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Chapter Text

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ "ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴜʀᴘʀɪꜱᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ꜰᴀʟʟᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ."  

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Craig Tucker never really liked fairytales. Ever since he was a little kid, he always knew fairytales were a load of bullshit.

Craig preferred facts. To acknowledge that life had a way of kicking his ass from the moment he opened his damn mouth. 

He could never understand why his little sister Tricia seemed so desperately hung up on the fantasy of pretty silk gowns and charming princes with their white horses. Her bright blue eyes shone brightly at him while holding her picture book filled to the brim with whimsical tales growing up. He felt like she should have been more focused on their actual surroundings, especially when their reality was with their mother living paycheck by paycheck to make ends meet after their father had gotten laid off from his job months prior, straight up ditching them.

The sooner she realized that life had a way of being a complete bitch, the better it would be when fucking reality hit. All good things come crashing down at one point or another. 

So why the hell did his reality have to have a pretty blonde barista?

"You sure you like all that sugar in your coffee?" Tolkien muttered with a faint glimmer in his dark brown eyes, finally peeking up from the paper menu he had been clutching between his fingertips with a flicker of his nose, "That's like your 17th packet, Craig."

Craig glanced down at the chunks of sugar that had gathered at the edge of the ceramic mug- The white chunks of sugar now bubbling contently in the warmth of the caffeinated drink. He didn't even really drink coffee like that. He much preferred a can of fizzy diet Coke over the harsh bitterness that coffee left in his mouth.

"Fuck." He finally mumbled dryly, the soft specks of sugar coating the edge of the pastel blue cup. The group had decided to meet up in the afternoon at the Tweek's Bros Coffee shop, Craig's back leaned into the worn-out booth in the corner of the cafe, the faint scent of coffee beans and old newspapers familiar as he sunk into the plump cushions. Clyde Donovan had leaned across the table with a grin of his own, the soft afternoon light flickering over his brown locks.

"Don't blame him-" He mused out with a chuckle, casually jabbing a thumb over the shoulder of his crimson red sports jersey with a small smile playing coyly across his lips. "Seems like lover boy was a little distracted with his muse." 

Clyde had been Craig's best friend since practically kindergarten after eating shit at the sandbox from Cartman through several taunts over him being a sissy. The blubbering mess became instantly attached to Craig the moment he mistakenly offered his last Red Racer band-aid instead of the plain one from his pencil case. 

Because of this, he decided to not immediately knock the shit out of Clyde for that comment, simply whacking the back of his neck with the wrinkled paper menu with a snort.

But he had been distracted. His dark green eyes finally flickered away from the jitters of the blonde, the barista's elbows lingering by the coffee shop counter before offering him a crooked smile as he caught Craig's sudden gaze.

His shift was nearly over, the Tweek Bro's shop softly buzzing with the last few customers that sat contently in their small corner of the establishment. Tweek's light blue eyes were patiently focused on the faint whir of the churning expresso machine as his lean frame nestled quietly into the wooden surface, a soft whistle pursed on his lips.

They had been great friends for years despite their whole situation in primary school with the Asian girls. Their relationship had become something comfortable for the both of them after years of whispering and giggling that followed them, so it wasn't a big deal for him to wait for him to finish up his shift after school.

It wasn't.

"I wouldn't talk, Clyde-" Tolkien snorted lightly, tugging a stray strand from the muted purple sweater he was wearing, the white collar shirt neatly peeking out before wiggling the rolled-up menu towards him. "Isn't this like the fifth time this week you are trying to get back together with Bebe?"

Puffing out his reddened cheeks at the comment of his former girlfriend, Clyde quickly snatched the thin menu away from Tolkien's grasp with a scoff pursed on the edge of his lips.

"Oh fuck off, man-" The South Park Cows' footplayer remarked dryly before he started to reach for the paper napkins from the dispenser with a furrowed brow, his stubby fingertips folding them absently with a slight whine at the mention of his ex-girlfriend, the bubbly blonde of the South Park High Cheerleaders. 

Clyde & Bebe have been off and on for years, their multiple blow-up arguments throughout the school year nearly a calendar event for most students who were unfortunate enough to eat at the cafeteria. Craig had learned this fact rather quickly in their freshman year, nearly coming into contact with a furious toss of an expired milk carton Bebe had launched at Clyde's head for liking "far too many" of Heather Williams' Instagram posts.

"Can I ask a dumb question?" Clyde mumbled out finally with a small swat of his hand as his dark eyes remained closed, patting down his chocolate brown curls with a light sigh before tilting his head towards the group.

Craig shrugged his shoulders lazily, the crumpled-up paper sugar packets now being shoved into the depths of his jean pocket, "Better than anyone I know."

Simply closing his eyes in ignorance to the comment, Clyde sulked further into his seat with a slumped back, his chapped lips slightly pursed as they blew a soft gust of air upwards, "Why are girls so complicated?"

The soft lights of the cafe smoothly lingered above them as Tolkien took a sip from the small mug he had been drinking from, an eyebrow slightly raised towards his direction.

"Have you tried communication and some basic boundaries?" He asked with the faint smell of coffee lingering on his words before flipping the next page of the spare menu on the table, "Works wonders, y'know." 

Sinking further into the cushions of the booth, Clyde clicked his tongue with a small scoff, the collar of his red jersey tickling the side of his cheek, "Aren't you just a peach today, huh, Tolkien?"

Clyde nodded his head at Craig with a light whine mingling with his words, finally turning his chin towards him, "You probably don't have to deal with all that being with Tweek." 

His words lingered for a moment, the sentence curled up in the air. Tweek was different around him compared to his peers at school, sure- his sudden twitches and light tics were more subdued and infrequent when they would hang out after school at his place. Despite being slapped with the title of 'boyfriends' for years now, Tweek and he had a rather quiet and familar friendship.

Before Craig could answer about their dynamic though, his lips faintly parted- a humming voice peeked from behind him with a soft buzz, a fresh scent of chocolate soothing on the edge of his crinkled apron.

"I heard my name?"

Tweek had been holding a small plate of buttery croissants drizzled with dark chocolate, his sandy blonde locks curling by the ends of his freckled cheeks as he had a softly puzzled expression across his features. His pearly white apron was spattered with fading coffee stains as his bright blue eyes locked with the group.

Instinctively, Craig wanted to reach for the side of the blonde's tired expression from the shift, to allow the back of his thumb to warmly wander over the long wispy lashes that surrounded the paleness of his blue eyes. Instead, his warm voice came out with a quick and direct, "Hey, honey," that they had grown accustomed to.

Clyde however had already clumsily reached over the booth, knocking over the small container of napkins and gathering a couple of warm croissants with an already brightened expression, the chocolate quickly coating the bottom of wobbly his chin at each feverish bite.

"Gods, Tweek, if I was gay, I would have stolen you from Craig years ago." He sputtered out between a mouthful of pastries, the buttery flakes of bread scattered across his jersey with a quick swallow before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand sloppily, "Shit," He sighed out with a satisfied hum, "I might even just do it now."

Craig turned over slightly at the comment, the ends of his dark blue yarn hat tickling the side of his sunkissed skin as his mossy green eyes flickered with a small snort, "With all due respect, which is none-" He reached over to pluck a croissant off the plate, offering Tweek a quick smile before gathering up some of the spilled napkins, "Back off, dude."

"And- These are reheated, Clyde." Tweek perked out, tilting his head slightly to the side with a small twitch of his thin brow at the sudden declaration, "We don't bake them here."

Nodding lightly at the information, Clyde took another hearty bite, buttery crumbs decorating the corners of his pursed lips, "I still stand by what I said."

Tolkien had nibbled on the edge of the chocolate flakes that decorated the top of the sweet croissant, the AP History textbook that Craig hadn't looked at once throughout the semester spread across the wooden surface of the table, "Thanks for these, Tweek." He smoothly smiled, brown eyes flickering under the warmth of the coffee shop lights, "Seriously cool for you to let us study here a bit."

Scratching the back of his pale neck, the blonde barista reached for the empty plate that now lingered with scattered crumbs, "It's no problem-" Tweek replied with a sigh, wiping his hands that were notably covered with colorful plasters across his apron, "You guys staying here till I close the shop was really nice, I barely get to study as it is sometimes."

Clyde leaned over to the barista with a wolfish smile, the ends of his mouth curling with a slight twinge, "Y'know we don't mind sticking around, Tweek, we are friends after all!" He batted his feathery lashes, pressing his clasped hands comically to his plump cheek with puckered lips, "And Craig certainly doesn't mind one bit either-"

"Don't forget who's dropping you off at home." 

"God, Craig-" Clyde sighed out, placing a small hand on his chest with a slight dramatic puff of his chest before shaking his head with a small 'tsk', "What happened to having a sense of, I don't know- humor?"

As Tolkien began to reprimand Clyde, handing him a stack of neatly piled index cards for History through the 1800s, Craig had slipped quietly from the booth, leaning his crossed-over arms over the checkout counter to wait for the blonde barista, quietly counting old receipts with the back of his thumb from the clunky register.

"Hey, it's getting a little late." His soft green eyes flickered towards the nearly empty parking lot as he finally spoke, the last receipt being noted for, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder lazily towards the busted-up Ford pickup truck that he had bought for himself for his birthday, "You want me to load your bike in the back of my truck, Tweek?"

The blonde lightly examined Craig, his light blue eyes carefully flickering across his expression before settling towards the clock at the entrance of the shop, his bottom lip slightly curled and being suckled before shaking his head tentatively, closing the register with the tip of his elbow.

"Nah, don't worry about it, dude." He finally spoke, his blonde locks of hair now pale under the café lights, running an old rag over the wooden surface with a small pursed lip, "You guys enjoy the croissants first, okay?" 

"You sure?" 

Tweek's nimble fingers briefly brushed on top of Craig's in response to the question, smoothly curling over his warm fingertips with a soft, comforting tap, "Totally," His smile was crooked, tugging at the ends of his mouth sweetly with the same crinkle that Craig had noticed ever since they were young boys. "You better get Clyde home anyways, I'm pretty sure he's gonna try to call Bebe and beg her to take him back if you wait any longer." 

Craig felt his face grow warm at the sudden contact, grateful to every single god in existence that he could think of for the yarn blue hat that covered the tops of his burning ears. Tweek had pulled his hand away just as quickly though, the warmth slipping away as he began reaching for his worn-out notepad to take an approaching customer, offering a small smile. 

Craig watched as the blonde lightly nodded while scribbling the order down with a chewed-up pen, his olive green shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His breath silently still caught in the back of his throat.

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Craig lounged on the worn couch in the living room later that same night at his place, the fabric frayed at the edges and fading from years of use. The faint smell of popcorn lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of old books that lined the shelves. A couple of mismatched chairs sat awkwardly against the walls, and a small coffee table cluttered with half-empty soda cans and snack wrappers took center stage. Chips were strewn across their laps, the crinkly bag half-empty, providing a salty crunch to accompany the space documentary flickering on the TV.

The deep voice of the narrator filled the room, discussing the mysteries of black holes and distant galaxies. Craig's attention was divided, though—Tweek had sat close beside him, their shoulders slightly brushing with each mindless reach for a handful of cheesy poofs & popcorn, a comforting warmth amidst the soft hum of the television.

“Did you know a black hole’s gravity is so strong that nothing—not even light—can escape?” Craig had asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his soft eyes wide with fascination as he leaned in slightly, the faint linger of sweet & salty butter hanging on his words.

“Yeah, it’s wild, dude-” Tweek murmured back with a light whisper of his own, trying to focus on the screen while also soaking in the sensation of warmth across his freckled cheeks as Craig had quietly rested his hand on Tweek's knee, his fingertips lightly tracing constellations with each photograph shown on the screen.

These kind of after school hangouts happened nearly day after class if Tweek didn't have a long shift prior at work. Craig occasionally worked a few shifts at the local mechanic shop or helping out his uncle when he finished classes early.

Suddenly, the front door creaked open, and an older woman in her late 40s walked in, her long blonde hair streaked with faint white stands, pulled back in a loose bun. Laura Tucker- Her face bore the tired lines of another long shift with a slightly wrinkled suit adorning her slender frame. The blonde woman dropped her faltered bag by the entrance with a heavy sigh, kicking off her tiny black flats with a small lipsticked smile adorning her features as she glanced at the two boys.

“Hey, boys!” she called out with a satisfied nod at acknowledging their presence, slipping her car keys onto the little keyholder beside the creaky door, her voice warm despite the exhaustion that lingered behind each word. “What are you up to tonight?”

Tweek had always come over to the Tucker's place since they were children. After school, after the summer break, or even just for dinner on Friday nights for sloppy joe- Mrs. Tucker always joked that Tweek was simply another one of her children that she actually liked- To which he and Tricia would always bicker right afterward.

Craig had glanced up at his mother from the couch though, removing the palm of his hand from Tweek's leg just as quickly at her arrival, “Just watching some space stuff,” Craig replied easily to his mother, glancing back at her with a light nod directed towards her. Tweek offered a wave in response, his expression brightening at the interaction.

“That's quite lovely, boys-!” She hummed out, heading toward the entrance of the kitchen with a slight stretch of her back contently, where the faint sounds of chopping would surely echo. “I’m just going to make a quick dinner. Let me know if you need anything or if you wanna stay for supper, Tweek!”

“Sure thing.” Craig shouted back, settling deeper into the couch as the documentary continued. The familiar sounds of their modest home wrapped around them, and for a moment, everything felt normal.

After a moment, Tweek shifted into Craig for a moment, turning to Craig with a hesitant expression flickering back and forth between his softening eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course,” Craig replied, the soft clanking of pots and pans cluttering the backgrounds as his green eyes flickered towards Tweek. He knew Tweek well enough by now—his questions often ventured into different sorts of conversation topics.

Tweek hesitated, smoothly biting his bottom lip, the corners of his mouth curling into that shy smile that made his stomach feel like it was turning into circles. “Do you ever think about what’s out there? You know, in space? Like... if there’s more than just us?”

Craig's dark brow furrowed as he considered the question for a moment, his gaze drifting to the screen where swirling galaxies danced under the soft narration. “All the time." He softly spoke.

Tweek silently nodded, his expression thoughtful as the ends of his blonde curls slightly bounced at his shake of the head. “Yeah, or what if there’s life we can’t even imagine? It kind of makes everything here feel... small, you know?”

“Yeah,” Craig agreed with a smooth hum resting on the edge of his curled lips, feeling the weight of the conversation settle between them, an intimacy that felt both thrilling and terrifying. “But it’s also kind of comforting. We’re all just trying to figure things out, right?”

Tweek smiled at that briefly, his eyes reflecting the flickering images on the screen for a moment before the ends of his pink lips remained slightly dropped.

The living room was dimly lit, the glow of the TV illuminating the living room as a space documentary played softly in the background. Craig sat on the couch, his tan skin contrasting with the white NASA shirt he wore, the blue hoodie wrapped around him feeling like a protective barrier. Tweek, beside him, fidgeted with his blonde hair, the soft strands catching the light as he tried to steady his breathing. The scent of coffee lingered around him, and the fresh grind of coffee beans melted into his hair.

As the documentary rolled on, Tweek asked another question.

"Craig?"

"Hm?" Craig’s dark hair fell over his dark green eyes, his eyes briefly flickering away from the soft blue hue of the television screen.

"We are graduating soon."

A not-so-fun topic.

"You are graduating soon, honey—" He quickly forced a lightness into his smooth voice in reply, a little chuckle caught in his soft laughter, "I'm barely making it through by the skin of my teeth."

Tweek's shoulder pulled away slightly, creating space that hadn’t been there moments before. His soft baby blue eyes remained on Craig's, his freckled face slightly illuminated by the hue of the television screen, flickering back and forth carefully before his voice softly replied.

"If you looked at the study guides Kyle sends, maybe it would be a bit easier."

Craig felt a snort escape his pursed lips at the suggestion, he knew Tweek was trying to be nice, but it was still wild to him. "That is such bullshit- Broflovski practically writes the entire lecture down word by word." He grabbed a handful of popcorn propped from the table, tossing a piece into his mouth without tasting it, the crunch echoing in the charged environment. "I'd be better off just reading the textbook at that point."

Tweek's soft fingertips gingerly played with the curls of his blonde hair, tugging the ends of it for a moment, the rustling scent of coffee smothering the edge of his voice. "Stan manages just fine." He pointed out quickly, bringing up the star quarterback of South Park High.

He shuffled in his dark blue hoodie, slightly tugging the ends of his wool hat with a light scoff in his tone, "That's different, Marsh practically praises the ground Broflovski walks on-" Craig lightly hummed out matter of factly, his tanned skin probably standing out starkly against his light flush of his puffed-out cheeks. "He probably spends more time with him than his actual girlfriend."

Tweek's eyes flickered back and forth at Craig's expression as if he was searching for some type of response, his light buttery lashes fluttering closed briefly, "But—" He sighed out, his fingertips gently pinching the bridge of his scrunched-up nose, "That’s not what I’m trying to get at."

Craig found himself clicking the edge of his tongue for a moment- letting his voice carry out for a quick second.

"What then?" Craig turned almost sharply towards the blonde, eyes slightly crinkled, his arms nearly crossed over before Tweek had softly reached for his hands, his fingertips lightly intertwined with his tanned ones.

"What are we, Craig?"

The question had come out abruptly- Craig felt he had nearly choked on the back of a popcorn kernel. One of his hands quietly reached for the remote at the sudden topic, the back of his thumb clicking the red 'off' button at the corner.

Craig clicked his tongue, biting the inside of his cheek.

Fuck.

It's not like he hadn't been asked this before- By his parents, by his friends, his classmates- He had always been bombarded with questions about the status of their relationship since the very birth of it. To be asked questions like this should be normal to him, the status quo, even.

But he found his throat growing dry- It was the first time Tweek had ever been the one to bring it up like this.

"What we have always been, Tweek." Craig leaned forward, his voice finally coming out, his dark green eyes softening but he could have nearly sworn Tweek's facial expression had staggered. "Craig and Tweek, town sweethearts—"

"Cut that shit, man—" Tweek quickly interrupted with a sudden snap, his usually more raspy yet gentle voice quivering with his next sentence that tumbled from his lips. His soft blue eyes lingered on the pattern of the couch before catching his expectant gaze once more with a slightly strained laugh, "You know what I mean, Tucker, and you know what I'm about to say."

"Honey—"

"Don't." Tweek feverishly released Craig's hands with a quick drop in a slight hiss, his pink bottom lip slightly curled at the usage of the phrase, as if Craig had curb-stomped his phone. "Don't honey me right now, Craig." Tweek’s voice was firm in response, but his nimble hands shook with each word that slipped from his curled lips, a seeming storm brewing behind his lowered gaze.

His fingertips started to shakily slip in the messy buttermilk curls of his hair, running through each strand absently with a staggered laugh gathering on his tone, "This whole thing, between us, has been going on for years. This isn't for the sake of the fucking town anymore—"

He took a small breath- one that he learned during his many sessions of counseling when they were younger- the end of his freckled nose slightly twitching before composing himself.

"For a long time, it hasn't been for the town. At least, I started feeling like that a long time ago."

Tweek finally turned his face towards Craig at the reply, the confession was soft, his cheeks slightly flushed with a light pink that traveled to the tips of his ears. His face was dusted with light freckles, constellations that he had occasionally thought of tracing with the back of his thumb during Biology class. Craig felt the back of his neck begin to burn, his own lips slightly pursed.

Craig felt his mouth nearly burn, his throat almost closing. 

Tweek had to have been pulling some sort of joke on him- a "gotcha! you gay ass!" or was just trying to freak him out for his shitty grades. They had never even come close to sharing their feelings like this before- to talking about something even potentially being there.

"C'mon, Tweek— We both agreed we would keep up with this whole facade till college, till we leave this hellhole of a town." He whispered out after a moment, his mossy green eyes slightly crinkling up as Tweek began shaking his head back and forth, rising from the comforts of Tucker's couch in a strained laugh. "You said it was fine, that you were okay with that."

Craig tried to lean forward for a moment, his warm fingertips briefly reaching for his Tweek's shaking hands for reassurance, "We aren't actually a thing and we were okay with that," He continued with a soft tone that lingered on the ends of his lips, his softening eyes scanning back and forth between his expression, "wait, c'mon—"

The blonde however had pulled away his hand out with an almost seething tone in reponse, tightly cupping his hand closely to his chest for a moment as if protecting himself, "No!— " I'm so sick of that word, wait—" Tweek snapped out before walking towards the front door with a quiet breath muttering under his tone, his pale fingertips locking with the ends of his beat-up shoes in a slight hiss. Craig felt his mouth go dry, and he felt his own hands curl into his lap, tanned fingers tapping against the fabric of his jeans, a nervous rhythm he couldn’t control.

