, as if he were suspicious of him, sent chills down his crooked spine.
“This.” He gestured to the table, and splattered across it was cupcake batter, flour, and other miscellaneous baking items that Tweek didn’t even remember using, let alone seen in their cupboards. “It’s okay if it was you, you know. I’m not mad. I know how you can, uh.. well, get.”
Tweek didn’t know what to say to defend himself. How could he? Why the hell didn’t he just clean up after himself? It wasn’t that hard.
His face began scrunching up again, and Mr. Tucker looked annoyed at not getting an answer. “Craig!” he called. “Get in here!”
Soon, Craig strolled in, hanging by the doorway. “What?”
“You know who did this?” he asked, nodding towards the mess. “If it was Tweek, it’s alright, but I just wanna know ‘cause—“
“No, Dad. It was me.”
“Wh—So why didn’t you clean up?” Mr. Tucker stammered for a second, thick brows curling up in bewilderment. It was apparently far, far more preposterous for someone like Craig to do something like this than Tweek.
Craig shrugged. “I just wanted to make something nice for my boyfriend.”
Mr. Tucker’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “Okay. Well, hope you have a nice time cleaning it up,” he said, walking past Craig, into the living room. “When you’re done, your food is in the microwave.” He headed up the stairs, the old wood creaking under each of his steps. “And don’t stay up too late, boys!”
Once they heard the opening and closing of Mr. Tucker’s bedroom door, Craig sighed and started clearing the table off by tossing dishes in the sink.
All was silent, excluding the clatter of bowls and whisks. “Why did you do that?” Tweek murmured. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“I wanted to,” came Craig’s dry reply.
“B-But why? If I just admitted it was me, you wouldn’t have gotten in trouble. I-If anything, your dad would’ve cleaned it himself.”
“It’s not like it matters,” Craig said, wiping the table. “He’s an asshole. And, honestly, he’s not even worth the finger.”
“Oh.”
“Trust me, Tweek. It’s better this way.”
“God, Craig. What the hell are you, a masochist?”
“No.” He stopped wiping, and looked up at Tweek. “You know why I took the blame? It’s because they think all you ever amount to is being a spaz, a fuck-up.” He shook his head, and Tweek could’ve sworn he caught a glimpse of Craig clenching a fist. “It’s bastardizing.”
“Well, he’s gone, so maybe I can help clean?”
“No,” he said. “It’s fine.”
Tweek almost argued once more, but his tics didn’t let him.
He wasn’t sure what he would even say, if he could. Maybe he would apologize, but that was quickly shut down by Craig, somehow yet again, reading his mind and telling him to not blame himself.
So, instead of saying anything, Tweek just reheated the food for them, and they ate on the couch afterward.
There was another long break before either of them spoke again. Or to each other, at least. Tweek had a bad habit of talking to himself, especially when he had nothing else to do. According to Craig, it was nice background noise, but Tweek wasn’t so sure of that. What could be comforting about a madman’s jabbering?
“Oh, shit!” Craig randomly exclaimed half-way through the episode.
“What? What!?” Tweek instinctively grabbed his head, as if to protect it from any danger, and simultaneously tear it off.
“I forgot to feed Stripe,” Craig replied, weirdly calm.
“Oh.”
“Could you grab some lettuce from the fridge, babe? Please? Oh, and strawberries.”
Tweek nodded, although he was still a little shaken up from the suddenness of Craig’s surprise. “Okay.”
He went in the now-spotless kitchen, took out a head of lettuce, a few strawberries, and headed upstairs to Craig’s room.
Craig was already in there as Tweek entered.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” Craig said, flipping Stripe the middle finger.
“H-Hey! Why’d you do that?”
Craig spun around, as if he didn’t hear Tweek coming. “What? Oh, that? It means I love him.” He gave Tweek the finger as confirmation for this.
How strange. Perhaps Craig did have emotions, after all; he just had eccentric ways of expressing it.
“Do you want to feed him this time?” Craig asked.
“Um.” Tweek glanced at Stripe, and he was so cheery. His squeaks almost sounded like morse code, as if he were trying to express to Craig just how much he loved him. “Look at him,” Tweek said. “H-He’s biting on the bars, Craig! He’s rushing me, it’s—ack—too much pressure!”
“Aw, his excitement isn’t him rushing you, honey. He knows better. He just has faith in you.”
Tweek thought that Craig was just ascribing meaning to the meaningless, but it still worked to calm him. “Okay.”