Finally, Tweek turned towards him with a quiet nod, his light eyes nearly clouded with swirls of faint tinges of gray before blinking for a moment.

Tears.

He was crying.

A few tears had begun tumbling down his freckled cheek as the back of his pale wrist began wiping the droplets as they came with a sharp laugh that mingled gingerly with his breath.

"I understand if you wanna figure things out, that's fine." His voice cracked out, slipping one of his shoes on with a small yet raspy laugh at the end of his words, "But I want something fucking real now, and I'm not gonna wait around anymore for you to keep going back and forth over how you feel about me, Craig. Not anymore." His tone staggered, half-hazardly tugging on his bright green raincoat, barely getting the sleeve over his stumbling arm.

There was a moment of silence before Tweek spoke, tugging on the other sleeve with a slight stagger- dragging it over his arms with a bitter laugh mingling at the corner of his smooth lips.

"You can't act like this-" Tweek finally spoke towards the door, his elfish fingertips smoothly lingering over the doorhandle with a quiet sigh. It looked like he was focusing on the smoothness of the brass handle, tracing his hands across the design for a moment. "Pretend that we are just friends and then try to hold my hand when we are alone, when no one is watching-" 

Craig’s thick eyebrows furrowed in response, his mind racing with each sentence that lingered on his flushed ears. He bit the inside of his cheek as Tweek remained focused on the door handle for a another minute- He tugged at the worn-down drawstrings of his hoodie for a moment, feeling nearly suffocated despite it being two sizes too big.

"We graduate in two months— After that, I'm moving on." Tweek's voice was firm, the finality hanging heavy in the air as he finally opened the door, the handles faintly creaking at the soft hum of the rain outside trickling.

What? Two fucking months?

Craig felt his warm voice strained at the back of his throat, nearly stumbling before rising from the couch in a slight rush that threatened to have him tumble across the floor. He took a few steps forward with the edge of his lashes touching his cheeks as his words came out staggered & almost breathless with a pleading smile spread across his smooth lips.

"Tweek, wait, please, let's just talk, it's raining, let me drive you home—"

But Tweek was already shaking his head dryly, his colorfully bandaged hands faintly trembling as he pulled on his left shoe with a light sigh. "No, please no more of that."

As Tweek turned toward the door, Craig’s heart started to fucking race, a sharp panic flooding him. He quickly glanced around the living room in response, feverishly focusing on the photographs pictured of them together—colorful memories framed to the walls that now felt like distant memories.

Outside, the rain began to fall in South Park, a steady drizzle that quickly turned into a downpour, soaking the ground and blurring the edges of the world beyond the window. Tweek stepped outside, the rain pounding against the pavement, creating a rhythmic symphony that drowned out everything else. The cold droplets struck his pale skin and the surface of his coat, mingling with the warmth of his breath, as he walked away, the sound of the rain echoing in his burning ears.

Craig stood in silence in the middle of the living room, his tanned hands trembling in his pockets as he watched Tweek disappear into the gray haze of the South Park rain, a jagged curse nearly slipping from his lips.

"Are you okay, honey?"

His mother had stood by the kitchen entrance, her colorful oven mitts holding a frozen lasagna fresh from the oven, the melted cheese still bubbling- It was one of Tweek's favorites dishes ironically, her pale blue eyes examining her son with a softness that let Craig know that she had definitely heard the conversation. Or at least, the very last part.

"No." He whispered, "I'm really not okay."

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Craig's smooth fingers hovered over the dial on the old, crackling radio as he drove through the rain-soaked streets of South Park. Static filled the cab, mixing with the sound of the downpour outside. He flipped through stations absentmindedly, each one worse than the last. A country song about lost love. The loud, tinny sounds of a pop hit. A local talk show discussing the storm. Frustrated, he twisted the knob to off, the cab falling into the rhythmic sound of the windshield wipers. His thin fingers tightened on the smoothness of the steering wheel, muscles flexing against the tanned skin of his forearms.

His mind wandered, despite his best efforts to keep it focused. He kept seeing Tweek’s face—those wide, blue eyes full of hurt, his freckled cheeks flushed with frustration. Craig swallowed hard, shifting in the old leather seat as his eyes remained focused on the empty road ahead of him.

The memories crept in elementary school, when they were still kids, and Tweek & him would talk every morning and walk to classes together. Middle school, their first awkward slow dance, where neither of them knew where to put their hands and the fruit punch stung the back of their throats. High school, standing under the dim lights at junior prom, where Tweek's blonde locks of hair had been slightly tamed with hair gel, and Craig had nearly tripped over himself when he caught sight of him in a suit. The thought brought a slight flush to his own sun-kissed cheeks, and Craig could feel his face heat up despite the cold rain outside. His jaw clenched as he quickly shut those feelings down.

Focus.

The rain hit harder now, battering the truck, but the sound of his heart pounding in his chest was louder. The smell of pine needles drifted in through the cracked windows, mixing with the damp air. His sneakers were untied, one shoelace thumping against the floorboard as his foot tapped nervously against the pedals. The worn bumper stickers on the truck's back window—NASA, a faded ‘Vote for Someone’ slogan, and a peeling logo from a local pizza place—were barely visible in the foggy, cracked, rearview mirror. Craig’s hoodie, still two sizes too big from when he first got it in ninth grade, felt heavy with the weight of the rain that had already soaked into the fabric.

The truck bounced slightly as it hit a bump in the road, jolting Craig from his thoughts. The homes he passed were shrouded in gray mist, their lights a blurry haze against the downpour. The rain beat relentlessly against the windshield, and the pine trees swayed in the wind. The old seats of the truck groaned beneath his weight as he adjusted himself, gripping the steering wheel tighter, his breath coming in uneven bursts.

Tweek's face lingered in his mind—the freckles scattered across his nose, his soft blonde hair that always seemed a little too wild, and those blue eyes that always managed to look through Craig in ways no one else ever could. Craig felt a knot tighten in his chest.

He had screwed things up. Again.

As he passed another stretch of empty road, his grip tightened further on the wheel. His tanned fingers flexed nervously, the fabric of his hoodie brushing against the steering wheel. His lips pressed into a thin line, a sigh escaping them as he tried to focus on the road. The rain made it hard to see, the headlights barely cutting through the heavy sheet of water that fell in unrelenting waves.

If he had just been a little more honest, just a little more vulnerable-

Suddenly, the headlights illuminated something—a figure standing in the middle of the road.

Craig's stomach lurched, adrenaline spiking as he swerved the wheel, the thick tires screeching against the slick asphalt. The truck skidded to a stop, the smell of wet earth and burning rubber filling the air as his breath came in ragged gasps. His heart raced as he feverishly stared through the windshield, his mind scrambling for an explanation.

A deer, it had to be a fucking deer.

He reached for the door handle with shaky fingers, stepping out into the downpour. His old converse slapped against the wet pavement, the sound swallowed by the relentless rain. Each step was heavy, the cold water soaking through his shoes, making his toes numb. The rain fell in sheets, and the pine trees that lined the road swayed in the wind, their branches creaking ominously. Craig's fingers dug into his hoodie pocket, his heartbeat deafening in his ears. He squinted through the rain, each footstep carrying him closer to the figure, hoping— fucking praying—it was just a deer.

There was not a fucking chance in hell it wasn't a deer.

But as he got closer, the shape became clearer. Blonde hair matted against a pale face, rain droplets clinging to long lashes, and a familiar freckled nose. His stomach dropped, his breath catching in his throat.

“Tweek,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain.

He staggered as he ran over, nearly slipping over his muddy shoelaces that threatened to knock him over, the sweet scent of pinewood being inhaled desperately into his lungs.

He quickly knelt down with a rapid thud, his faded jeans sharply pressing into the soaked pavement, and reached out with trembling fingers, gently brushing Tweek’s cheek. The rain had now mingled contently with the crimson blood from a wound on Tweek’s side that took up nearly his entire chest, but the warmth of his skin told Craig he was still alive.

Craig let out a shaky breath, feverishly fumbling for his phone, his tanned fingers slipping against the wet fabric of his hoodie as he gingerly patted himself down in a panic that lingered with the crisp air that gathered by his parted lips. His phone—where was his phone? He quickly dug into the depths of his jeans pocket, the cold metal of the device pressing against his palm as he pulled it out. His fingers trembled as he impatiently tapped the first “9,” the rain splattering against the screen, making it difficult to press the buttons that blared on the soft hue of the screen.

Craig’s voice broke as he reached out, his trembling fingers grazing Tweek’s cheek. The rain clung to Tweek’s pale skin, mingling with the blood from a gash on his side. His hair was slightly matted, but his face was paler than usual, the rain glistening on his lowered lashes.

This was all his fault.

He had basically killed his sort-of-boyfriend.

He had to call the cops- get an ambulance- he would have to beg them to let him go with him, to be able to see him and make sure he was okay-

But before he could finish dialing between each curse that escaped his lips, Tweek stirred for a second at his scattered touch. His blonde lashes fluttered, and those blue eyes, though glazed with pain, focused on Craig’s green ones. Relief washed over Craig in waves as his shoulders faltered down for second. He quickly exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, dropping the phone on the pavement as he cradled Tweek’s head in his lap.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Craig finally whispered out with a soft laugh, his shaky breath staggered but a soft chuckle lingered at the edge of his words. He quietly ran the back of his thumb gently over Tweek’s face, tracing the freckles he had grown to know so well and count in the dephs of his dreams. The warmth of Tweek’s skin against his cold fingers brought a fleeting sense of calm. "I thought you were gone, I really thought-"

He was okay. Tweek was okay.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. It was just the two of them, surrounded by the rain, the smell of pine needles, and the distant rumble of thunder. Craig held Tweek close, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, his heart slowly steadying as the relief washed over him. He felt Tweek’s weight in his arms, the familiar scent of him even through the rain—coffee and something sweet, always a little bit out of place but so distinctly Tweek.

But then, Tweek moved.

In a swift motion, he grabbed Craig’s shoulders and shoved him down onto the wet pavement, forcing him to the ground. The suddenness of the action knocked the air out of Craig’s lungs completely, and before he could react, the cold blade of a dagger pressed against his neck. His breath hitched, panic surging through his body.

The sound of the rain seemed to swell around them, the truck’s headlights casting an eerie glow over Tweek’s face as he further pinned Craig to the ground with his elbow dug firmly into his chest. A sharp, cold blade pressed neatly against Craig’s throat.

“Tweek—what the fuck?” Craig sharply gasped out, his mossy green eyes widening as his chin was forced upwards at the threat of the blade. The Tweek standing above him wasn’t the boy he had known for years. There was something wild in his eyes—something dangerous.

His rain-soaked clothes were torn and tattered, but what caught Craig’s eye was the strange, barbaric clothing underneath. Tattoos marked Tweek’s arms, dark symbols that looked ancient, and the stone dagger he held gleamed under the headlights.

He looked like something out of a stories Tricia would read, the fur cloak that adorned his shoulders heavy with the weight of the rain.

He was a barbarian.

“Tweek?" Craig's voice wavered, panic seeping into his words. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to move, but Tweek’s grip was strong—stronger than it should have been.

The rain continued to pour, soaking through Craig’s hoodie and chilling him with each droplet. Tweek’s breath was ragged, his face illuminated by the truck’s lights, casting long shadows over his freckled skin. Craig’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was fucking happening.

This wasn’t the Tweek he knew. His heart pounded against his ribs as the blade pressed harder into the skin of his neck, a sharp sting cutting into his sunkissed skin. His blonde hair, now plastered to his face by the rain, framed a look of cold detachment, blood trickling down his bottom lip.

The rain continued to pour down, the drops splattering against Craig’s face, mingling with the sting of the blade pressed against his skin.

“What happened to you, Tweek?—” Craig whispered, his voice faltering as he stared up at the boy he thought he knew. The rain cascaded down, the world around them disappearing in the downpour. But all Craig could focus on was Tweek’s eyes—the same baby blue eyes that he found himself staring at for years, eyes that no longer seemed to recognize him.

And as the rain washed over them, Craig realized with a sickening certainty—that Tweek had become something entirely different.

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Chapter Text

˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ "ᴛɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴍᴇ, ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ."˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 

"ᴛɪʟʟ ɪ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ-" 

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If someone had come up to Craig Tucker that morning and said his fake boyfriend would one day be wearing some fucked-up cosplay, holding a knife to his neck, Craig wouldn't have blinked. That's because that's the kind of messed-up shit that happens in South Park on the regular to people like Eric goddamn Cartman.

 But if they'd said Tweek wouldn't recognize him at all? He'd have laughed in their face—or, more likely, knocked them out for being full of shit.

Craig's chest rose and fell erratically as Tweek's blade pressed sharply into the tender skin beneath his chin. He could feel the cool metal vibrating slightly with Tweek's tremor, a tangible sign of something slipping in him. Craig swallowed hard, his throat dryly catching on the knife's pressure. The rain pounded down, soaking them both completely, but all he could focus on was the weight of Tweek above him, pinning him to the cold, wet ground. 

And yet, here the hell he was. Flat on his back in the rain, staring up at the guy who used to freak out at a paperclip dropping as a kid, now holding a goddamn dagger to his neck like this was some savage fantasy nightmare.

Tweek's breath hitched, and his usual warm voice was hoarse and low, barely audible over the deluge, as he finally spoke out loud for the first time: "Who are you?"

The hissed-out words sent a jolt of panic through Craig, his heart hammering painfully in his chest against the weight of his NASA shirt. He blinked, rain blurring his vision and coating his dark lashes, the sting of it mingling with the burn of the knife. 

"Tweek, it's me. It's Craig," he gasped out, his smooth voice staggering for a moment. He winced as the dagger pressed harder against his chin, coyly sliding the tip of the blade upwards and forcing his head back into the wet pavement. "Don't you remember? We've known each other for years."

Tweek, drenched in rain and looking like he crawled out of some goddamn medieval horror movie, had no idea who the fuck he was. Blood slowly dripped from his nose, running over his top lip and mixing with the rain, his usual wild, jittery movements replaced by something else. Craig could see it—something was different behind those baby blue eyes that had always been too wide. Now they looked wild in a way that made Craig's stomach twist.

Everything about him was so different.

Tweek's bright eyes stared down at him, wide and unfocused- His once wild, spiky blonde hair now lay flat against his forehead, plastered by the relentless rain. Craig watched as water droplets dripped down his freckled face, tracing the sharp angles of his jaw. Beneath his torn, rain-soaked clothes, Tweek wore strange fur-lined armor—barbaric and heavy. His toned arms, now tattooed with ancient symbols, shook slightly as he tried to hold his weight over Craig. 

This was Tweek—Tweek—who'd hugged his arm a little too tight when he was nervous at school in busy hallways, who smelled like coffee and a dozen packets of sugar, and now looked like he'd forgotten Craig even existed.

Craig's breath came in shallow gasps. His dark eyes widened slightly, searching Tweek's face for any sign of recognition. His NASA shirt sticking to the skin under his faded blue hoodie, now streaked with smears of mud across the sleeves. His worn jeans clung to his stiffened legs, the knees torn and muddied from being shoved onto the wet pavement. 

"Tweek," Craig whispered out, his voice shaking as he tried again to get up, the tilt of the blade smoothly turning sideways. "It's me- You have to remember." His converse sneakers, beaten-up and caked in dirt, squelched against the ground. He could feel the icy rain running in rivulets down his neck, but all of it—the cold, the wet, the fear—seemed distant compared to the sheer terror of Tweek not recognizing him. 

Tweek's brow furrowed as if something inside him was trying to push through the haze. His light blue eyes flickered, momentarily softening, but then the wildness returned, and his grip on the dagger tightened further between his fingertips. Craig could feel the pressure on his chest from Tweek's elbow sharply digging in, crushing the breath from him. His ribs ached with the force of it, and his sun-kissed skin burned where the dagger bit into underneath his chin coyly, just shy of drawing blood.

"I don't know you," Tweek stated with a slight seethe in his tone, his firm voice fractured. The rain hammered harder onto the two of them, the sound almost drowning out his words that landed on his burning ears.

The dagger pressed harder, a sharp sting biting into his skin, and Craig's breath hitched. His heart raced, panic gnawing at him, but it wasn't the fear of dying that had him on edge. It was the way Tweek looked at him—like Craig was nothing like the years of late-night phone calls, shared secrets, and awkward hand-holding didn't matter. 

Like none of it had ever meant anything.

Craig's heart sank, a cold dread spreading through his veins. Tweek wasn't himself—he was lost. Craig's voice cracked, the desperation now raw in his throat. "We're close, man," Craig whispered,  the words feeling heavy as they left the corners of his mouth. His chest tightened, and not just from the weight of Tweek pinning him down. He hated admitting it, hated how real it sounded out loud. "You and me. We're closer than anyone."

But nothing seemed to reach him. Tweek's blue eyes bore into Craig's, empty of recognition. 

They were blank.

 The weight of his body felt crushing as he leaned forward, pushing Craig harder against the pavement. Craig winced, feeling the ache in his ribs intensify. His skin felt raw where the knife rested against his neck, the cold edge biting into him with every breath.

Tweek's breath was ragged, his chest heaving against Craig's, the rain drumming against them like a heartbeat in the darkness. The headlights of the truck cast long, eerie shadows over Tweek's face, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes and the blood still slowly trickling down from his nose to the smooth curl of his bottom lip.

 He looked lost—

Then, all at once, the dagger slipped from Tweek's hand.

It fell to the pavement with a hollow clatter, the sharp tip bouncing slightly before it lay still. Tweek's eyes flickered, the clouds growing thicker in his irises as his strength seemed to drain from him. His tight grip on Craig loosened for a moment, his lean body swaying forward, and Craig barely had time to react before Tweek collapsed entirely, his weight falling into Craig's chest.

His pale eyes fluttered heavily, the intensity in them waning as his rain-soaked lashes, blonde and delicate, blinked slowly, seemingly they were too heavy to hold open.

"Tweek?" Craig breathed out, his voice softer now, filled with worry as rain droplets wobbled down his chin.

The impact knocked the air out of Craig's lungs, but the sharp edge of panic dulled as Tweek's head rested against his chest quietly. Craig could feel the uneven rise and fall of his breath, the side of his flushed cheek pressed into the soaked fabric of Craig's hoodie warmly. Tweek's eyes fluttered one last time before closing, his body finally going slack in the weight of Craig's arms.

Craig gasped out a cough, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath with his lips slightly pursed at the pain. He hesitated for a moment, before he softly wrapped his arms around Tweek's trembling form, pulling him closer to his skin. The rain continued to pour down, drenching them both, but Craig didn't care. He held Tweek tightly, his smooth fingertips curling into the damp fur of his thick cloak, feeling the strong pitter of a heartbeat beneath.

The weight of his injuries must have knocked him out cold.

The scent of pine needles filled the air, mixing with the sharp tang of the rain. The truck's headlights illuminated them both in the darkness, casting long shadows across the slick pavement. Craig's heart thudded in his chest as he looked down at Tweek- his Tweek—lying unconscious in his arms, the blade forgotten on the ground beside them.

Craig's heart pounded in his chest, but the fear was giving way to something else—relief, maybe, or dread. He didn't fucking know at this point, feeling the cold press of his skin through the soaked fabric of his NASA shirt. The smell of pine needles hung in the air, thick and earthy, mixing with the metallic scent of blood and the tang of rain.

The world around them was blurred and distant, the only thing that seemed real to Craig now was the steady, uneven rise and fall of Tweek's chest against his own.

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No one ever tells you how hard it is to drag a body onto your truck after almost running over your almost-boyfriend. But that's just the kind of shit Craig Tucker has gotten used to at South Park. Dragging Tweek through the front door after falling asleep in the passenger seat, felt almost routine to him. Late night Mcdonald's visits through the drive-thru- Tweek blissfully asleep with medium-sized french fries in his lap & crumpled-up brown napkins tossed in his lap. Hell, at this point, Craig wasn't even fazed. 

 But sneaking Tweek, passed out cold and dressed like he'd stepped out of a medieval battle, into his room slung over Craig's back like it was a goddamn normal Tuesday? Without his mother's watchful eyes or his nosey little sister Tricia noticing as she was hogging the family computer to chat with her newest boyfriend? That was new, even for him. 