Craig took the lettuce from Tweek, breaking a few pieces off. “Thanks,” he murmured. Slowly, he pulled the latch up to Stripe’s enclosure, and placed the lettuce bits inside. “He can have his dinner later,” he said, scratching Stripe’s back before scooping him up.
“What, dessert first?”
“Yup. He deserves it, doesn’t he, honey?”
“I guess he always would,” Tweek muttered.
Craig sat down with his legs crossed, and so did Tweek. Stripe was let out onto the carpet, and he immediately scurried over to Tweek’s cupped hands full of strawberries, chewing and purring away.
Tweek’s hand tickled from Stripe eating from it and, eventually, his whiskers searching around for more food bits in the slits between his fingers.
“Look, Tweek,” Craig whispered. “He loves it.”
Craig looked on in wonder the whole time, and although he didn’t smile, his eyes displayed a deep amazement.
He was beguiled by Stripe and his boyfriend.
“He loves it,” Tweek repeated to himself. “Um, Craig?”
“Yeah?”
“I-Isn’t that a big word?”
Craig’s eyes flicked up to Tweek for a second, but quickly returned to Stripe. “It can be, I guess,” he replied. “In the right situation.”
He said the last part quieter, and at this point they were both whispering, as if they had no interest in disturbing their hungry child. “I’ve barely heard it used in any situation, honestly,” Tweek admitted.
“Hm. Yeah. Maybe you need to look for it, instead. Actions speak louder than words, right?” He scratched Stripe, and he squeaked. Craig let out a small, nasally chuckle at this. “Like, I know Stripe loves me even if he doesn’t seem to speak English.”
Seem to? Tweek just nodded, his heart warming at the fuzzy creature in his hands.
“I know he loves me since he’s always excited to see me,” Craig continued. “Actions speak louder than words. There’s zero pressure.”
Tweek wasn’t sure who that last line was meant to be directed at, or why it was said, but thinking about it made him uncomfortable. His eye snapped in on itself for a second, but a smile emerged through the tic.
This little piggy was adorable through and through. “Should we go have dessert, too?” Tweek asked.
“Sure.” Craig took Stripe in his hands, cuddling him for a second, and Stripe took the opportunity to nibble on his shirt. “Let’s watch the stars while we do,” he suggested, putting their baby back in his cage, but not before getting and giving a few kisses.
Tweek’s hairs stood on end. “O-On the roof? But w-what if we—ack!—what if we fall, Craig?”
“No, babe. We can watch from the backyard,” he assured. Maybe it was something more, or maybe it was just because he felt his words weren’t enough, but he placed a hand on Tweek’s shoulder.
Although Craig’s face was still blank, his eyes screamed out that he desperately wanted to say more; maybe a sweet nothing, or another assertion.
Instead, though, he merely said; “Come on. I’ll let you take the first look in the telescope.”
Tweek nodded, and neither said anything more.
They headed downstairs, through the kitchen, through the sliding door, and out into the backyard only illuminated by the night sky; out into the backyard Tweek confessed to Craig in.
Grass prickled against Tweek’s legs and bare hands as he sat down besides Craig. “Here,” he murmured, passing his boyfriend a cupcake.
Craig took it, and his fingers lingered on Tweek’s for only the blink of an eye, ever so gently. Ever so tender-like, just like both their hearts.
“Go on,” Craig said, peeling the cupcake wrapper down. “Take the first look.”
Tweek nodded, closing an eye and gazing into the hole of the telescope. There, he witnessed stars twinkling in effervescent glimmers, spelling out hope he was yet to reach.
“What do you think, honey?” Craig asked.
“It’s beautiful,” Tweek confessed, a smile high on his lips. He looked away, and back at his boyfriend. “Uh, wait, Craig. Don’t eat the wrapper again. It’ll get stuck in your braces.”
“Yeah, yeah. But look,” he dismissed, gesturing for Tweek to gaze back into the telescope. Tweek obliged. “That is where we come from. The Big Bang, divine creation, whatever you wanna call it—whether ‘be’ was uttered or not, we grew from that, Tweek. Out of that.”
“Wow,” Tweek breathed. It didn’t really ever occur to him that the beginning of, well, literally everything originated from the cold expanse of space.
It used to be intensely terrifying to him, yet now it was equally as interesting. Maybe it wasn’t as scary as he once thought.
“And when I die,” Craig began, “I would want my ashes spread across the cosmos.”
Tweek yanked himself away from the telescope. “W-What?”
Craig looked the tiniest bit surprised. “What?” he asked, voice muffled with a cupcake bite. “From ashes we were made, and to ashes we shall return. Same concept.”