Craig's room was warm, the faint glow of his bedside lamp casting a soft light over the familiar warmth. Space posters lined the walls—galaxies, planets, a few NASA designs—and glow-in-the-dark stars still clung to the peeling paint of the ceiling, remnants of sixth grade when Tweek had spent the night helping him stick them up during a sleepover. Back then, they hadn't even bothered to align the constellations correctly, laughing too hard and full of soda and an off-brand assortment of salty chips to even care. 

Clothes were tossed haphazardly across the twin-sized bed, and his signature blue hat—soaked from the rain—sat abandoned on his wooden dresser next to a battered telescope he and Tweek had snagged at a yard sale from the Marsh's last summer. Polaroid pictures of them were pinned to a corkboard above his desk, the dates scrawled in black Sharpie beneath each one.

Tweek was sitting in the corner now, tied up with a My Little Pony jump rope Craig had snagged from Tricia's room. Her glittery relic from when she was eight was the only thing Craig could find fast enough that would work. He eyed Tweek warily as he paced back and forth in his bedroom, the wooden floor creaking under his bare feet with each step he took. His Red Racer boxers and old NASA t-shirt clung to his tanned skin, still chilled from the rain that had soaked through him earlier.

He really was asleep.

His wet hair—a light ash blonde, Craig noted absently—was plastered to his pale face, still and peaceful, for now as his wet lashes flickered across his freckled cheeks for a moment. The faint light of the lamp caught the stray wisps of Tweek's buttery blonde hair, making it glow almost ethereally against the dark of the room as his chest rose and fell shallowly, and Craig let out a sigh, softly rubbing the back of his burning neck- taking in the ridiculous scene in front of him.

Stripe, his guinea pig that they adopted together when they were in middle school in honor of the original Stripe, rustled in his cage with a soft squeak, probably confused about the sudden new addition to the room before gleefully sipping some of his water from the dispenser.

Tweek's clothes were torn and dirty, and the fur cloak he wore was heavily soaked from the rain. His entire outfit was too detailed, too real. The dagger he'd tried to stab Craig with earlier sat on the floor nearby in his closet, under the dull light of his bedroom. It wasn't some cheap plastic Halloween prop. It was cold, sharp stone, like something out of a museum. Tattoos spiraled down Tweek's lean arms, dark and intricate, their meaning lost on Craig.

 It all felt too authentic to be some messed-up joke.

The light from the bedside lamp flickered softly, casting playful shadows across the room, but all he could focus on was Tweek, lying there, bound with a Pinkie Pie jump rope that Tricia had played with ages ago. The contrast felt absurd; Tweek's rugged barbarian attire was so at odds with the innocent pastel of the rope and sent a small smile on the edges of his twitching lips.

As he knelt closer, he noticed the delicate scar beneath Tweek's chin, a remnant of their childhood adventures. The sight made Craig's breath catch. Tweek was so alive, and yet in this moment, he felt completely out of reach.

What if Tweek never woke up? What if he was too far gone to remember who Craig was?

Craig's heart pounded in his chest, a heavy weight pressing down as he knelt closer to Tweek. "Come on, Tweek," he whispered, his breath slightly shaking- "You've got to wake up." He reached out, brushing a few strands of wet hair away from Tweek's face, the warmth of his sunkissed fingers contrasting sharply with the cold rain-soaked skin beneath. "We've got to talk about this—whatever this is."

And as if his voice had stirred him awake- Tweek's eyes began to flutter seemingly at the soft hum of his voice, long lashes brushing against his cheeks before slowly opening. He blinked against the soft light, disoriented at first, confusion flickering across his features. For a moment, Craig could see the panic rising in those baby blue eyes as they darted around the bedroom, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Craig's Red Racer figures lined a shelf above him, dusty but perfectly organized.

Tweek blinked rapidly, shaking off the remnants of sleep, the dry air catching in his throat as he struggled to comprehend where he was. His mouth opened slightly as if trying to form words, but only a choked sound escaped. Then, suddenly, he became aware of his bindings, the colorful jump rope digging into his wrists. 

Shit.

Panic set in, and Tweek heavily thrashed against the restraints, eyes wide and desperate.

"Hey—hey, Tweek!" Craig rushed forward, trying to keep his voice steady as he knelt beside him. His mother and sister were currently asleep in their rooms, the sudden rustle would certainly wake them up---- Tweek's soft eyes were wide and wild, darting around the room.

His damp, buttery-blonde hair hung in his face, and for a split second, Craig couldn't help but admire the way the light caught his features—the softness of his skin, the freckles scattered across his cheeks, and the delicate curve of his lips. He looked almost angelic, despite the frantic energy radiating from him.

That was before he nearly knocked his entire shelf down. 

"Calm down," Craig finally muttered, trying to sound casual despite the adrenaline kicking in his veins, his lips slightly chapped as he spoke. "You're not exactly in a position to fight me right now."

Tweek's eyes locked onto his, wild and sharp, but there was something in them—recognition maybe, or at least confusion. Craig didn't let himself fucking relax, though. The memory of the dagger at his throat was still too fresh.

Tweek was still thrashing for a few more moments, pulling at the pink glittery rope with a wild look in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and erratic, and the sound of his frantic movements against the floorboards mixed with the heavy beat of the rain outside. The storm hadn't slowed, and thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, a low growl that rattled the old window.

"You done now?"

Tweek didn't respond to his sarcastic remark—his bright eyes were still narrowed, darting quickly between Craig and the room around him like a trapped animal. 

The pink glitter on the jump rope binding his wrists probably wasn't helping the situation, he noted.

The tension in the air was thick. Craig could feel it crawling up his spine, settling in his chest. His heart thudded uncomfortably as he tried to ignore the way Tweek looked with the blood smeared across his nose towards his bottom lip like he was about to bolt—or attack. 

This wasn't the Tweek he knew. But it was Tweek, wasn't it? The same guy who freaked out over coffee orders and glitched every time he was too anxious. The same guy who sat with him on the roof at night and stared at the stars, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about everything and nothing.

"I'll let you out, I promise- You just have to calm down, okay?"

Craig sat back on his heels, trying to get a read on Tweek's next move. The dagger was still tossed into his closet, its jagged edge glinting through the slight crack of the wooden door. Craig could almost feel the sharpness of it again, pressing into his skin, the cold bite that sent panic surging through him earlier. But now, Tweek was just staring at him, breathing slowly, calming but still cautious, eyes scanning the room like he was calculating his chances of escape.

"Look, you're hurt," Craig continued, his tone more matter-of-fact now as he gestured to Tweek's side. The bloodstain was still there, darkening the fur cloak around the side of his waist. "And I can help. I'm not exactly a surgeon, but I've stitched up enough of Tricia's dolls in the past to know what I'm doing." He gave a half-lopsided smile, trying to ease the tension that hung thick in the air, but it felt weak, forced.

The rain outside had slowed, a dull patter against the window now. The cool air in the room was heavy with tension, but there was also something else there. Craig could feel it—the way his mind kept circling back to those stupid Polaroids on the wall.

Tweek's eyes flickered, the tension in his body loosening just a fraction. He was still on edge, still glaring, but Craig could see the exhaustion in him. The way his light lashes would lower briefly after a few minutes, the quiet slump of his shoulders before pressing his back to the muted walls for support-

Fight was draining out of him, and that was something Craig could work with.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Craig added, softer this time, crouching down in front of Tweek. "And for you to get better, you have to trust that." Tweek's head snapped toward him, eyes wild with confusion and something darker—fear. His chest heaved as he weakly twisted against the binds, but the second he moved too hard, a wince shot across his face, pain twisting his features. Craig's eyes fell to the deep cut at Tweek's side, dried blood staining the barbarian cloak that had once been a pristine, earthy brown. The wound looked nasty, jagged, and deep. And for a moment, Tweek seemed to realize it too.

"Will you let me help you?"

He stopped thrashing, his panicked breath that rested on the end of his bottom lip still heavy, but his movements stilled as a sharp pain shot through him. His face paled slightly, and he winced, pressing his bound hands to his side instinctively with a soft curse resting on his pursed lips.

After what felt like an eternity, Tweek finally gave a small, shaky nod. He didn't speak, but the wince on his face, the way his shoulders sagged slightly in reluctant surrender, said enough.

"Just let me see, okay?"

Tweek's eyes flickered up at him, distrust still lingering, but Craig could see the exhaustion settling in, the pain pulling him back from aggression. His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to protest, but the sharp sting at his side kept him silent. He winced again, biting down on his bottom lip as Craig gently examined the wound.

Craig moved swiftly, reaching under his bed for the first aid kit he kept stashed there. He shoved aside some of his old crumpled-up Algebra quizzes and different snack wrappers for a moment. His fingers brushed against the rough surface of the box, pulling it out with a soft clatter. The sound was almost drowned out by the steady patter of rain against the window, but it still felt loud in the quiet room. He flicked the latches open, revealing neatly arranged gauze, bandages, and a small array of medical tools he'd collected over the years from getting into a couple of fights after school.

His hand hovered over the needle for a second before picking it up. It gleamed under the soft light, and Craig couldn't help the small spike of anxiety that shot through him. He carefully grabbed an alcohol wipe, tearing it open with his teeth, and wiped the needle down, making sure it was clean. The sharp, sterile smell mixed with the lingering scent of coffee beans and the familiar warmth of the room—comforting.

"This is gonna hurt, okay?" Craig murmured, his voice soft but firm as he looked over at Tweek. Tweek's blue eyes met his, a mixture of exhaustion and wariness in them, but he didn't protest. He gave a slight nod, his lips pressing together as he slowly lifted his arms, revealing the jagged wound that marred his side.

Craig's breath hitched at the sight. The cut was deep, the skin around it dark and bruised, dried blood clinging to his cloak and skin. Craig reached for the disinfectant, soaking a piece of gauze before carefully pressing it to the wound. Tweek winced with a slight scrunch of his nose, his body jerking slightly, but he held still, his jaw clenched tight as the sting of the alcohol bit into his skin.

"Sorry," Craig muttered, feeling the tension radiating off Tweek's body. His hand, almost unconsciously, pressed gently against Tweek's chest, steadying him for a moment as he wiped away the grime and droplets of blood that pooled down his freckled skin. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Tweek's breathing beneath his palm, warm and grounding despite the chaos of the moment.

The air between them felt heavy- a sweet scent that always clung to Tweek, no matter what—filled the space between them. It was strangely intimate, the closeness of the moment, the way Craig's hand lingered on his chest as he focused on stitching him up. His smooth fingers moved deftly, threading the needle with precision before pressing it against Tweek's soft skin.

Tweek sucked in a sharp breath but stayed silent, his body tense but obedient under Craig's careful touch. With each pull of the needle, Craig stitched the wound shut, his hands steady despite the pounding of his heart. The rain continued to fall outside, a rhythmic backdrop to the meticulous work. Craig couldn't help but sneak a glance at Tweek's face—his blonde hair, now damp and tousled, framing the delicate curve of his freckled cheekbones. His long lashes fluttered every time the needle pierced his skin, but his eyes remained closed, his expression tight with pain.

Craig's fingers brushed against Tweek's skin as he finished the last stitch, tying the thread off neatly before stepping back, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Tweek's face had paled slightly, but there was a sense of calm now, as though the worst of it had passed. Craig packed up the supplies, his heart still racing as he glanced at Tweek.

"Thank you," Tweek whispered, his voice raspy but sincere. His eyes flickered open, catching Craig's for a moment. There was something softer in his gaze now.

Craig stood there, his hand hovering over the knot binding Tweek's wrists. He felt his heartbeat in his throat, the air in the room thick between them. The My Little Pony jump rope felt absurd in his grip—something so childish holding together the remnants of a boy he used to know.

Tweek had grown quiet, his breathing steady now that the worst of the pain had passed as if he was waiting for something. The wound Craig had stitched up still looked raw, but it was neat, and Tweek barely flinched anymore when he shifted his weight. Craig's hand rested for just a second longer on Tweek's chest after he finished stitching, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath his palm. The space between them was filled with the familiar warmth of their faint touch, a smell so distinctively Tweek it made Craig's stomach twist.

He could feel the heat radiating from Tweek's skin, their proximity uncomfortably close, yet Craig couldn't bring himself to move just yet. He had to do it—had to let him go—but the moment his fingers touched the knot, a wave of uncertainty hit him like a punch to the gut. Tweek's wrists were bruised, the coarse fibers of the rope leaving faint red marks, and Craig hated that he had done this. Hated that it had come to this.

"I'm gonna let you go- Just stay still," Craig asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

Tweek opened his eyes again, his blue gaze meeting Craig's. There was something calmer now in them but still guarded, as if he didn't entirely trust his surroundings or maybe even himself. But he nodded, wincing slightly at the cut on his side as he adjusted his position.

Craig swallowed hard, his fingers hesitating over the knot once more. It would be easy to just wait a bit longer. He wasn't sure what exactly he was waiting for, but part of him was scared of what would happen when Tweek was free— What if once he let go, Tweek bolted, and disappeared again into whatever world he thought he belonged to?

But he couldn't keep him tied up forever in his bedroom either-

"Just- relax, okay?" Craig said softly, more for himself than for Tweek. Slowly, with one last glance at Tweek's face, he untied the rope, his fingers brushing against Tweek's skin as the bindings came undone. Craig's heart pounded, every second feeling stretched out, his muscles tense as if expecting Tweek to lash out the moment he was free. His fingers lingered for a moment on Tweek's wrist, the skin soft beneath his thumb before he finally released him. Tweek rubbed his wrists, testing the freedom, before his fingertips gingerly touched the wound on his side.

Craig stepped back, watching as Tweek examined the stitches. His movements were slow, exhausted, but there was a hint of relief in the way he blinked, his body easing slightly now that the worst of the pain had been tended to. He gave Craig a small, grateful nod before closing his eyes again, leaning back against the wall with a soft sigh.

For a moment, they just stayed like that—Craig standing awkwardly, his hands twitching with the urge to reach out again, while Tweek stared at his wrists, lost in thought.

"Thank you," Tweek murmured after a long silence, his voice soft but sincere. Craig's stomach flipped at the sound of it, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

"Yeah," Craig replied, his voice quieter than he intended. He took another step back, running a hand through his dark hair as he tried to steady himself, the tension still thick in the room. "Just- don't try anything, alright?"

Tweek looked up at him, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes remained cautious with a slight crinkle in the corners of them. Craig didn't know if he could trust that smile. But for now, it was enough.

Craig backed up to the window, hands resting on the sill as the rain continued to pound outside, drowning out everything but the sound of their breathing. He glanced over at Tweek again, who now sat still, his fingers tracing over the stitched wound at his side, wincing slightly but remaining composed.

Craig cleared his throat, pacing the room for a moment, his mind buzzing with a thousand questions. He wanted to ask what the hell had happened, how Tweek had ended up like this—dressed like a warrior from another time, with a wound that looked too real to be some cosplay accident. But the words caught in his throat, and instead, he asked something simpler.

"Do you remember anything?" Craig's voice was quiet, almost hesitant as he watched Tweek. The rain outside seemed to soften, the steady rhythm filling the silence between them.

Tweek's brow furrowed slightly, his eyes still closed as he let out a soft breath. "Not much," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Everything's really blurry."

Craig swallowed, his gaze lingering on Tweek's face—his pale skin, the delicate curve of his lashes, the soft freckled skin. 

Craig swallowed, his throat tightening at the question he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn't help himself. The words slipped out before he could stop them. "Do you remember—me?"

Tweek's eyes stayed closed for a moment, his breathing slow and steady. But when they opened again, Craig could see the truth in them, clear and undeniable. Tweek shook his head, the motion slight but enough to send a sharp sting of disappointment through Craig's chest.

"No," Tweek whispered, his voice hoarse. "I don't."

The room felt too quiet after that, the sound of the rain outside now just white noise as Craig let that answer sink in. He should have expected it—after everything, the way Tweek had been acting, the way he spoke like he was from another world. But somehow hearing it, feeling that distance between them, hurt more than he had imagined. Craig clenched his jaw, trying to shove down the bitterness that came with it.

He had just hoped that Tweek remembered him- That their earlier confrontation did not reveal all the details of his previous memories.

"I just remember walking with the Princess," Tweek continued, his voice faltering slightly as he seemed to search his memories. "And then... there was this sudden light, like—blinding. After that, it's all just... fragments."

Craig stayed silent, his eyes lingering on Tweek's face. There was a distant look in his blue eyes like he was stuck somewhere Craig couldn't reach. He wanted to pull him back, wanted to shake him until something clicked, until the Tweek he knew, his Tweek, came back to him. But Craig stayed still, his heart pounding in his chest as he let Tweek's words settle between them.

A part of him wanted to say something—anything—to bridge that gap. To tell Tweek who he was, who they had been. But another part of Craig, the part that had always been good at keeping walls up, just nodded, retreating into himself, burying the feelings he didn't want to deal with.

"Right," Craig muttered, his voice tight, hands gripping the edge of the first aid kit a little too hard. 

Tweek didn't respond. He just slumped back against the wall, closing his eyes again, leaving Craig standing there with nothing but the sound of the rain and the heavy weight of everything unspoken between them.

Tweek sat quietly against the wall, his sharp blue eyes scanning Craig's room. He was still cautious, and wary, but there was curiosity in the way his gaze drifted from the Red Racer collectibles lined up neatly on the shelf to the faded space posters scattered across the walls. His fingers traced the edges of his cloak before slipping it off, revealing his bare skin underneath, crisscrossed with scars, some deep and jagged. The sight of them made Craig's chest tighten for a moment—he couldn't remember when Tweek had gotten so battered, so hardened.

Tweek's eyes followed Craig's line of sight, but he didn't comment on the scars. Instead, his voice, soft but filled with desperation, broke the silence. "I want to go home... I need to go back home," he muttered, his voice wavering. "We were amidst the brink of war and—" He winced sharply as he shifted, trying to rise to his feet. His body staggered under the weight of his injuries.

Craig instinctively leaned forward, his hands catching Tweek before he could collapse again. The sudden closeness between them made the air shift—Craig's heart raced, and for a split second, their faces were inches apart. He could feel Tweek's breath on his skin, warm and quick. Craig's eyes flickered over Tweek's features, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks, the slight curve of his lips. He swallowed tightly, his own face heating up before he quickly stepped back, breaking the moment.

Both of them were flushed, the tension hanging between them like a thick fog. Craig took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. "We'll figure out how to get you back... somehow," he said, his voice soft but determined.

Tweek sat back down, his breathing still uneven, his eyes briefly glazing over. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers absently brushing across the intricate tattoos that adorned his chest. The symbols were foreign to Craig, but there was something about the way Tweek carried himself that was familiar. He'd always been intense, but this was different—a warrior's burden, like he'd been living a life Craig couldn't even begin to understand.

The silence between them stretched until Tweek finally spoke again, his voice quieter this time. "Why did you learn to sew?"

Craig blinked, a little taken aback by the question, but he recovered quickly. "After my dad left a couple of months ago, money got really tight," he admitted, his tone blunt, though a shadow of pain crossed his face. He tucked the first aid kit back underneath the bed. "We weren't exactly well off from the start, so I picked up some things to help my mom out." He didn't look up as he spoke, as if revealing that part of himself made him feel exposed.

Tweek nodded, understanding passing between them without needing more words. He let out a small sigh, sinking back against the wall. "Resourceful," Tweek said with a faint smile, his eyes softening. It was a simple compliment, but coming from Tweek, it felt like more.

Craig turned, rummaging through his drawers before tugging out a fresh shirt his mom had folded for him. He tossed it toward Tweek, trying to act casual. "Here, you should probably get changed before you freeze."

But Tweek shook his head, his hand trailing absentmindedly over the tattoos on his chest. "Barbarian tradition," he explained. "Our upper halves are to remain exposed. These tattoos- they show our symbol of reaching adulthood, of maturity. It means I am now ready to seek a potential mate." His words were simple, almost matter-of-fact, but Craig couldn't ignore the strange intensity behind them. Tweek sat back down, his breathing still uneven, his eyes briefly glazing over. He felt a sudden heat rise to his face, and he quickly swallowed, nodding.

"I see," Craig mumbled before casually grabbing a pillow off the bed and tossing it toward Tweek with a chuckle on the ends of his smile. "Are barbarians too good for a pillow too?"