“I—Craig, that’s…” Tweek couldn’t think of anything to say, and just huffed. “It’s sweet,” he said.
“Yep.” Craig swallowed, and peered into the telescope.
Tweek sat with his hands on his thighs for a moment, and then picked up his own cupcake, deciding to eat the strawberry slice sat on top of it first.
And then, quite suddenly, a thought wormed itself into his head. “Hey, Craig?”
“Hm?” He was still engrossed in the stars.
“When you become an astronaut and get sent to space, you won’t forget about us on Earth, right?” Tweek asked, his voice shamefully growing smaller. “Y-You won’t forget about me?”
“I’ll visit sometimes, if I can,” he replied.
“Mhm?”
“Yeah. I might get too used to space, though. It’s pretty cool up there.”
Craig snickered at his own dumb joke, and Tweek viewed his question now as a more frivolous sort of silly, rather than the scornful sort. “Oh, wow,” he said, feigning offense. “Not even as cool as your boyfriend?”
“Nope,” Craig deadpanned.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry, babe. Nothing personal. Plus, you’d probably have to push me around in a wheelchair, or something, ‘case I forget how to walk.”
Tweek giggled into his cupcake as he bit it. Too much sugar, he thought, turning to look at Craig, who was still sporting his starred hat, but had pulled away from the telescope to take another bite of his cupcake.
He seemed to be content with anything. How enviable. “But you won’t forget about me?” Tweek asked.
“No,” he promised, looking his boyfriend in the eyes. “I couldn’t forget about you, Tweek. Not ever. Trust me, if it ever comes to that, that is not the Craig Tucker you once knew.” He took another quick bite of the cupcake. Just a few more and it’d be gone. “That’d be a, uh, what does Marsh’s uncle call it? A skinwalker, or something.”
Tweek giggled again. Blood rushed to his cheeks once more and he looked away, up at the shiny stars, trying his best to fight back a dumb smile.
Craig shuffled in the grass beside him. “We shouldn’t use the telescope,” he whispered, perhaps to himself. “The naked eye is what makes space cool.”
Tweek hummed in agreement and they sat there, finishing their cupcakes, with no words spoken between either of them for a few moments.
The longer they sat, the more Tweek sort of somehow felt like he could do anything. He could kiss Craig and it would be applicable. He could burst into joyful tears and be a sobbing mess, and maybe even curl up in Craig’s arms, and it would still be applicable. Anything went.
“Hey, Craig?” Tweek caught himself saying. “Why did you take the blame for me earlier?”
Small bits of glittered frosting hung by Craig’s mouth as he spoke. “They look down on you,” he replied. “Everyone. Probably mainly my dad. And yours, no offense.”
Tweek just blinked. He knew it was true.
“They always think you’re to blame, Tweek. That you ‘can’t do anything right’.”
Craig clenched a fist as he said this, cupcake crumbs trickling down from the wrapper he held. Tweek looked into his eyes; into eyes that held the same exact conviction it did in the aquarium.
“I’ll make them see you the way I do,” Craig said. “No matter how long it takes.”
Tweek was now the one to shuffle beside his boyfriend. “But what if I’ll always be a—ack!—a s-spaz?” he asked. His voice came out meek, and he felt only a very small part of him was asking just to ask.
Instead of outright denying that Tweek was good for nothing, like so many others had, Craig just said; “Everyone will be ready to accept everything eventually. Even you.”
Craig looked into Tweek’s eyes as he said that, and before looking away, back up at the glittering stars, he looked as if he were going to add something else.
He looked as if he were going to say;
Maybe the right time for you, is now.
Tweek understood now. He finally understood what Craig had been trying to portray this whole time, in his own, odd, Craig Tucker way.
His blank demeanor was never apathy; it was always patience. Tweek could take years to tell Craig he loved him, or an eternity to call him babe without blushing, and it wouldn’t ever matter because there was no pressure at all.
It took a few breaths for an understanding to settle. There was no pressure for him to do anything, he repeated to himself. Other’s expectations and coercions and high standards for everything he did was absolutely irrelevant.
The only thing that mattered was an assertion of his own desires.
The realization made Tweek want to tell Craig that he loved him all the more.
And so he did.
He turned to his boyfriend, the wind on his face and cupcake in his hand, and repeated the three words he was too scared to claim earlier, even with the desire eating away at him. “I love you,” he told Craig.
His boyfriend looked at him, and smiled. Ever so gently, he gave a smile. “I love you, too,” he requited.
And they meant it, for they always had.
The end.