Tweek caught the pillow, chuckling softly, the sound almost unfamiliar but comforting in its own way. "No," he admitted, "that, we are not."

Tweek leaned back against the wall, exhaustion lining his features. His cloak hung loosely around him, barely covering the scars across his chest. His pale skin glowed in the dim light of the room, making him seem otherworldly. Craig could feel the pull again—that feeling that always lingered between them, even when Tweek was his normal, frantic self. 

Tweek shook his head, frustrated. He looked down at his hands, dirtied from whatever battles he'd fought, his fingers absentmindedly running over the tattoos on his chest—tribal symbols that Craig didn't recognize, spiraling around scars that looked like they'd been earned in combat. There was something almost surreal about watching Tweek like this, like he had lived through a life Craig couldn't begin to imagine.

Tweek winced as he shifted, his breath shaky. "I fear this is the work of The Wizard," he said, almost to himself, though Craig could hear the tremor in his voice. He finally looked up, meeting Craig's gaze. "He's behind all of this."

Craig furrowed his brow, trying to process everything. "The Wizard?" The D&D-like narrative was throwing him off. It sounded like one of the crazy games they used to play, but this felt too real to be a game. “Like Wizard of Oz or some shit?-”

Craig asked, half-expecting Tweek to crack a grin or at least chuckle at the attempt to lighten up the mood with a half-witted reference. But instead, Tweek shot him a confused look, his pale blue eyes narrowing slightly as his brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment. He shook his head slowly, clearly not understanding the cultural nod. 

Duly noted- Magical realms do not have any sort of technology.

"No," Tweek began, his voice shifting to a more serious tone, rich with urgency. "The Wizard King. He has cast his tyranny across all of our realms—the elves, humans, and barbarians alike. He wields an uncontrollable amount of power." Tweek’s gaze sharpened, locking onto Craig’s, making it clear this was far from a playful game. "After legend claimed he found one of the descendants of the Stick of Truth—a weapon so formidable, all must bow before it—he began his conquest."

Craig blinked, unsure how to respond. The entire scenario sounded like some intense Dungeons & Dragons plot, but the gravity in Tweek's voice made it clear this wasn’t a joke.

Tweek turned firmly, his voice low but laced with a gravity that made Craig stand a little straighter. "I am here because of Princess Kenny. She sacrificed herself—gave up the last of her strength, using all of her remaining magic before being captured by his men. I didn’t know what she had done, not at first." His pale blue eyes, sharp with memory and confusion, shifted to Craig. "Not until, of course, you found me."

Craig felt the weight of Tweek’s gaze settle on him, making him shift his stance, one hand absentmindedly brushing against his jeans. The room, which had once been a comforting mess of familiar objects—space posters, Red Racer action figures on the shelf—suddenly felt too small, too intimate. The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that he and Tweek had stuck up there back in sixth grade seemed to mock him with their distant, plastic light. They were kids then. This? This was different.

Tweek’s golden, rain-dampened hair framed his face, tendrils sticking to his freckled cheeks. His mouth was dry, lips slightly cracked from the cold, but his expression was serious, intent. Craig swallowed hard, noticing the slight tremble in Tweek’s hands, though the barbarian exterior remained.

Tweek shifted against the wall, eyes glancing around Craig’s room. His gaze flickered over the the corkboard above Craig’s desk where a polaroid of the two of them hung, the edges worn from being handled too much. He lingered on the photo for a second, his expression softening, before looking back at Craig.

Craig watched him closely, noticing how out of place Tweek seemed—this warrior with tattoos and scars, sitting in a room filled with action figures and polaroids of a life he didn’t seem to remember. He took another step forward, closing the space between them, his eyes falling on the fresh blood staining Tweek’s cloak.

“Till I found you,” Craig echoed, a strange mix of emotions pulling at him as the reality of the situation settled in.

Tweek nodded, his face pale but determined. "He tricked us. We thought we were starting a treaty, ending the tensions between our kinds." His hand tightened into a fist,his bottom lip slightly curling in disgust. "But we were betrayed... led straight into his trap."

Craig stared at him for a long moment, his mind racing. The room felt small all of a sudden, the walls closing in. 

The rain outside had softened, but the steady pattern of it against the window added to the unease hanging between them. He took a breath, steadying himself. "Why are you telling me all this?" His voice came out more hesitant than he intended.

The room had always been a shade of dark blue, calming in a way Craig found comforting as he asked the question. Tweek had taken another step forward, observing it. The corkboard above Craig's desk had a mess of Polaroid pictures pinned to it—snapshots of him and Tweek, some from years ago. There was one in particular, their faces close together, grinning like idiots at the camera during a trip to Stark's Pond. That polaroid stared back at them now, the edges frayed from age.

Tweek paused on the corkboard once more, lingering on that same polaroid for a moment longer than necessary. His freckled face, usually so tense and jittery, was unreadable now. His golden, wispy hair, wild and tousled as ever, caught the faint light from the window, giving him an almost angelic glow. Craig noticed, almost unwillingly, how his long lashes brushed against his cheeks when he blinked, how his pale skin was dusted with freckles across his nose and cheeks. But none of that softened the strangeness of this version of Tweek—the one who stood there wrapped in a tattered cloak, stained with dried blood. He didn't belong here, in Craig's room.

Tweek's gaze met his, blue eyes intense and filled with a weight that made Craig's stomach twist. "Because," Tweek answered, his voice barely above a whisper, "I fear that if I am here- your version of me is now in my realm."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Chapter Text

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ "ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴇʏ."  

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The small bell above the door of Tweek's Bros chimed softly, announcing Craig's arrival into the cozy, sunlit quiet of the shop.

The place smelled faintly of fresh roasted coffee beans and warm pastries, a comforting blend Tweek had long since grown used to basically growing up in the family owned establishment. He stood behind the glass counter quietly, clutching a broom that was nearly as tall as he was, his little green apron wrapped around his waist in a messy knot that he had barely managed to tie. 

Tweek's golden locks of hair fell haphazardly over his forehead, his pale blue eyes, wide and attentive, darted nervously from the bread crumbs on the counter to the corners of the tiled floor, where stray wrappers had gathered at the edge of the table, messily shoved in the edges of the leather booths.

As Craig walked in, his gaze swept over the small coffee shop, taking in the half-empty cups and crumpled napkins littering the booths and counters with a slight purse of his bottom lip. His blue hat sat slightly off-kilter, showing a hint of his dark hair beneath that curled at his forehead, and a gap-toothed grin flashed across his face as he spotted the jittery blonde.

Craig's green eyes, sharp and observant even as a kid, narrowed with curiosity at the mess in the shop scattered about, though he looked back at Tweek with a familiar, casual smile.

"Hey, Tweek-" Craig called out, both of his hands warmly in the pockets of his oversized blue hoodie, which hung loosely over his small frame. The hoodie's sleeves were frayed, and his light red sneakers were scuffed, clearly well-worn from running through the playground and trails of South Park Elementary.

Tweek looked up at the sound of his voice, startled, the wooden broom nearly slipping slightly from his tight grip as his fingertips fumbled to catch it before it clattered on the floor.

"C-Craig!" he stammered out, his words tumbling out in a quick, nervous rush. "Um, h-hey." His cheeks flushed a light pink, and a shy, almost sheepish smile curved his lips as he smoothly brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from his face, revealing a dusting of freckles across his scrunched-up nose. His warm fingers were wrapped in colorful bandages—bright reds, blues, and yellows trickled across his skin from where he'd fumbled and scraped them earlier while cleaning.

Craig took a slow look around the shop, quickly noticing the brightly colored snack wrappers stuffed into booth corners and the assortment of smudges across the surface of the tables. "You… busy?" he lightly asked, a dark eyebrow quirking as he turned his green gaze back to Tweek. "I thought we were gonna hang out today."

Tweek's eyes flickered between the wooden broom clutched tightly in his small hands and the mess scattered across the coffee shop, his heart slightly sinking as he shook his head quietly towards Craig. He glanced back at the young peruvian boy, the ends of his lips tugging slightly into a strained smile, but feeling a bit of disappointment seep through his words.

"I-I gotta clean all this up first," he stammered. "Mom and Dad- they said I can't leave 'til it's done. You should probably just go play without me, okay?"

Craig's expression shifted for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face as he looked around the shop for a moment. He ran a hand along the edge of his frayed hoodie sleeve, his gaze settling on Tweek's worn-out figure, the little green apron tied crookedly around his waist, and his hair an endearing mess of golden curls that he often wondered if he had ever brushed.

Craig's blue hat cast a shadow over his eyes, and Tweek couldn't quite tell what he was thinking. With a sigh on his lips, Tweek turned back to sweeping, thinking that Craig would leave, and go back outside to play with the other kids like he probably should.

The quiet lingered for a beat, and Tweek's shoulders sagged slightly, expecting to hear the soft chime of the door as Craig walked away. He kept his pale blue eyes on the broom as he swept, already trying to shake off the disappointment that was settling warmly in his chest.

But instead of the hearing door swinging open behind him, there was a rustle beside him. Tweek found himself quickly blinking, raising his gaze to see Craig standing by one of the booths, hurriedly picking up a dustbin from the corner with a focused expression on his face, his eyes slightly squinted with each rustle of his arm. Without a word, Craig bent down, scooping up colorful stray wrappers and pastry crumbs with quick, determined motions, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be there, helping Tweek.

Tweek's soft lips slightly parted, and for a moment, he just stood there, his blue eyes light and a flutter of warmth spreading through his chest at the sudden display. "C-Craig! You don't have to do that!" he sheepishly blurted out, his pale cheeks now flushed as he tried to figure out what was happening.

Craig was supposed to leave. He was supposed to head outside and do- well, something more fun than cleaning a dusty old coffee shop for the afternoon.

But Craig Tucker didn't look up from where he was cleaning, instead busying himself with picking up a few stubborn bread crumbs that had slipped into the leather booth cushions.

"It's fine," he said in his usual casual tone as if he didn't have a care in the world, his voice warm and light. His sunkissed fingers, slightly dusty from the crumbs, smoothly brushed against the booth seats, and he gave a little shrug, almost like he hadn't just done something that made Tweek nearly drop his wooden broom to the tiled floor.

"Really?" Tweek asked quietly, the smooth broom handle still gripped tightly in his small hands for a moment. He smoothly tilted his head slightly towards his direction, watching Craig with a slight whisper at the end of his lingering words. "You really don't have to, dude-"

Craig relaxed his shoulders once more again, glancing up at Tweek with an easygoing smile that showed a hint of his gap-toothed grin. "Nah," he replied simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and a matter-of-fact statement. "Any place is better with you in it, y'know."

Tweek felt his freckled cheeks grow warmer at the words being spoken- He'd never expected Craig to say something like that, and he definitely hadn't expected him to stay. The broom, towering over his slight frame, felt a little lighter as he looked at Craig's earnest expression, his dark green eyes meeting Tweek's for a brief, sincere moment.

Tweek's fingers twitched slightly, and he struggled to find the right words, brushing a few golden curls from his face. "Th-thanks, Craig," he finally managed, his voice softer than he intended. There was a shy smile playing on his lips as he glanced down, feeling a warmth he couldn't quite name.

Craig just gave him a simple nod, then went back to gathering wrappers in the palm of his hand as Tweek briefly watched, his pale blue eyes flickering back and forth. They worked together, the quiet hum of the coffee shop filling the air as they cleaned side by side, Tweek's heart still racing a little faster than usual.

Tweek Tweak couldn't remember the last time he had fallen asleep so deeply like this before. The last time he had probably slept nearly this decently had been when he had caffeine withdrawals, falling into a near-ass coma in study hall in his junior year of high school.

Tweek's eyelids fluttered open to the soft warmth of sunlight spilling over his face after the sudden memory that had gathered in his thoughts, feeling almost like a comforting hand warmly brought to the side of his freckled cheek. He had half expected to roll over, to feel the soft fabric of his pillowcase tickle his flushed skin. 

However, his light lashes blinked away the remaining sleepiness, finding himself instead lying in the middle of a lively, bustling square that looked like something out of an old textbook he would review in AP history.

He slowly sat up, quietly wincing as the uneven cobblestone ground pressed sharply into his weathered knees. It hurt like hell. The sweet air was filled with the comforting, earthy scent of baked bread mingling with a harsher, smoky hint of coal.

Around him, small shops lined the street, some with iron torches casting a gentle glow under the afternoon sun, and others with hand-painted signs advertising spices, pottery, or finely crafted metalworks. A bakery displayed fresh loaves on a wooden shelf near its window, and a blacksmith nearby was hammering metal, the sharp clinking sound filling the air.

What was even going on?

Stumbling to his feet, Tweek quietly brushed off his faded jeans, his lanky fingertips nervously adjusting the collar of his olive-green shirt. 

Has South Park done some sort of- festival? He hadn't heard of anything being celebrated in the town.

His tousled blond curls hung around his freckled face, and his light blue eyes darted about, catching wary glances from passersby. Men and women in medieval attire—tunics, cloaks, and long, flowing dresses—stared at him with open curiosity.

He couldn't help but feel wildly out of place among the intricate laces and leather belts, the family crests embroidered on sleeves, and the rough, practical leather shoes. He tugged at his shirt, feeling more self-conscious with every look that came his way and a soft whisper pointed in his direction.

The town square reminded him of home in an odd way despite the differing appearance —the pine trees lining the town's edge, the simple, familiar layout, almost like the square he knew so well. He instinctively reached into his jean pocket, pulling out his phone, its slightly cracked screen lighting up as he pressed the power button. A tiny galaxy keychain swung from the corner as he brushed away a bit of dust. 

The back of his thumb paused on the screen for a moment, on a wallpaper of himself smiling, one arm outstretched holding the camera. Beside him in the photo, Craig stood with his usual deadpan stare at the camera, his tanned hand resting lightly on Tweek's scrunched-up shoulder.

"No signal," he muttered, letting out a nervous laugh, his warm fingertips instinctively reaching to lightly tug at his golden locks at the little notification.

Just his luck.

The square was alive with life as Tweek quietly navigated through the shops with a slight twitch of his shoulders; market stalls lined the cobblestone streets, colorful awnings fluttering over displays of fresh vegetables, dried herbs, and shimmering trinkets. Torches mounted on iron posts cast a warm glow over everything, the gentle flicker of the flames mixing with the rich afternoon sunlight. The smells were overwhelming with a rich musk yet completely intoxicating.

Some of the townsfolk wore wide-brimmed hats, while others had their long hair braided and pinned up, their warm outfits adorned with belts or pouches that looked handmade and lovingly worn. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they eyed Tweek with each stall he passed by, his thrifted outfit sticking out.

It's not like he hadn't been used to this sort of attention before. As Eric Cartman would lovingly put it during their shared Gym period together, he was the town spaz. To be stared at wasn't a completely foreign concept to Tweek- but this was different.

Tweek rubbed the back of his burning neck, taking a few tentative steps through the square, his busted-up shoes scuffing against the smoothness of the cobblestones. The air felt thick with the hum of activity—horse-drawn carts creaked as they passed him, the clunky wheels rattling over uneven stones, and the sounds of market vendors hawking their wares filled the space, their voices rising above the crowd. 

As he walked, something tugged at the edge of his awareness—a faint, earthy scent mixed with the freshness of herbs. It drew him like a thread, and he found his gaze drifting toward a small shop nestled between two larger buildings. 

The creaky wooden sign above it was hand-carved, painted in deep greens and golds, with curling letters that spelled out "Marsh's Botanicals." Around the entrance, a riot of colorful plants spilled from clay pots and wooden crates—lavender, rosemary, and thyme brushed against his legs as he stepped closer, their fragrant leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Ivy eagerly climbed the walls of the shop, twisting its way up toward a crooked window where sunlight poured in, catching on the edges of delicate glass vials arranged neatly inside.

Tweek hesitated for a moment, his pale eyes following the ivy, and then glanced at the sturdy oak door, which was slightly ajar, inviting him in. The air smelled richer, almost nostalgic in a way that made his pulse slow, though he couldn't quite place why. The low murmur of voices from inside drifted toward him, though the words were hard to make out over the clanging of a nearby blacksmith and the jingle of reins as a horse trotted by. He pushed the door open with the heel of his hand, and a soft chime rang above his head.

Inside, the atmosphere changed. The air was cooler, thick with the scent of damp soil and blooming flowers. Wooden shelves, rough-hewn and sturdy, lined the walls, each one packed with small dry clay pots, bundles of dried herbs, and bottles of tinctures.

Behind the counter, a large mortar and pestle rested on a worn wooden slab, alongside a small stack of parchment and a quill dipped in ink. The entire shop was dimly lit, save for a warm glow coming from the hearth in the back corner, where embers crackled softly in the iron grate.

The man behind the counter had his back turned, focused on a potted plant he was carefully tending to. He wore a long brown apron stained with dirt, and the sleeves of his green tunic were rolled up, revealing strong, sun-browned arms. His dark, wavy hair was streaked with gray, and as he straightened up, wiping his hands on an old rag, Tweek's lips slowly parted-

It couldn't be, could it?

Before Tweek could say anything, another figure approached the counter—a man clad in rough spun tunic and breeches, a sword strapped at his waist, and a fur-lined cloak draped over his broad shoulders. He placed a heavy pouch of coins on the counter, its metallic clink filling the room. His thick boots left a trail of dirt as he moved, his expression serious as he nodded to the shopkeeper.

"I'll take another batch of the healing salve, Lord Marsh," the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "My lord's men are in need of it again."

Randy—if that was really Randy—nodded as if this request was routine, expertly weighing out a few small jars filled with a greenish salve. His hands were steady, and skilled, as he carefully wrapped the jars in rough cloth and placed them into a satchel.

"That'll be two more silver pieces, Sir Barlow," Randy replied, his tone even, as if this kind of transaction happened every day. The man, Sir Barlow, tossed the extra coins into the leather pouch, his gloved hand briefly grazing the hilt of his sword as if to steady it.

Tweek watched, trying to make sense of what was happening. His pulse quickened as Randy turned around, finally noticing him standing awkwardly near the doorway.

"Mr. Marsh—?"

It was Randy Marsh, no mistaking it. Tweek recognized the dark black hair, now flecked with a few strands of gray. His eyes glinted in the dim light, a touch of mischief in them as the ends of his coiled mustache curled upwards with his slight smile.

But something about him was undeniably different. A thick, brown apron was tied tightly around his waist, worn and streaked with dirt, the sign of a man who spent his days working with his hands. 

"Oh?" Randy's voice was calm but inquisitive as he set down a small gardening shovel, its iron edge glinting faintly in the warm light of the shop. His fingertips were calloused, like someone who had spent years digging in the soil. "Do you know my son, Stan, perhaps?"

It was such a simple question, but it sent a jolt through Tweek's chest. He took an instinctive step back, his beat-up sneakers catching on the uneven floor, nearly twisting into the spilled dirt beneath him.

His breath hitched as memories flooded in, images of the Marsh family flashing before him. Randy and his wife Sharon had been regular customers at his family's coffee shop for as long as Tweek could remember. Tweek had memorized Randy's usual order by the time he was ten: a simple black coffee, no cream, no sugar, the cup always handed off with a polite nod or the occasional wave.

And yet, as Tweek stood in the doorway of this strange, herb-scented shop, the Randy Marsh before him seemed distant, unfamiliar. His expression was kind, but there was a certain weight behind his eyes.

There was no way Randy didn't know who Tweek was. No way he wouldn't remember the scrawny kid who had always sat awkwardly at the edge of Stan's parties, nervously stirring sugar into his own cup of coffee. And yet, Randy was looking at him with the kind of curious detachment one reserves for a stranger.

Tweek swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Y-Yeah," he stammered, his voice breaking slightly. "I-I know Stan."

Randy's smile broadened just a little at the mention of his son, a flicker of recognition finally passing across his face. "Ah, so you're one of his old friends then," he mused, almost to himself. "Well, Stan doesn't come by much anymore. Busy with his own life, I suppose."

Tweek tried to nod, but his mind was racing. This was Randy Marsh. He had to be. But why didn't Randy remember him clearly? And why was he running a shop that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a medieval fucking fantasy?

"Would you say hello to him? Send him our regards, from his mother and I."

Tweek didn’t respond.

Tweek stumbled out of Randy's shop quickly, leaving behind the smell of earth and smoke and the strange before saying goodbye, the unsettling familiarity of the man who didn't know him.

Outside, the sun was bright, almost blinding, as it reflected off the cobblestone streets and filled the market square with a warm haze. His vision blurred at the edges as he struggled to catch his breath, the weight of panic pressing down on his chest. He staggered forward, barely aware of his path, just desperate to get away from the baffling exchange that made his skin crawl.

Where the hell was he? Who were all these people? He had lived in this town damn near his whole life, yet everyone seemed so unfamiliar- no one seemed to even recognize him.

The market square was alive with sounds and smells: shopkeepers called out, selling everything from roasted meats to woven fabrics, while children tugged at their mothers' skirts, their small voices giggling and babbling. But even as Tweek moved through the square, trying to focus on anything to ground him, a deep, thunderous sound filled the air, growing louder with each passing second.

The clamor of hooves slammed into the ground, rhythmic and fierce, like a distant storm rolling closer. Tweek's blurred vision began to clear just in time to see a carriage, massive and unwieldy, tearing through the square.

Its wheels rattled violently over the cobblestone, shaking as if it might fall apart at any moment, and the entire wooden frame shuddered under the weight of a large, cloth-covered shipment strapped to the back. He could see barrels and crates barely contained by fraying ropes, ready to topple at the next sharp turn.

The man steering it was wrapped in a dark navy cloak, the fabric torn and battered by rough journeys, his face mostly hidden by a mask, save for the piercing green eyes that shone under the warmth of the afternoon light. His leather-gloved hands clutched the reins with a white-knuckled grip, yanking them with precise control to maneuver through the bustling square.

Townspeople scattered at the sight, mothers sweeping their children into their arms, and shopkeepers frantically pulling their carts and stalls out of the carriage's path. Fruit baskets tipped over, spilling bright oranges and apples onto the street, while vendors cursed under their breath, gripping their wares as the whirlwind barreled past. Tweek's heart hammered in his chest, his curled hands instinctively clenching as the carriage hurtled closer, the thundering of hooves now a deafening roar in his ears.

Only then did he realize he'd wandered straight into the middle of the street.

The carriage loomed closer, the sharp tang of dust and horse sweat filling his nose as his vision swam again. His feet were glued to the ground, the entire scene moving too fast, too loud, and yet in sickening slow motion as the shadow of the carriage grew larger. Tweek's wide eyes stared, frozen, into the piercing green gaze of the cloaked driver, even as he braced for impact.

And then, out of nowhere, a pair of hands grabbed him, yanking him back with a rough, urgent pull. The force knocked the breath out of him, and he stumbled against the stone wall of a nearby building, the sudden jolt sending sparks through his already dizzy vision. He lightly gasped, his pulse racing, as he tried to focus on his surroundings, the noise of the chase fading in the distance as the cloaked figure and guards thundered past.

"Woah! Almost had a-an accident there!"

A pair of warm, light brown eyes met Tweek's gaze, one slightly unfocused as they studied him with a mild curiosity.

What the hell?-

The young man in front of him had rich, chocolate-brown hair swept neatly to one side, a cream-colored hat perched atop it, with an oversized feather tucked into the band. He leaned on a pair of wooden crutches, balancing himself with an easy grace that belied his lanky physique. His yellow tunic fit snugly, catching in the slight breeze, and his belt bore a small leather satchel with a wooden flute tucked neatly inside.

Jimmy Valmer?

"Jimmy—dude—" Tweek raspily stammered, grabbing Jimmy's arm for support, grateful for the solid, if tense, shoulder beneath his hand. A slight, twitchy smile tugged at Tweek's lips, but he couldn't quite keep the nerves from surfacing. "Gah! You seriously saved me there!"

Jimmy smoothly tilted his head, his brown hair flopping just slightly with the movement. He raised an eyebrow lazily, his expression puzzled but polite, his smooth lips curved in a faint smile. The leather satchel at his waist shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the crutches, giving Tweek a better view of the flute tucked neatly beside a small pouch of coins.

"Pardon me, d-do I know you?" Jimmy asked, his warm voice lilting with a soft, rhythmic cadence.

Tweek barely registered Jimmy's words though, he was just so damn happy to see another face he recognized finally- his voice spilling out in relieved babbles as his heart rate slowed, if only slightly. "I was getting seriously worried!" His voice was breathless, filled with a rush of gratitude and disbelief at his narrow escape.

But as he looked up, Tweek's smile faded. Jimmy's gaze held no glimmer of recognition; his expression was one of mild confusion, his head tilted just slightly as he tried to place the jittery blonde before him. A chill crept into Tweek's veins as he slowly processed the realization.

"You don't remember me?" Tweek's voice wavered, and he tried to keep his smile steady. Tugging nervously at the ends of his wild blonde curls, he added, "We're… friends-"

The afternoon sun filtered down as Tweek tried to offer a small smile, casting warm beams that flickered over the cobblestones. Jimmy's hat cast a faint shadow over his face, but his expression was gentle, almost apologetic. His crooked teeth peeked through as he smiled, the look both kind and amused.

"Certainly haven't seen a face like yours around these parts!" Jimmy smoothly laughed, his warm brown eyes flicking over Tweek's rumpled clothes with a spark of mirth. "And not one with such… questionable fashion sense, either."

Jimmy leaned in, adjusting his grip on his crutches as he steadied himself. The warm scents of the marketplace swirled around them: freshly baked bread mingling with the sharp tang of herbs and spices from the apothecary stall nearby, as the chatter of townsfolk filled the air.

"No—but then again, we see so many faces every day, don't we?" he said simply, his tone softening with a reassuring warmth. "Every single stranger is a friend we haven't m-met!"

But the words, intended as comfort, only left Tweek feeling more unsettled.

Jimmy's eyes softened as he took in Tweek's distress, his lanky hand reaching out to rest gently on Tweek's shoulder, a touch meant to ground him.

His voice was soothing, even as it stuttered slightly, "Hey! Don't worry, okay?" The warmth of his smile deepened, casting a glow over his yellow tunic as he leaned in with friendly sincerity. "You seem a bit lost, and I'm heading to the town c-center anyway."

With a light nod of his head, Jimmy motioned for Tweek to follow. As they moved further along the street, Jimmy's wooden crutches tapped against the cobblestones in rhythm with his steps, his movements surprisingly smooth.

He whistled a cheerful tune, the melody blending with the ambient noises of the street: the low hum of voices, the clatter of pots and pans from a nearby blacksmith, and the scent of roasting meat mingling with wild herbs.

"Is there anywhere I can drop you off?" Jimmy asked, glancing over his shoulder with a grin.

Tweek's steps faltered slightly as he looked around, his gaze drifting over the bustling scene. Vendors called out to passersby, hawking freshly baked bread, colorful bolts of cloth, and small trinkets that glittered in the afternoon sun.

Townsfolk still gave him curious, sidelong glances, some even murmuring as he passed, their gazes lingering on his odd attire. He shrank back a little, his pale fingers tracing the fabric of his olive shirt anxiously. He needed to get out of this outift-

"Is there, uh, any shop I could go to? To maybe… change?" He finally managed, twisting his nimble hands together with a nervous tremor. "I—I could wash dishes or something, just need to get out of these clothes."

Jimmy paused for a moment at the request, considering, tapping his bottom lip with a slight twinge, "Well-"

Jimmy's brown eyes lit up as an idea dawned on him, his expression playful. With a sly grin, he gave Tweek a nudge with his crutch, leaning in with an exaggeratedly dramatic flutter of his lashes.

"That would be Bebe's!" he announced with a flourish, his lashes batting comedically. "The fair maiden herself owes me a favor anyway! She'd be more than pleased to assist us."

Bebe Stevens?

Jimmy's grin grew, and he straightened up with an air of mock gallantry, sweeping one hand toward a brightly painted storefront further down the street.

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"Jimmy, for the last time—you cannot keep trying to cash in favors!" Bebe's voice rang through the fullness of the shop, the exasperation in her tone clear as her smooth palms hit the wooden counter with an echoing thud. A few silk ribbons fluttered from a nearby display as if even they were startled by her sudden outburst to the young bard. Her rosy cheeks puffed in frustration.

Tweek could partially understand why Clyde would chase after Stevens to take him back nearly ever day of the week like clockwork- Bebe Stevens was an undeniable storybook beauty.

Her light blonde ringlets were neatly pulled back in a soft red ribbon, giving her an air of sophistication that only half-disguised her no-nonsense attitude. She fit into this world nearly perfectly, except her bright blue eyes glinted with a spark that made Tweek's stomach twist with both recognition and, frankly, fear.

She was still just as terrifying regardless of what version she was.

"The nerve of you to even try to show up in my shop again, honestly!"

"The nerve? Bebe, you wound me!"

The blonde maiden wore a dark red gown that was simple yet elegant with light gold trim at the neckline- with a snug bodice and full skirt that swept around her ankles, the crimson fabric catching the light in gentle folds of the soft velvet material.

Tweek quietly blinked, trying to reconcile this fierce, medieval Bebe with the high school version he remembered—the girl who was always bouncing across the South Park High football field in a cheerleader's outfit, laughing and throwing around her green & white pom-poms like it was an Olympic sport?

He could almost picture her yelling at Clyde Donovan across the cafeteria, her on-and-off boyfriend back in school, or gossiping with her friends by the lockers during the passing period.

And now, here she was, furiously arguing with Jimmy like some kind of noblewoman defending her honor.

"Tough l-luck, Goldilocks!" Jimmy sang back teasingly, his brown eyes glinting with mischief as he casually leaned in toward her. He was lanky but somehow managed to carry himself with an air of confidence, even with his wooden crutches. His brown hair was neatly brushed to the side with the tilt of his head, and the yellow tunic he wore was just a little too bright—

An odd choice for a bard, Tweek noted to himself- but one that seemed to fit his cheerful, roguish demeanor.

Jimmy's face had this playful energy to it, his slightly crooked grin hinting that he found this entire argument highly amusing. Tweek had to give him credit for holding his ground, though.

Bebe looked ready to throttle him.

"You and Wendy are calling on me nearly every week to get you ladies out of some trouble you brought upon yourselves," Jimmy continued with a smooth smile spread across the corners of his lips, casually tapping his fingertips on the counter as if he were simply discussing the weather. "Consider it lucky I don't ask for more."

Bebe's bright blue eyes slightly narrowed at the comment, her golden curls slipping over her pale shoulders as she tentatively leaned forward over the wooden surface of the shop counter her curled fingertips began digging into the smooth wooden surface, her rosy cheeks slightly flushed.

 "Go to hell, Valmer." she finally replied with a seethe, her voice low and venomous. With a dramatic huff, she promptly turned, her long sleeves crossed over her bodice as her satin ribbon trailed behind her like a flickering flag- she stormed through the flowing curtain at the back of their shop, a faint "Ugh!" echoing from behind it.

As the thick, velvet curtain swayed behind her, Tweek caught a glimpse of another girl sitting quietly inside—a dark-haired woman with long, sleek black hair that fell to her waist. She wore a light purple dress that hugged her frame elegantly, and her almond-brown eyes flickered toward him with a hint of curiosity before the curtain finally settled, concealing her from view.

Tweek stared at her for a moment before the curtain fell- it had looked like she wanted to say something to him, but Jimmy nudged his shoulder before he could comment on her presence.

Jimmy seemed to notice Tweek's bewilderment and a crooked grin spread across his face. "You're wondering, aren't you?"

He tilted his head toward the curtain, referring to the spirited exchange that had just taken place, Tweek curiously raising an eyebrow towards the young man- "You two are-?"

The bard let out an exaggerated sigh from his perked lips, placing a singular hand dreamily on his flushed cheeks as if he were reciting poetry towards the curtain. "We're dating!"

Tweek found himself immediately choking.

However, the bard simply chuckled out loud- his lanky fingertips covering his curled lips briefly with a small snort escaping- 

Jimmy had fully laughed, quietly patting Tweek's shoulder as he leaned into his wooden crutch with a smile tugging at the ends of his lips.

"I jest! We're actually friends. Believe it or not, her cursing me out is a sign of affection." He playfully shot a wink over his shoulder, the warmth of the shop lanterns smooth over his pale complexion. "What a delicate maiden, huh?"

Tweek snorted, but couldn't help a grin as he let his gaze wander over the room again. Bebe's shop was a sight for sore eyes- lantern crafted from intricately shaped iron and stained glass, casting golden and amber hues over the walls, which were adorned with richly colored tapestries.

The air smelled faintly of lavender and aged wood, with a subtle hint of something sweet, like freshly baked pastries drifting from a distant kitchen. This place felt worlds away from the thrift stores back home in South Park, where clothes clung limply to wire hangers.

As he further walked, he admired the fabrics of the shop- The shop was practically lined with gowns, tunics, and trousers, each garment draped with care and almost reverence. Tweek wondered if this version of Bebe was related to royalty. Some of the dresses sparkled with intricate beadwork, tiny crystals catching the lantern light like stars trapped in the fabric. Deep greens, rich burgundies, and royal blues filled the space, each piece carefully displayed on mannequins carved from dark wood.

Tweek's fingers brushed over a dark green tunic with braided trim at the collar. The fabric was smooth, almost luxurious, quite unlike his faded thrift-store shirt that felt embarrassingly out of place here.

"This place is gorgeous."

"This shack? Sure-! If you think so, Bebe never lets me help really liven things up here though."

To his right, a row of tunics hung neatly on a low rack, each one carefully stitched and dyed in earthy tones—browns, mossy greens, and faded yellows. The blonde reached out and ran his fingers along a tunic's sleeve, feeling the rough but soft weave. 

The soft flicker of candlelight added to the medieval charm, casting shadows that danced on the rich fabrics lining the walls. "You really didn't have to help me out," Tweek murmured, his voice softening as he looked back at Jimmy. "Agh! It's… it's really nice of you to do that."

Jimmy brushed off the gratitude with a quick wave of his hand, shaking his head. "Oh, sure—consider it more of a personal favor for myself. I definitely wouldn't want you to put me out of business! You're quite the spectacle at the town square, y'know?"

Tweek's cheeks reddened slightly, realizing his thrifted olive-green top and faded jeans from Hollister had become something of an unintended spectacle.

The realization was somehow both mortifying and a little amusing.

Jimmy picked up on his discomfort and playfully nudged Tweek's side with his elbow. "You should join me! I'm actually going to be performing at the local tavern!" With a mischievous glint in his dark eyes, he teasingly pulled out his wooden flute, leaning on his crutches as he did so.

"They buy my business with as many beers as I can drink—quite the businessman, don't you think?" 

"Quite the businessman," Tweek echoed with a faint grin, feeling himself relax, if only a little, in Jimmy's easygoing presence. He reminded him so much of his version of Jimmy- the differences small between the both of them.

Jimmy tucked the small flute back into the warmth of the leather satchel, shaking his head with a chuckle. "You laugh, but I make quite the profit with the regulars there at dawn!" He slung the satchel back onto his slouched shoulder, watching Tweek with a perceptive glance as he ran his bandaged fingers through his tousled golden hair.

Tweek considered the offer for a moment- His mind wandering. He had no idea where the fuck he was- where his friends, family, where Craig was-

"I just…" Tweek's voice trailed off as he exhaled quietly, his thin fingertips instinctively tugging at the ends of his locks in that familiar anxious way. "I have to figure out a way home."

Jimmy nodded thoughtfully, his gaze softening as he took in Tweek's uncertain expression. He motioned with a reassuring smile.

"You live far from here? I'm sure I could figure out arrangements for you to travel to the next village over."

Far was certainly a generous way of putting it.

Tweek hesitated for a moment, his smooth fingers fidgeting with the hem of his wrinkled-up shirt, brushing out a few of the wrinkles with his hand. "It's a bit- ah- more complicated than that, I'm afraid."

Jimmy's thick brow furrowed in curiosity, but he didn't press further, to which Tweek was silently grateful. The last thing he needed was to get interrogated about his previous whereabouts.

Instead, he casually leaned back into his wooden crutches with a coy little grin spread across his elvish features. "Well! I know the tavern owner," he playfully replied with a warm chuckle, adjusting the tip of his hat towards Tweek before thoughtfully pressing a single fingertip to his bottom lip. 

"She could probably let you rest in one of her spare rooms under my name. I always get a room for the night I perform." Jimmy tossed Tweek a casual hum, his smooth tone light and teasing. "Though I never use it—too busy talking to the brothel women next door, if you c-catch what I'm saying."

Tweek couldn't help the small, amused smile that crept onto his freckled face, feeling some of his tension slip away from his tensed shoulders. He let out a quiet sigh from the tip of his scrunched-up lips, the warmth of the shop lights casting a cozy glow over him.

"Okay," he finally agreed, glancing one last time at the curtain where Bebe had disappeared curiously. Jimmy nudged him playfully with the end of his elbow though, a faint glint of mischief in his dark eyes as he leaned his head in close towards Tweek, his hand covering the edge of his curled mouth.

"Just be aware," he quietly warned with a light whisper as a grin settled cockily across his pursed lips, the familiar warmth of his brown eyes slightly gleaming- "it can get a little w-wild there at night."

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As Tweek and Jimmy stepped into the tavern, the atmosphere enveloped them like a warm embrace that Tweek hadn't exactly expected. The dimly lit room was alive with the soft hum of conversation, laughter, and the lively strains of music performed by a small ensemble tucked away in a corner of the establishment. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meat, fresh bread, and the distinct aroma of beer—the kind that seemed to cling to the walls, making the tavern feel both inviting and warm as the duo wandered inside.

It was definitely loud- Jimmy wasn't exaggerating when he described the place to him on the walk over.

Large, wrought-iron torches flickered on the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that played across the faces of patrons crowded around wooden tables. The flickering light highlighted the tavern's rustic charm: the heavy wooden counters polished by years of service, the mismatched stools, and the low ceilings adorned with beams that appeared to sag under the weight of history.

The constant clink of mugs and the raucous cheer of patrons created a symphony of sound, punctuated by the occasional shout or burst of laughter.

Tweek followed closely behind Jimmy, who was hard to miss in his bright yellow tunic. The tunic hung just loose enough to accommodate his wooden crutches as he easily navigated through the crowd, his dark brown hair peeking from under a cream-colored hat topped with a jaunty feather.

A leather satchel faithfully hung at his side and slightly bounced with each hobble, the faint outline of his flute visible. Jimmy's brown eyes sparkled under the warmth of the candlelight, as he waved cheerfully at familiar faces, his wooden crutches thumping against the wooden floor, effortlessly steering him through the tavern's lively chaos.

Tweek followed closely, feeling a bit awkward and out of place in his new, simple green tunic with braided trim around the neckline that he had selected from Bebe's shop. It wasn't his usual style, but it had a rustic charm, fitting in with the medieval atmosphere around him. The brown slacks felt odd, and he ran a nimble hand through his tousled blond hair, feeling painfully out of his element.

His pale blue eyes flicked over the room, taking in every detail—the rough wooden beams overhead, the dust motes swirling in the torchlight, the smell of woodsmoke and hops that clung to the air. He stayed close to Jimmy, half-hidden in his friend's shadow as people greeted them.

"Jimmy!" a familiar voice called, and Tweek's gaze settled on a group at one of the larger tables near the back Tavern, where a few familiar faces were gathered. A singular hand shot in the air, waving eagerly back and forth to call both of them over to a small spot in the back of the bustling tavern as Tweek finally put a face to the voice.

Tolkien- Clyde.

There was Tolkien in a dark purple tunic, leaning back on his stool with a casual grin, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he held a wooden mug of foaming ale within his hands. Clyde sat drunkenly flushed beside him on one of the stools, already laughing at something in the conversation, his carefree smile unchanged since their school days. Seeing them there sent a strange pang through Tweek's tight chest—a mix of nostalgia and something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He gave them a small nod, a forced smile creeping onto his lips towards the group who clearly didn't recognize him in the slightest. Being here, seeing them like this, felt surreal. A part of him had almost forgotten these people existed outside of his memories.

As Jimmy started to speak, a boisterous laugh from a nearby table briefly drowned out his words. "I just wanted you all to meet—" he tried again, his usual sunny tone carrying through the noise, but Tweek's attention was already slipping.

His gaze snagged on a familiar figure hunched over a drink at the end of the table—a figure he instantly recognized, even partially obscured by a dark, worn cloak that pooled around his broad shoulders and cast his face in shadow.

It was him. The man who had nearly run him down in the town square.

The green eyes.

The stranger's cloak, a deep navy blue, looked worn from travel, with frayed edges and flecks of dust clinging to the hem. His long hands encased in battered leather gloves, wrapped tightly around a foamy tankard of gin that was nearly overflowing.

A handful of golden coins lay scattered across the surface of the wooden table, glinting faintly in the torchlight, as if he'd tossed them there with careless indifference to where the fuck they landed. Tweek's blue eyes wandered slightly, taking in the stranger's features—the dark black hair that fell in disheveled strands across his forehead, framing a pair of dark lingering green eyes that remained focused on the bubbles of his drink.

Tweek felt a strange pull as he briefly stared at the man, his heart pounding before his slight shock melted into frustration. He took a small step forward, his bandaged fingers faintly twitching and lips curling in a firm thin line across his features. He could feel his own tension building, his long hands balling into tight fists as his vision nearly blurred at the figure in the dark blue cloak.

He was pissed.

"You!" Tweek's voice finally rang out tightly, louder than he'd intended, cutting through the tavern's lively din. A few heads turned his way, a few patrons raising their eyebrows at the sudden outburst, while others watched with mild interest with the brim of their cups being brought to their lips, used to the occasional spat breaking out among travelers.

The man at the table looked up, raising one dark brow with a disinterested expression toward the sudden voice calling for him. His green eyes flicked over Tweek, lingering for a brief moment as if sizing him up, and then drifted away, unimpressed.

"Ah," he said flatly, his voice cold and rather indifferent while facing the edge of his drink. "It's you. From the town square."

Jimmy's head snapped between the two of them, his dark brow knitting with confusion as he looked from Tweek's flushed face to the stranger's detached expression, a polite smile smoothly brought across his curled lips- "W-Wait-  do you both know each other?" he asked lightly, his brown eyes blinking lightly, carefully eyeing the two of them.

Only Tweek had barely acknowledged Jimmy's question, tiredly crossing his arms tightly over his chest, the warmth of his olive tunic brushing across his freckled skin as his pale blue eyes darkened, feeling the heat of his face flush across his slightly puffed-out cheeks.

"You're the asshole who nearly killed me!" His tone was sharp, each word flatly coming out the edge of his curled lips.

The stranger didn't even flinch at the remark directed towards him. If anything, his expression grew more detached. "And yet," he simply replied, his smooth voice as dry as the wood in the torches that warmly flickered above them, "You seem perfectly fine." He lifted his heavy tankard to his pursed lips briefly, quietly sipping his drink without breaking eye contact, the faintest trace of a sigh at the edge of his mouth.

"Others could have gotten hurt-"

The man's dark green eyes held him for a moment, steady and unbothered as if Tweek's presence was nothing more than a mild inconvenience to his afternoon drinking.

"Yet no one was hurt," he said simply, his smooth tone tinged with a light impatience. The man leaned back in his bar stool, his dark cloak pooling around him as he lifted his mug with a faint, dry laugh, his dark navy outfit fitted and well-worn, a hint of faded leather armor peeking from beneath his tunic. His skin, tanned and lightly scarred, finally caught the light, and his face-

His face was painfully familiar.

Tweek's breath hitched as the pieces clicked into place. Beneath the hood, partially obscured by dark strands of messy hair, he could see a face he'd known all too well in another time, another place.

But he had to confirm.

His gaze lingered on the small, familiar moles scattered across his face, the sharp line of his jaw, and the blue hat resting askew on his head. He casually set the mug down on the worn surface of the table, the bubbly foam leaving a light trail along its wooden rim.

 "Everyone walked away unscathed. Is that all? Or is there more you wish to take a piss at me for?"

Tweek opened his mouth to snap back, his pale blue eyes flickering at the comment, but his words caught in his throat dryly.

Without thinking, he had slapped the palm of his hand on the bar—maybe a bit too hard.

The impact sent his own tankard teetering, the sweet golden ale sloshing over the rim before the mug tipped completely, tumbling onto the table and spilling across the rough wood with a loud, splashing thud.

The foamy liquid spread quickly, dripping over the edge and onto the wooden floors, while a few nearby patrons chuckled, adding to the warmth spread across Tweek's heated cheeks.

Shit.

"Jeez- fuck, hey man, I didn't mean for it to-"

The cloaked man's eyes flicked down at the mess, and a small sigh escaped him, his expression barely changing as he stood up from his stool, the sound of it scraping against the floor echoing in the now-quiet tavern.

He stepped forward, rising to his full height, and Tweek felt his own slouched back slightly straighten. The navy cloak parted a bit, revealing a small steel dagger strapped to his leather belt, the handle worn from use. Despite the long cloak and tattered leather gloves, there was something unnervingly familiar about him—something that made Tweek's pulse race.

The man took another step, and as his face moved fully into the warm light of the tavern's lanterns, Tweek's breath caught in his throat for a moment.

Shadows gave way to clear lines, and the stranger's features—dark, messy hair, glimmering green eyes, the faintest trace of a scar near his brow—became unmistakable. His skin held the same warm tan, marked by a familiar small mole underneath his bottom lip, while his dark hair, almost black, fell over his face in a way Tweek had only ever seen on one person.

The dark blue cap tucked under the edge of his hood was the final confirmation, and the name left Tweek's lips in a whisper without him fully realizing it.

"Craig?"

The man in front of him was colder, distant, wearing an unreadable expression, dressed in dark, rugged leathers that hugged his frame, with silver clasps and stitching barely visible in the dim, firelit tavern. His dark green eyes hardened at the name, his expression cooling. 

Without warning, he stepped even closer, his fingertips curling around the fabric of Tweek's tunic, wrinkling the collar. Tweek's heart pounded as he felt Craig's fingers curled tightly in his shirt, pulling him close enough that he could feel the other's breath against his face, warm and faintly tinged with sweet ale.

The steel dagger at Craig's side glinted in the lamplight, a silent reminder of the dangerous edge now wrapped around someone who had once been nothing but familiar.

Tweek's breath hitched as Craig's hand tightened around the tunic, their faces impossibly close. The scent of leather and pine-filled his senses, and his thoughts twisted into memories he'd buried long ago, fragments of afternoons spent laughing, sitting close enough to feel the warmth radiate between them.

They'd shared whispered secrets and stolen glances that lingered too long during study hall when they would barely review their class notes, a silent understanding that had always felt larger than words. Craig's presence had once felt like a refuge, grounding and steady in a way that soothed Tweek's ever-spinning thoughts. In those moments, he'd felt alive—calm and whole.

But this Craig was different, his grip firm, his green eyes colder than the familiar dark emerald shade he remembered. Yet somehow, beneath the hardness, Tweek could still see the boy he'd been so close to.

His chest tightened as he recalled the way Craig used to intertwine his fingertips with his shyly before class, but never like this—with roughness, frustration, a wall that felt insurmountable.

 Their faces were so close now that he could see the small flecks of hazel hidden in Craig's green eyes, reminding him of when they'd lie beneath the afternoon sun, where he could trace his thumb over his hand and pretend he wasn't falling too hard, too fast-

"Craig, I- " He whispered his voice barely breathing with the slight stumble of his words. His fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of Craig's cloak, a desperate reflex to hold onto something that felt familiar, even as everything else seemed to slip away.

The tavern quieted as if someone had cut a string on the lute that had been strumming lively tunes in the background. The buzz of laughter, clinking mugs, and lively chatter slowed to a murmur, then slipped into near-silence as Tweek and Craig's tense standoff took center stage.

Heads turned, and patrons leaned forward from their wooden stools to get a better view, eyes gleaming with curiosity at the brewing conflict.
But the intensity in Craig's gaze only deepened, his jaw tight, his grip firm.

Tweek's mind raced with the confusion of the past colliding with the present. He could almost feel the ghost of Craig's warm hand on his own from those innocent days when the only tension between them had been the unspoken words that never quite left his lips.

Tweek's heart pounded, louder than the music in the background, as he met Craig's gaze. Craig's fingers were firm, his gloved hand fisting in the fabric of Tweek's tunic, keeping him steady, close, with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He could see the curve of Craig's lips, beneath the intensity of his eyes.

"The name," Craig said quietly, his voice low and controlled, "is Feldspar."

One of the barmaids, a sturdy woman with flour dusting her apron, paused mid-pour with a pitcher of foaming ale tilted in her hand, spilling a bit on the counter as she stared, wide-eyed.

The regulars who occupied their usual spots every night—a group of older men with beards like weathered rope and creased faces that had seen countless tavern brawls—chuckled under their breath, watching the scene unfold with amused glances exchanged over their tankards.

Jimmy, sensing the sudden shift in energy, quickly maneuvered his way between them, his crutches tapping loudly against the wooden floor. "Hey—f-fellas!" he stammered out with a forced laugh, his usual playful tone replaced by a note of worry.

Tweek felt his mouth go dry-

"Let's just take a moment to calm down, yeah?" His light eyes flicked nervously between Tweek and Craig, as if unsure how to defuse the tension.

 Heavy, iron-wrought chandeliers hung from the rafters, dripping with candles that had long since burned down to stubby nubs. The candlelight cast a flickering glow over the two of them, the wooden beams of the low ceiling, their surfaces rough and scarred, bearing the marks of age and countless late nights.

The tavern's air was thick, the dim light seeming to shift and focus around the tension between Tweek and Craig. It was as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, each timber beam and cracked flagstone silently bearing witness to the scene.

Tweek felt his lip slightly curl, his baby blue eyes slightly darkening- He didn't wanna fight Craig. He didn't wanna start anything. 

However, he had been involved in a couple fights in highschool, if push comes to shove, he definitely wouldn’t be going down without a fucking fight.

Customers' conversations had dwindled to a murmur, heads turned, eyes glancing sideways over mugs and tankards as they tried to gauge what might happen next. The music faded to an uncertain strum, the lute player slowing his tempo as he too became a spectator to the unfolding moment.

Tweek's heart thudded against his chest, caught between the conflicting comfort and frustration in Craig's fierce grip on his tunic. He felt every crinkle of the worn fabric, the heat from Craig's gloved hand seeping through the rough fibers. Tweek's breaths came quick and shallow, blue eyes wide as he met Craig's unwavering gaze-

Before long, however, the unmistakable sound of boot heels on wooden floorboards sliced through the silence, and Tweek turned, his pulse quickening as he recognized the woman approaching.

 Red McArthur. 

Craig's cousin.

Red strode toward them with a look that was both stern and warm, her freckled nose scrunching slightly as she took in the scene. Her dark red hair framed her pale shoulders in loose, neatly curled locks, bouncing ever so slightly with each firm step. Her simple, layered gown—a cream blouse beneath a fitted leather bodice—gave her an air of authority as she carried a tray of drinks, the foamy ale threatening to spill over the edge with its bubbly texture.

 Craig's figure was imposing as he held Tweek, his leather gloves creaking slightly with the force of his grip. His tan skin glowed under the warm candlelight- the tattered dark blue cloak, its fraying edges brushing against his leather boots, and a matching hat tilted low, framing his sharp green eyes—

The same shade as his cousin, Tweek noted- though their resemblance ended there. His black hair peeked out from under the hat, its darkness accentuated against the soft yellow light. 

Even though he was family, his look was strikingly different from Red's pale skin and fiery red hair, which seemed to catch every stray flicker of firelight. Only the shared glint of green in their eyes gave away the bond between them as she came to a sharp stop just a few feet away.

Tweek's eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and relief flashing across his freckled cheeks as he met her gaze. Red's light green eyes crinkled slightly under the torchlight, her long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks as she locked eyes briefly with Craig.

"Red—" Craig began steadily, his voice low, but the subtle defiance in his tone was unmistakable. His hand remained woven in Tweek's tunic, his worn leather gloves creasing the olive fabric tightly.

"No—I am being serious, Feldspar. Release him," Red quickly interrupted with a slight snap, her light voice firm, her gaze steady as she tiredly set down her tray with a resounding thud on the table beside them. The force of her movement made her red curls bounce against her pale shoulders, and her bright red lips tightened as she glared at her cousin.

"You will not start another fight at my establishment."

Craig's jaw clenched, a muscle twitching as his eyes narrowed, the familiar shade of green darkening under the dim light. "Red, you don't understand—" he began once more, his voice rough, fingers still gripping Tweek's shirt in a way that sent a shiver up Tweek's spine.

But Red didn't relent. She crossed her arms, the leather apron tied around her waist creaking softly as she shifted her weight between the tips of her worn-out boots. "I understand perfectly well what's going on," she replied, her voice low, a flicker of sympathy in her gaze as it flicked briefly to Tweek before fixing back on Craig with a steel-edged gaze. "Now, let him go."

Tweek didn't know what to expect from the interaction between the two family members- Red McArthur had always been the more relaxed of the two at school, her expression always carrying a light smile spread across her pale features, a more reserved figure at South Park High.

However- This version of her had a temper.

Craig held her gaze for a moment longer, his face twisting with frustration before his grip finally slackened. With a sharp breath, he finally released Tweek, who stumbled back a step, his blonde hair falling into his pale blue eyes as he tried to regain his footing at the sudden release.

The rough edges of the tavern seemed to blur slightly around him, the warmth from the candles casting flickering shadows over the patrons and walls alike as he caught his breath. The tavern returned to its usual hum, the lute picking up again, and conversations slowly resumed, although curious eyes continued to linger in his direction.

Craig's jaw clenched slightly, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. His dark green eyes crinkled, glancing back at Tweek as if trying to convey something with the lingering of his eyes, something raw and unresolved. His smooth lips curled slightly in a grimace, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he struggled to have his eyes meet with Red’s.

Tweek caught himself against the edge of a table, his heart still racing, and glanced back at Craig, confused and breathless. The lingering anger in Craig's gaze softened just for a fraction of a second before he turned away. He pushed past the other patrons who had begun to return to their tables, his leather boots thudding against the wooden floor, a barely restrained scowl escaping the edge of his lips.

People stepped aside as he passed, their gazes following him with wary curiosity, murmuring to each other as he stormed out of the tavern, disappearing into the night beyond the heavy wooden door.

Red shook her head as she watched him leave, her freckled face reflecting a mix of exasperation and sadness. She picked up the tray she'd set down, adjusting her apron, and turned back to Tweek, her expression softening into one of gentle concern.

"I'm sorry about that—" she murmured, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her touch was steady, grounding him in the aftermath of the encounter.

"Craig—-- he's been wound tight lately. With upcoming tensions, this upcoming war has everyone on edge. Some of us handle it better than others."

Jimmy hobbled over, his thick brows furrowed as he regarded Tweek, his scrunched-up face lined with tinges of concern. "You're alright, aren't you, Tweek?" he asked the usual stammer in his voice betraying his own nerves. His wooden crutches tapped against the floor as he adjusted his stance, waiting for a response.

"Yeah- yeah, I'm okay," Tweek replied, though his voice wavered, still a bit unsteady. He took a deep breath, letting the familiar scents of ale and wood smoke fill his lungs, calming him.

Red's face softened further, and her hand lingered a moment longer on Tweek's shoulder before she gestured toward a quieter corner near the warm glow of the hearth.

"Come on, Tweek. You should rest for a bit. I'll make sure you have a warm meal and a room for the night under Jimmy." Her voice was kind, with a hint of something maternal in her tone as she offered him a small, reassuring smile.

As she led him to a table near the fire, Tweek couldn't help but feel grateful for the kindness in her gesture. The warmth from the hearth seeped into his bones, the soft crackling of the flames a comforting sound in the quiet that followed Craig's departure.

Red turned to him as he settled into the middle of his seat, her light green eyes filled with unspoken understanding. "You know, Craig wasn't always this way. The Grand Wizard's rule has changed a lot of people—- and it's complicated for him," she quietly added, her voice barely above a whisper as she glanced briefly toward the slightly cracked open door.

Tweek nodded, unsure of what to say, feeling the weight of her words sink in. He knew all too well what hardships could do to someone, how they could twist people into versions of themselves they barely recognized. For now, he let himself sink into the simple comforts of the tavern—the warmth of the fire, the gentle clinking of tankards, the distant hum of patrons returning to their conversations.

Red gave him a reassuring smile before leaving to prepare his meal with the slight whisk of her gown following her steps, and for the first time in a long while, Tweek felt something he hadn't felt in ages since arriving: a glimmer of safety, a flicker of hope.

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The room that Red had offered was simple and spare, with little more than the bed and the dresser, yet to Tweek, it felt like a refuge from the bustling tavern below. The rough, wood-planked walls were softened by the dim candlelight, casting a gentle, flickering glow over the small space.

A single window gave a modest view of the town outside, where chimney smoke mingled with the night mist, the small cottages and narrow streets resting in the quiet stillness of midnight.

 As he sat at the edge of the straw bed, Tweek softly rubbed his nimble hands together, his colorfully bandaged fingers tracing over each other mindlessly. It was hard not to feel the empty chill seeping in, as if the room itself absorbed the quiet unease he felt.

He pulled out his phone for a moment from the pocket of his warm pants, the back of his thumb steadily running across the cracked screen for a moment- the battery icon at the corner of his screen slightly flickering. 

15% battery remaining.

It's not like he could get much use of it anyway here, but he simply looked at his wallpaper once more as his pale blue eyes flickered across the reflection of the phone. It changed to a different picture, one with Tolkien, Cylde, Jimmy, Craig, and himself shakily within the frame- Clyde had been taking the picture with a bright glint in his dark brown eyes, evident with the way the picture was slightly blurred with the motion of the camera barely catching their expressions. 

It was a photo of him and his friends at Stark's Pond—Tolkien's hand outstretched in an exaggerated gesture, Clyde laughing beside him, Jimmy grinning shyly, Craig barely smiling but still there, standing just a bit closer to Tweek than the others.

Tweek's own face wore a look of wide-eyed excitement. The warmth in their expressions, blurred as they were in the hasty snapshot, seemed worlds away from where he sat now- contently laughing at some joke that seemed almost like a foreign memory to Tweek.

What he would give for a fraction of that memory back.

Downstairs, the last few tavern-goers were beginning to disperse, the buzz of voices fading until only a murmur lingered. Tweek could hear the bartender finishing up, moving a few chairs with the occasional clink of mugs being gathered up for the night. He wrapped his arms around himself as a shiver crept up his spine, the cold a biting reminder of just how little warmth there was in his tiny room.

The last few patrons were shuffling out, their voices muffled through the floorboards as Red gathered up chairs, the clink of mugs and the soft hum of sweeping gradually fading.

It was peaceful, almost comforting, and Tweek allowed himself a moment to breathe, feeling the warmth of the candlelight ease his nerves just a little. He closed his eyes, exhaling softly until a familiar face crept into his mind. 

Craig. 

The thought struck him with an unbidden pang of regret. Tweek drew his knees tighter, his breath catching slightly as he tried to push down the thought. He wondered if Craig even realized he was gone.

Needing to shake the chill, Tweek made his way down the narrow wooden staircase, his bare toes hitting the cold boards with each step he took. The tavern's main room felt different at this hour, almost intimate in its emptiness, with only the crackling fire for company.

Shadows stretched across the room, curling around the empty tables and chairs, while the thick, warm scent of pinewood smoke filled the air. The firelight cast a comforting glow over the room, and Tweek sank into the warmth, his fingers stretched out towards the flames as he took in a slow, steadying breath.

The quiet seemed to settle around him, giving him a rare moment of peace. He looked around, admiring the cozy, well-worn details of the place: the patched-up chairs, the scuffed tabletops, and the sturdy bar where the barkeep had spent the better part of the night cleaning up.

Everything felt simple, and dependable—a place untouched by the outside world, if only for a little while.

The crackling fire offered a comforting warmth, and Tweek's fingers instinctively reached out toward it, his hands unfurling as he stretched his fingers toward the flames. The fire's glow painted the room in deep, earthy tones, casting the polished tables and wooden stools in rich amber hues.

The cracked walls seemed to hold countless stories, whispered secrets that only the quiet of night could contain. He could feel the quiet settle around him, a rare moment of peace that soothed the edge of his usual anxiety.

The faint creak of the tavern's door disrupted his quiet. Tweek glanced over his shoulder for a moment, surprised to see Craig slipping back inside. Craig's cloak, a deep blue that blended with the sky that peeked outside the window, the fabric swayed slightly as he closed the door behind him, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Tweek.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the dim light highlighting the edges of Craig's sharp features, his green eyes unreadable but piercing in their gaze.

"Hey- man," Tweek started, his voice coming out in a quiet murmur as he straightened slightly, his hands shifting awkwardly at his sides.

Craig's expression hardened instantly. "Don't talk to me," he quickly replied, his tone clipped, shutting Tweek down before he could say anything more. 

 Tweek's mouth opened for a moment, and a faint flush rose to his face, though he quickly pushed down any embarrassment, his tone beginning to simmer with each word that slipped from his curled lip. "I just wanted to apologize," he said with a strained smile, struggling to keep his voice steady, his warm fingers tugging at the hem of his tunic briefly.

He was trying to be polite- but goddamn is Craig making it fucking impossible.

Craig simply scoffed at his remark with a slight nod, firmly crossing his arms. "Apologize?" He arched a brow for a moment, his tone laced with scorn with the slight seethe that escaped his breath. "Do you think I care?"

The words hit Tweek harder than he expected, and he could feel his own face grow warm, forcing him to meet Craig's gaze, his blue eyes sparking with barely held restraint.

"Alright, what's your problem?" he quickly shot back, his frame quickly rising from his spot in the fireplace with a sharp snap, "You nearly got me killed- You tried to pick a fight with me at Red's bar! And now I'm just trying to be polite and apologize-"

Craig's expression fell into a small smile that dangled across his curled lips, his green eyes narrowing as he took a step closer towards Tweek with a slight laugh mingling with his words.

"My problem?" he repeated carefully with a slight breath, his voice low with a small hum. "You're the one who keeps showing up, acting like you know me." His words carried an edge, sharp enough to make Tweek's stomach twist with an odd, unsettling feeling.

"I-"

"And you don't! I don't even know how the fuck you knew my actual nam-"

Tweek shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't back down, even as Craig stepped closer, close enough that Tweek could feel the heat radiating off him despite the cold draft in the room.

"How did you know my name?" Craig pressed, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, his firm gaze flickering over Tweek's freckles as if searching for some hidden answer.

Tweek's mouth went dry, his mind scrambling for an explanation, though none came. The weight of Craig's stare held him in place, and for a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The fire crackled softly in the background, the only sound in the thick, tense silence that had settled between them.

Craig's gloved hand shot up, bracing against the wall beside Tweek's shoulder, his eyes still locked on Tweek's, unrelenting as they flickered back and forth, lingering briefly.

"Tell me, little dandelion," he murmured with a slight seethe in his tone, a faint hint of a mocking smile playing at his lips, "Are you some spy sent by the Wizard King to stir up trouble?"

The nickname admittedly caught Tweek off guard, and he could feel a slight flush creeping up his neck, though he quickly found himself raising his head to his chest defensively, shaking them back and forth. Shaking his head, he managed to stammer, "What? No, dude! I'm not, I don't even know who he is really—"

Under the dim, warm candlelight of the tavern, Tweek stood finally pressed against the wall, his pale blue eyes wide, looking for a moment at Craig. His blonde hair was tousled from sleep, falling in soft waves around his flushed face as Craig seemingly carefully studied it, a stark contrast to his worn, brown pajama tunic.

"I didn't know about some war going on until like two hours ago! Everything seemed fine to me when I got here-"  Tweek hissed out sharply into the crisp air that pricked the tip of his reddening nose, running his fingertips into the tang locks of his golden hair. 

Tweek's freckled skin of his cheeks was warm, and his fingers, wrapped in colorful bandages, twitched slightly as he tried to gather his words, watching Craig's familiar form with a mixture of surprise and something unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface.

Craig's eyes remained cold, calculating as if weighing Tweek's words. "Then who are you?" he asked, his tone softer- his dark green eyes quietly ran over Tweek's face, taking in every detail, and Tweek could feel his heart pounding, his hands gripping his tunic tightly as he tried to hold his ground.

"I—" Tweek swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice under Craig's gaze-. He'd seen Craig angry before, but this was different, something darker, more guarded. It felt like they were balanced on a knife's edge, every movement, every breath, carefully measured.

"Give me one good reason," Craig finally murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, "that I shouldn't hand over your pretty little head over to the Wizard King myself."

The tavern had settled into a deep quiet, its shadowed walls and dimly lit corners lending it a mysterious, almost sacred stillness. Long tables and chairs sat empty beneath the glow of a single hearth fire, casting wavering shadows across the room's rough-hewn timbers and the stone floor, pitted and smoothed by countless boots.

"Just- let me explain, please."

The tavern's candles were low, their soft light barely illuminating the bottles on the shelves and the beams above, and outside the mist-cloaked village seemed miles away from here, as if the night itself held its breath.

Tweek glanced down at his phone that he had still tightly clutched in his fingertips, turning the cracked screen toward Craig— The wallpaper had now shown him and Craig back from junior prom, their arms slung around each other in stuffy, rented suits.

They had grinned at the camera, eyes bright with laughter, a moment caught in the warm, glimmering light. He watched Craig's expression shift, a momentary softening of his stern gaze. But the harsh lines around his mouth remained, his guard unrelenting as he looked back at Tweek.

"You think of me as a fool?"

Tweek dryly swallowed, his mind reeling under the weight of Craig's suspicion. He could feel the fire's heat against his freckled skin, warming his face even as his heart raced. He took a shaky breath, the words forming slowly as he stared up at Craig, his voice barely steady.

The tavern around them was quiet now, the low hum of distant conversation nearly faded as the last patrons departed. The light from a cluster of candles cast a gentle glow over the space, flickering against the wood-planked walls and highlighting Craig's sharp profile.

"I don't! I seriously don't! We used to be- friends!"

Craig's green eyes held a piercing intensity, softened slightly as he met Tweek's gaze. His dark hair, a bit tousled from travel, framed his face, and a faint scar ran just beneath his lip, drawing Tweek's attention. The subtle scent of pine and leather lingered around him, mixing with the tavern's smoky warmth.

For Tweek, the moment felt too close, too charged with an emotion he couldn't quite name. Craig was more than a friend; he always had been, even if neither of them had said it for years.

The memories they'd shared, the quiet moments like this, held this understanding. His eyes flickered briefly to the dagger at Craig's side, then back to the warmth of his green gaze, noting how close Craig stood, close enough that Tweek could feel his breath mingling with the scent of pine.

"Gentleman."

Before Tweek could speak, a smooth voice cut through the tension. A woman was standing by the door, her long dark hair cascading down her shoulders, nearly brushing her waist. The soft purple cloak around her glimmered slightly in the candlelight, falling gracefully over her slender form, her gown beneath a rich, deep shade of violet that matched her cloak. 

Her pale creamy skin was illuminated by the soft glow, her cheeks holding a natural rosiness, and her lips, soft pink, were set in a curious smile. She approached with graceful, silent steps, her small leather flats making barely a sound on the tavern floor. The faint scent of lavender clung to her, bringing a soft freshness to the room's smoky warmth as she glanced curiously between the two men, her nimble fingers lightly tapping the leather satchel at her waist.

"Lady Testaburger," Craig began, his voice low, still carrying the sharpness he reserved for strangers, though a slight edge softened as he inclined his head toward her. He made it clear he respected her, Tweek noted, briefly lowering his head in her direction as she approached the tavern.

Wendy Testaburger.

The same Wendy from his reality- well, nearly. They looked nearly identical, this version's nose not buried in the crevice of her school textbook. Or chatting with Stan Marsh by their lockers.

"Feldspar," Wendy said with a quiet authority, her dark eyes sparking with a gentle amusement as she regarded Tweek with curiosity, "He's being truthful." Her voice held a calm, knowing quality as if she saw far more than either of them had anticipated.

And for some reason- this Wendy was defending him.

Craig seemed to be shocked by this news, the ends of his chullo hat slightly bouncing, his head slightly shaking with a light laugh at the edge of his curled bottom lip.

"Wendy, you can't possibly believe this-"

"He is being truthful."

Craig's jaw tightened for a moment, his soft mossy eyes flickering between the both of them-Tweek wondered if he would ever let go of him- but he stepped back, eyeing her warily before turning his gaze to blonde.

The academic social lite simply tilted her head to the side, her stiffened expression hardly faltering from the narrowed glint in her brown eyes that glimmered under the flickering candlelight.

Having been the captain of nearly every possible club that the little town had to offer back at his South Park, Tweek already knew Wendy Testaburger was someone no one fucked with. Instead, she pinched tightly her perfectly manicured fingertips inside her leather satchel.

With a quiet nod, Craig had leaned back against the cobblestone wall, his broad arms still lazily crossed over his chest, his eyes never straying far from Tweek's face.

Wendy turned her attention fully to Tweek, her gaze softening as she spoke. "Do you remember me?"

"What?"

Her plump lips had pursed carefully to form a quick yet exasperated rebuttal at the mention of the curly-haired blonde, her puffed-out cheeks flushed a delicate pink at the accusatory tone- "I saw you earlier today," Wendy began, her voice low but steady, her fingertips lifting the edge of her gown curiously off the slight dust of the tavern floor.

"At Bebe's shop. I watched as you came to Red's Tavern. I wanted to speak to you the moment I saw you."

Tweek briefly blinked, bewildered, the flush in his freckled cheeks deepening as he tried to process her words.

"Speak to me?" he stammered, his bandaged-up fingers twisting together nervously. "What about-?"

She took a breath, nodding as she glanced back toward the doorway as if ensuring no one else was listening, the ends of her soft curls tickling the edge of his cheeks.

 Her long black curls nearly smacked Tweek across the face as Wendy had now placed her delicate hand across the crook of her waist, a perfectly tweezed eyebrow narrowing at the tired blonde.

"I am Princess Kenny's lady-in-waiting," she continued, her voice holding a quiet whisper with each word, her dark eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. She straightened her back slightly, the light gold trim on her neckline smoothly outlining the golden necklace that glimmered on her collarbone, her fingertips smoothly running across the surface of the jewelry.

It had a lion sigil.

"I've served her for years with her sister, and I've watched over her as if she were my own family- But ever since the Grand Wizard's rule, things have been- different. Dangerous."

Tweek quietly frowned, his pale blue eyes widening slightly as Wendy's words sank in. Her eyes softened as she noticed his alarm but continued with an unwavering flicker behind the brown warmth of her gaze.

"I feared for her safety after the Grand Wizard took control of the lands," she explained, her voice tightening. "I tried everything I could to keep her safe, to keep her hidden. But- something went wrong. She was captured."

Tweek's heart raced as he quietly glanced from Craig to Wendy, feeling a mix of nerves and confusion across his slightly pursed bottom lip.

Wendy's gaze softened as she looked at him, her eyes full of quiet curiosity- almost as if she were seeing something hidden beneath the surface.

With a calm smile, she raised a thoughtful finger to her lips.

"You were with Princess Kenny," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper in the quiet room, but it carried the weight of certainty.

Her gaze remained on Craig for a moment as he scowled slightly, though her expression remained unbothered. "Or rather," she continued with a small hum, "someone exactly like you."

She took another step closer, placing a gentle hand on the surface of Tweek's shoulder, her firm grip reassuring as her deep brown eyes met his wide, pale blue ones. Craig simply leaned back before closing his eyes slightly; the thick yarn ends of his chullo hat brushing past his sun-kissed skin.

"She was seeking for support from the barbarians, for their additional resources after declaring her hand in marriage to the Grand Wizard as an offer- They has sent you to speak for them."

Wendy and Tweek had long shared a locker next to each other entering high school freshman year, the young girl excitedly running up to him with a clutched schedule in her hands during their orientation to express the news about their locker arrangements to a familiar face. Tweek thought nothing much of it initially, however, the long conversations before class with Wendy had become somewhat of a consistent factor in his daily life. 

Now, she was standing in front of him, her gown pinched between her fingertips carefully.

She seemed to be almost studying him, searching for something in his freckled face and the slight tremor in his gaze. Her pale fingertips brushed the edge of his worn tunic smoothly, lifting it slightly as if examining him with gentle humor between her grip.

"She sent me a messenger dove at sunrise, explaining her predicament," she went on, her tone steady but sympathetic, her brown eyes full of warmth as she reached gently for the fabric of his collar, a small smile playing on the ends of her lips before slightly dropping.

"How the Wizard King has her captured- with threats of public execution towards her younger sister, Princess Karen."

Craig shifted beside them, watching with a flicker of hesitation as Wendy continued, curling her lips slightly between the slight tug of her bottom teeth. Her words were clear and unwavering.

"She allowed you to escape," she said finally, her eyes never leaving Tweek's, "so you could find refuge and devise a plan to free her."

Craig's expression flickered, something almost like concern briefly softening his sharp gaze. He stepped back a little, adjusting his tattered cloak around his broad shoulders, though his eyes stayed locked on Wendy and Tweek, his gloved hand resting protectively on the hilt of his dagger with a measured tap of his fingertips.

Wendy gave Tweek's hands a reassuring squeeze, her own hands warm and steady against his bandaged fingers. Her soft scent of lavender lingered between them, grounding Tweek at the moment as he found his baby blue eyes carefully flickering back and forth, her dark eyes slightly glinting under the warmth of the tavern light.

Her voice grew quieter, taking on a more serious tone. "I believe," she said with conviction, "that you are the key to everything."

Tweek stared at her, his heart pounding, feeling as if the world around him had faded, leaving only the three of them bathed in the candlelight's warm glow. Wendy's gaze held his, unwavering with her hands tightly interwoven with his.

He was absolutely screwed. 

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additional notes: the pace is a lil off in thisss and i wish it was little less sloppy, but i hope you enjoy! <33 pls comment!

Chapter Text

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦?  ── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹

𝘱-𝘱-𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦!

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If Tweek Tweak had realized when he woke up this morning that he would have woken up to an alternate version of South Park, with a medieval-esque Craig Tucker nearly starting a bar brawl with him and Wendy Testaburger trying to convince him to go on a world-altering quest to save some random-ass princess, he would have honestly just stayed home from school.

“Tweek, please! Just listen to me- I know this is a lot but you have to try to understand-” 

“Wendy, I don't want to understand!” Tweek started hurriedly rummaging through the small wooden drawer of his humble room in the tavern with a slight sigh, his bandaged fingertips skimming through the few tunics that Jimmy had managed to snag for him, all varying shades of green messily tucked away into the cramped space. “Ack- That I am some kind of “chosen one” for some quest? To risk my life to save this princess I don't even know?-”

“I know it sounds scary, Tweek, I understand that, but if you would just take a moment and just see-”

“See what , Wendy? That I am getting sent on a suicide mission?”

He started shakily shoving a few of the shirts into the small leather pouch Jimmy had gifted him, the warmth of the material rubbing against the surface of his thumbs, plastered with colorful band-aids. Wendy followed him upstairs to his room with a slight breath, the light lavender fabric of her gown whisking slightly across the worn-out wooden floors that thumped underneath her feet as her light pink lips remained slightly trapped by her teeth.

“You have to be listening to yourself, right? You understand how bat-shit crazy that sounds-?” Tweek quickly ran his nimble fingers through the messy curls of his soft blonde hair with a slight laugh twinging on his tone at the remark from the maiden, his hands slightly curling as his palms smoothly rested on his forehead for a moment, trying to remember where he had mindlessly tossed his sneakers off.

He honestly wasn't even sure where he was planning on going as he stuffed his bag, trying to ignore Wendy standing expectantly behind him with that slightly disappointed expression etched across her face- He was probably gonna try to hitch a carriage somewhere, maybe to the middle of fucking nowhere, probably find some random bear in the forest to eat him as an entrée.

Or at the very least a very hearty appetizer.

“Don't you understand, Tweek-? This is bigger than us!” Wendy took a step further into the room with a slight creak underneath her feet, the soft glint of her golden necklace resting peacefully on the paleness of her collarbone as a few strands of her dark hair slipped softly over her shoulder. “This is for the safety of our whole nation, our futures-”

“And what am I supposed to do about that?” The blonde replied back with a hushed laugh, the quiet bags underneath his eyes melting into a soft shade of purple as the paleness of his blue eyes faintly glinted. He paused for a moment, the rustling of his bag stopping as he quietly shook his head to himself at the softness of her sigh. “How is my presence supposed to help you, Wendy? Honestly, think about that for a second.”

He tilted his head slightly over his shoulder, his eyes softening faintly as her dark brown eyes slightly crinkled, her fingertips hesitating over the smoothness of her golden necklace for a semblance of comfort. 

“You just don't get it, Tweek.” The young maiden's expression grew gentle, she knelt down beside him on the wooden floor, the palm of her pale hand smoothly running over the material of her dress for wrinkles with a faint smile tugging at the ends of her lips. “Your presence means so much already.”

The blonde quietly stared at her, his pale blue eyes quickly flickering back and forth across her soft expression as she tentatively reached for one of the wrinkled-up shirts from his quivering hand that he was about to messily jam into his leather satchel, smoothly beginning to fold it in her lap with a small sigh.

“Since the Grand Wizard's rule, almost all of the magic in our realm has been severely limited.” The brunette carefully began, her dark eyes carefully focused on the smooth material of the fabric of the tunic- She had lightly run the surface of her fingertips across the soft braided design of the shirt collar before her brown eyes warmly lingered Tweek's furrowed expression. 

“The fact that Princess Kenny even managed to get you here, is a sign-” She tilted her chin slightly towards him, her long dark hair pooling softly over her pale shoulders as Tweek found his mouth suddenly going dry.

“Sign of what?” He asked quietly, his warm fingertips carefully brushing away some of the messy locks of blonde hair that gathered by his forehead, tugging at the ends of his curls for comfort.

However, Wendy was no longer looking at him. The former lady-in-waiting had now softly risen to her feet, standing silently by the window of the tavern bedroom- She had been looking out tentatively, her dark eyes glinting before examining the soft rustles of the pine trees from the gentle kiss of the winds outside as her fingers tightly curled around the edge of the chipped windowsill.

“That the Grand Wizard is now making mistakes.”

She carefully stood, her gaze distant as she looked out the window, her smooth fingertips lightly tracing the chipped wood of the windowsill. Outside, the wind whispered through the pine trees, a soft rustling that filled the silence.

She finally turned her head, her warm autumn eyes flickering towards Tweek carefully at her words, the ends of her lavender gown rustling for a moment against the surface of the floor.

Tweek’s pale blue eyes remained focused on Wendy and the light quirk of her dark eyebrows, his freckled nose slightly scrunching as her pink lips faintly curled towards him, finally handing him the neatly folded-up tunic.

“You are proof of that.”

Wendy smoothly ran her fingertips over the surface of her golden necklace, the tip of her nails quietly grazing the soft clinking of the metal against the flushness of her pale skin, “With you-” The maiden hummed out, the thick fabric of her gown gathered tightly between her curled fingers as she held Tweek’s gaze, “We can get our true ruler back on her rightful throne.”

Tweek found himself quietly staring down at the fabric of the tunic that remained situated between his lap, the back of his bandaged-up thumbs running carefully over the soft wrinkles that had appeared at the trimmed collar.

He wasn't fully sure of what to say- the silent panic festering at the back of his throat as he dryly pinched at the bridge of his flushed nose for a moment in thought, he had more important things on his mind.

At least to him- like how he was gonna even get the fuck home to explain to his parents why he had been missing his closing shifts at the coffee shop. 

“Wendy,” Tweek tightly clutched the shirt between his fingertips, his light eyes finding themselves flickering to the simple pattern of the ceiling as the faint bristles of wind tapped at the surface of the tavern window, “I don't know the first thing about this place-!” 

He finally jammed the fabric of the olive shirt into the warmth of his leather satchel before quickly closing the worn-out bag with a faint click! The tip of his wobbling chin slightly shaking with a ragged breath as he spoke raspily, “ Ack ! I cannot help you okay?, I just can't-”

“You should.”

His soft blue eyes briefly flickered to the doorway at the warm buzz of the sudden voice, meeting with the familiar pair of mossy green eyes that slightly narrowed towards his direction.

Craig- Feldspar, whatever the hell- shoulder was smoothly leaning by the wooden door frame tentatively examining the scene in front of him, his dark blue cloak tattered at the ends as they were nearly dragged by his smooth leather shoes. He must have followed Wendy upstairs, Tweek had noted to himself- His sun-kissed skin slightly tickled by the soft yarn ends of his frayed chullo hat.

Tweek found himself quietly laughing at his intrusion, nearly chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Why don't you shut the fuck up, asshole-”

Admittedly, he could have been a little bit nicer.

His long arms lazily crossed over his chest for a moment at the snappy remark from the jittery blonde, his long dark lashes brushing past his golden skin as he softly sighed with a slight click of his tongue.

“I would honestly love to” Feldspar drawled out with a small hum on the edge of his lips before pulling out the dagger that cleanly shone from the side of his waist, carefully examining it under the flicker of the candlelight as the ends of his crooked smile slightly twinged, “But I am afraid Lady Testaburger is right-”

Tweek shook his head slightly to himself before adjusting the leather strap of his satchel, smoothly readjusting the length to fit comfortably over his twitching shoulders as his messy blonde curls lightly bounced over his forehead- his freckled face tilted wolfishly towards the Peruvian boy.

“O-oh but of course!” He replied with an exasperated sigh cockily feigning across his curled lips, “Because your sudden uncalled-for opinion is definitely gonna change my mind, huh? Oh pardon me-”

Feldspar tucked away his steel dagger casually at the comment with a lazy shrug of his shoulders, the black locks of his hair framing the ends of his sunkissed cheekbones that Tweek would sometimes stare at after school- his dark green eyes flickered across Tweek’s face with little to no expression etched across his faintly flushed face.

“If you want a chance to go home,” Craig continued carefully with a bored examination of his leather gloves, the smoothness of his low voice growing slightly colder with the faint click of his tongue, “it should-”

“What?”

Tweek had finally stood up with his vision briefly flickering to Wendy at the sudden comment, both of his colorfully bandaged hands tightly curled around the leather strap of his bag with a silent hiss gathering in his burning mouth as the green-eyed boy hummed out an amused yet dry laugh.

“Don't you see? She is the one that got you sent to our realm in the first place.” Feldspar took a step forward into the room casually with a slight wave towards the surroundings, his gloved fingers dragging against the smoothness of the tavern wall for a moment, his warm eyes reflecting the faint glimmer of the melting candlesticks. “She will most likely be the only one who can send you back.”

Tweek clenched tighter on his leather bag as his head turned towards him with a slight curse under his breath, Feldspar's expression lightly content.

The tavern bedroom was now a shadowed mess of worn wood and faint candlelight, smelling faintly of stale ale and something like wet hay. Tweek’s nerves prickled as he pulled a rumpled, forest-green tunic from the wooden drawer beside the small bed, trying to shake the feeling that everything in here—the narrow bed with its scratchy wool blanket, the rough-hewn walls, even the single, guttering candle on the crooked table—was closing in on him. The flickering light threw shadows up along the wall, casting everything in an eerie, wavering glow.

“Saving her is pretty much your only ticket out of here, Dandelion.”

The cloaked man simply shrugged his shoulders with a lazy drawl at the ends of his words, the soft silver buckles of his leather pants quietly glinting as he took another tentative step inside the barren bedroom, his green eyes examining him carefully.

“Oh, but what do I know? I'm just the asshole who almost trampled you with my carriage, right?”

Tweek’s pale blue eyes crinkled at his remark, the ends of his fingertips slightly twitching as a strained, forced laugh gathered on his twinging lip at the small smile Craig lingered across the edges of his mouth.

“Agh! You think you are so fucking smart-”

“Boys!”

Wendy tried to get them to stop- Tweek knew he should try to pay closer attention to the brunette and their situation, but they were basically already at each other's throats.

“Wendy, can't you see? He can't do this.”

“He can!" Wendy began, smoothly placing a firm hand on his arm as Craig simply shook his head back and forth, "Feldspar, stop-”

Craig stood in the center of the room, his figure somehow blending into the room's darkness yet holding an undeniable presence, with his ink-black hair peeking out from beneath his dark blue hat and his sun-kissed skin a striking contrast against the dim surroundings.

"He can't, Wends."

A faint scar under his lip caught the light, adding a hint of roughness to his otherwise annoyingly confident face. The hilt of his dagger gleaned from his waist, his gloved hand resting casually but deliberately near it.

Craig arched an eyebrow, taking another deliberate step into the room, his gaze fixed on Tweek with an intensity that felt like a challenge.

“Why don’t you stop wasting everyone’s time and just say you’re scared?” His voice was low, and smooth, but there was a mocking edge to it that made Tweek’s skin prickle with irritation.

Tweek’s breath hitched, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, threatening to give away the panic he was trying to hide. His own wild, messy blond hair and pale blue eyes probably only made him look more like a deer caught in the headlights in contrast to Craig’s calm, unshakable composure. 

“I am fucking scared, dude!” he retorted with a low seethe, his bandaged hands were clenched so tightly around his satchel that his knuckles were turning damn near ghostly white. Tweek could feel the prickle of sweat on his forehead, a great fucking reminder of just how far he felt out of his depth. “And don’t act like you wouldn’t be! You’ve probably never even lifted a finger in your life till now- to be a pain in the ass.”

Craig let out a low chuckle between his pursed lips as his soft green eyes lightly crinkled, a sound that was both infuriating and uncomfortably compelling. 

“Trust me,” he murmured, stepping closer until there were only inches between them, his voice a dark, mocking whisper, “I’ve done things you couldn’t even begin to imagine.” His gloved fingers brushed against the hilt of his steel dagger as if daring Tweek to doubt him, his gaze daring him to push back.

“But I guess that’s what makes us different. I don’t freeze up at the first sign of danger and try to run.”

Craig’s nearness made Tweek’s freckled skin tingle with a mix of nerves and something else he refused to acknowledge. His burning chest tightened, and he quickly struggled to catch his breath, feeling as though the room were closing in on him with every step Craig took.

It didn’t help that Craig’s face, all tanned skin and piercing eyes, was somehow even more insufferable up close. His gaze was sharp, taunting as if he could read every one of Tweek’s jumbled, panicked thoughts. He knew he was being fucking baited, but it didn’t make holding back any easier.

“Different?” Tweek seethingly spat, his voice filled with frustrated defiance, despite the pounding of his heart. “Yeah, you’re different, all right. Different like a self-centered jerk who can’t go five minutes without picking a fight.”

For a split second, Craig’s the ends of his lips lightly faltered, and something flickered in his eyes— He leaned in, his face so close Tweek could see the faintest trace of scars that softly decorated the ends of his chin and the soft golden flecks in his eyes. His warm voice dropped to an infuriatingly soft, mocking laugh, sending a shiver down Tweek’s spine.

“You keep talking like that, Tweek, and I might start to think you actually enjoy having me around.”

Tweek’s face went hot- he knew his game- what he was doing- that he was just trying to get a reaction from him, to make him twitch- which affected him more than we would like to admit out loud. 

He stumbled back, his mind scrambling for a response. “A-are you fucking insane, man?” he stammered, his voice cracking as he backed up until his shoulders hit the cold wall. His mind spun with every possible insult, every retort, but none of them felt enough to bridge the strange, taut energy between them. “I'd rather stick my dick in a furnace-”

Craig lightly hummed, leaning back with a shrug as though he didn’t care one way or another. “Then go for it,” he drawled, his lips pulling upwards faintly in a way that made Tweek want to crush it between the crevices of his knuckles. “No one’s stopping you.” His gaze flicked down to the tense, white-knuckled grip Tweek had on his satchel, and a glint of amusement crept into his eyes. 

“But we both know you wouldn’t last five seconds out in the world without me.”

“Oh, is that what you think?” Tweek shot back, his voice shaking but filled with a spark of defiance, gathering the last of his items with a sharp spat back. “I don’t need you or your stupid dagger, or your stupid face, or—or your dumb hat! I’ll be just fine on my own!”

A charged silence hung heavy between them, their breaths the only sounds in the room. Tweek’s own breathing was shallow, each breath feeling like it barely filled his lungs as if the air was too thick to take in. His gaze met Craig’s, and for a long, tense moment, neither of them moved. Tweek’s chest tightened with a feeling he couldn’t quite name, a strange combination of anger, fear-

Wendy’s voice finally cut through the tension with a sharp snap, strands of her dark hair slipping to the sides of her rosy cheeks- 

“Enough! Both of you!” She stepped between them with her rosy lips tugged into a thin line across her pale features, her long black hair falling like a curtain over her shoulders, and her lavender gown swaying as she moved. Her expression was etched with frustration, her dark eyes flashing as she looked from one to the other.

“This is for the sake of our princess.” Wendy’s voice, sharp and steady, broke the charged moment. She stood between them, her lavender gown flowing as she moved, her dark hair gleaming under the candlelight.

Her face was set in an expression of stern frustration, though her eyes softened as she looked at Tweek briefly. Her necklace, a delicate golden chain, glinted against her pale collarbone as she lightly crossed her sleeved arms. “And Tweek-  If you have any sort of desire to return home, Princess Kenny will be your only option to do so.”

The young maiden lightly placed a delicate hand on the warmth of the blonde's shoulder softly, her warm brown eyes flickering under the long wisps of her dark lashes, her other hand slightly extended towards his direction with a slight curl of her fingertips, “If you help us, I promise she will be able to return you back to your rightful realm.”

As Wendy’s words settled into the quiet, Craig’s expression shifted at her sentence —just barely, but enough for Tweek to notice. His usual unshakable calm flickered, and there was a brief, almost imperceptible widening of his mossy eyes. For the smallest of moments, his face was caught between surprise and something softer, something unsure.

Craig recovered quickly, though his jaw set in a way that betrayed a hint of unease. His gaze darkened, his brows pulling together as if he was trying to bury whatever had slipped through, holding his head just a little higher, almost defiantly. But Tweek had seen that instant of shock, and it unsettled him more than he’d care to admit.

“Us, Lady Testaburger?”

Tweek’s face shifted, his pale blue eyes going even wider beneath his mess of blond hair. His gaze fixed on Craig as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, his freckled cheeks growing warmer by the second. The blue in his eyes was bright, almost electric, framed by a faint dusting of freckles that softened his otherwise intense expression. His mouth opened slightly, caught between disbelief and a response he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“What the fuck do you mean about- agh! Us-?” 

Her dark hair flowed down her shoulders, almost as black as the shadows that danced along the walls, each strand framing her face with an elegant precision. Her expression was calm, almost serene as if she were watching two children argue over something trivial rather than managing the charged exchange unraveling before her. 

“You will be assisting Tweek & me during our travels, your carriage will be most helpful during our journey, Feldspar.”

The deep lavender gown she wore shimmered subtly under the dim candlelight, the fabric flowing around her like water with every movement she made. The dress was tailored to her figure, accentuating her poise and presence, with long, fitted sleeves ending in lace cuffs at her wrists that lifted as she pressed a warm fingertip on the edge of her chin.

“As well as your- how should I put this- expertise.”

“Expertise?” Tweek clutched the strap of his satchel tightly, his bandaged fingers wrapping around the worn leather as though it was a lifeline. His grip was white-knuckled, the tension in his hands a silent reflection of the turmoil swirling in his head.

The air in the dimly lit tavern room felt thick, almost suffocating, as if the walls themselves were closing in to trap them. Shadows cast by flickering candlelight danced along the cracked walls and creaky floorboards, the faint smell of burnt wax and old wood mingled with the stale scent of ale, adding to the room’s atmosphere. 

Tweek scoffed lightly, tilting his head with a mocking tone dragging across his pursed lips as he gripped his satchel strap tighter. “What expertise , exactly?” he drawled, sarcasm lacing his twitching ends of voice. “Are you an assassin or something?”

Craig’s expression didn’t falter, though a faint glint of something sharp flickered in his eyes. He leaned in just enough to close the already thin space between them, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “Want to find out?”

Tweek’s lips flickered as he froze, his pulse quickening as Craig’s words hung in the air, carrying more weight than he’d expected. The challenge was clear, and suddenly Tweek wasn’t entirely sure he wanted the answer.

His black hair framed his face, slightly tousled and messily running across his forehead, while his dark blue hat perched at a casual angle atop his head. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, almost velvety, a stark contrast to the fire simmering in his mossy eyes.

“I am a thief here- a quite reputable one at that.”  He continued, his leather-gloved hands moving expressively, punctuating his points with the elegance of someone accustomed to commanding attention. 

His intensity sharpened as he fixed his gaze on Tweek. “If anyone can guarantee you both a quick passage through our realm without any certain eyes noticing, I am your best bet.”

Tweek, with his own bandaged fingers gripping his satchel in a death grip, could feel his pulse racing as if it were trying to outrun him. The bandages were frayed, the sweat from his palms making them even more uncomfortable against his skin, but they were nothing compared to the uncomfortable thrum that Craig’s nearness sparked inside him.

“Whether you like it or not- your only bet.”

The faint smell of burnt wax and old wood mingled with the stale scent of ale, adding to the room’s atmosphere as Feldspar leaned back quietly.

Tweek’s heart continued its wild drumming as he watched Craig, who, despite his casual posture, looked anything but relaxed. His gloved fingers lingered near the hilt of his dagger, his dark blue hat casting a shadow over his face, though not enough to hide the scar that cut just under his lip or the glint in his narrowed gaze.

“This is your best chance to reach home, Tweek.”

Her calm demeanor contrasted sharply with the tension brewing between Tweek and Craig, but there was a slight pleading expression in her dark eyes as if she were silently urging them to set aside their differences. Her dark brows knitted together just a touch, and the corners of her mouth turned down slightly, hinting at her genuine concern for both of them.

Dusty beams of light broke through the soft cracks in the walls, casting a soft glow on Wendy’s lavender gown and her golden necklace, which caught the light and gleamed against her collarbone. She moved with steady grace, her long black hair flowing like ink over her shoulders, her dark eyes never wavering as she looked between Tweek and Craig with an air of unwavering resolve.

He didn't know what to say.

Tweek’s heart twisted painfully in his chest as he glanced at Feldspar, the resemblance to his version of Craig hitting him so closely- The tavern bedroom was dimly lit, with flickering candles casting warm shadows on the wooden beams overhead. The scent of roasted meat and spilled ale hung in the air from earlier in the evening. Yet, all of that faded into the background as Tweek focused on the figure before him.

Feldspar stood confidently with his arms crossed, the sharp lines of his jaw accentuated by the soft glow of candlelight. His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief that was all too familiar, but Tweek’s heart sank further as he took in the details—the way Feldspar carried himself, the easy grace with which he moved. It was like looking at a reflection in a warped mirror; everything about Feldspar reminded him of Craig, yet he felt an insurmountable distance between them.

He’s not my Craig- Tweek thought, but the assertion did little to ease the ache in his chest. Memories of his own Craig flooded his mind—those mossy green eyes glinting with humor, the way he’d chuckle at Tweek’s frantic twitches during AP history, and the warmth of their shared moments back in South Park by the pond during the winter.

Tweek could almost hear Craig’s laugh echoing in the tavern’s lively ambiance, feel the weight of his presence beside him.

This Craig wasn’t his Craig. And rescuing Princess Kenny was his only way back to the one who was.

With each heartbeat, the pain of missing his home intensified. His friends, his family-

He could practically almost hear the clatter of mugs and the warm banter of customers, mixed with the soothing hum of his mom's voice as she recounted the latest neighborhood gossip. He didn't exactly have the best relationship with his parents but his heart nearly ached with the memory of his father behind the counter, expertly crafting latte art, his cheerful grin infectious as he joked with regulars.

The image was vivid, almost too perfect, contrasting sharply with the uncertainty that loomed over his current dilemma.

As Tweek thought of his friends—Tolkien, Jimmy, Clyde—and their spontaneous adventures when they were younger, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He remembered the way they’d huddled together during lunch, plotting to pester the girls during recess or sharing the latest absurd rumor about the teaching staff. They brought a sense of camaraderie and laughter that he desperately missed.

He could see Feldspar leaning against the rough-hewn wall, the faint glow illuminating his tousled hair, casting shadows that danced across his features. The resemblance was maddening. It was as if the universe had personally wanted to fuck with him and plucked a doppelgänger from his memories and dropped him into this unfamiliar world. 

Tweek swallowed hard, fighting back the wave of nostalgia that threatened to drown him. His expression softened involuntarily, eyes lingering on Feldspar-

“Will you come with us, Tweek?”

Tweek felt his mouth go dry, Wendy’s words sinking into him and leaving a heavy knot in his chest. He tore his gaze away from Craig, trying to shake the strange feeling that lingered there, and looked down, clutching his satchel like a lifeline. After a long pause, he muttered,

“Fine,” He replied with a soft sigh, “But don’t think for a second I’m doing this because of him.”

Craig lightly, leaned back against the wall with his arms folded lazily, his gaze unreadable as he simply looked at Tweek. 

“Trust me, Tweek. The feeling’s mutual.” But his voice had lost some of its earlier bites, and as Tweek turned away, he could feel Craig’s gaze lingering on the back of his golden locks, watching in a way that made his skin prickle with an unsettling mix of annoyance and something else that he couldn’t quite place, but that lingered long after the words had faded.

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additonal notes: i am having so much fun writing this- i just listened to the vengeance saga of EPIC the Musical so it inspired me alot for the future of this book <3 AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS GUYS, i personally love reading comments so much, i love when people read and enjoy! tysm once again for almost 500 hits in a week! that is so wild to me, especially considering this was supposed to be a small fic idea-

i will try to start using my tumblr more for little updates here and there on the planning of this book! so if that is something you are interested in, my tumblr is @ashbub !

also tweek and feldspar are each other's biggest haters rn and probably will for a hot minute- :') we love pissy kings <3

Chapter Text

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘺 ── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹

𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴, 𝘪'𝘮 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Craig didn’t have a fucking clue about how much realistically a barbarian could eat after hiding Tweek up in his bedroom. Sure, he figured that Tweek would be somewhat hungry after everything he had been through, as Craig quietly reached for his car keys at 2 am to grab a bunch of discounted frozen foods at the local convenience store to stash in the busted-up beach cooler shoved in the depths of the Tucker's attic.

But after two days of a full assortment of frozen waffles, his whole stash of slim jims, and fifteen boxes of off-brand microwavable hot pockets, he began to realistically wonder if Tweek was some sort of fucking trash compactor.

Thankfully , he had managed to cover up Tweek's absence relatively decently to his parents with a few meticulous lies over the phone - explaining that Tweek would be away for a week or so for a ‘super romantic’ last-minute trip he had planned for their randomly made up anniversary.

He wasn't entirely shocked that the Tweak residence bought into his random ass lie, their unconditional support overwhelming over the static of the shitty cell reception from their family-owned coffee shop- with a strong implication to email a few pictures for their upcoming social media campaign of locally brewed coffee. 

Craig allowed his gaze to wander around his room as he tossed a couple of bent-up notebooks in his backpack. Unfortunately for him, it was Monday, meaning that it was time to return to sitting in the back of the classroom and mindlessly doodling shitty constellations at the corner of the desk.

His space was messy. Random ticket stubs plastered the pale blue walls, and his cluttered desk held an unruly mountain of notes, pencils, and half-finished mugs he’d forgotten about ages ago.

The morning light seemed to wrap around him like a cozy blanket, catching on the posters tacked to the walls—bright images of some of the underground bands and superheroes—making the colors pop against the slightly peeling paint. The sunlight filtering through the fabric of the curtains, created soft patterns that danced across his walls, while the air held the faint scent of rain from the previous evening.

Sitting on the bed, Tweek looked oddly out of place against the cluttered, modern mess of Craig’s room, but something about him also strangely fit. His fluffy, blonde hair fell in soft, slightly damp waves around his freckled face, loose and tousled from the shower Craig had practically shoved him into. The faint pine scent of Craig's Head & Shoulders shampoo closely clung to his golden locks. 

Tweek’s skin was pale, nearly luminescent in the soft morning light filtering through the cracked blinds, and his face was sprinkled with freckles that crossed his nose and cheeks. He was inspecting a beat-up calculator, turning it over in the palm of his hands as if trying to decipher its purpose. It was Tricia's, plastered with stickers that read You can do it! and Math rocks! Alongside some sequins she’d stuck on as a joke.

His pale blue eyes flickered across the faded numbers with a slightly curled-up bottom lip, the back of his pale thumb carefully pressing one of the bright buttons before quickly dropping the device at the edge of the wrinkled-up bedsheet seethingly.

“It won't bite you, y'know?” Craig muttered as he zipped up one of the smaller pockets of his bookbag with a light hum on the edge of his mouth, “It's just a stupid calculator.”

The barbarian had roughly glanced at him at the comment, his buttery long blonde lashes blinking before briefly fluttering shut at the comment, examining the flickering number “8” on the calculator screen with a soft sigh resting smoothly on the ends of his pursed up lips.

“Of course, I already knew that.”

Since the day of the accident- Tweek had been quiet for the past few days. Mostly tinkering with the action figures on the shelves in his room and allowing Craig to gently tend to his healing wounds during the nights.

Of course, there were a few close calls to hiding up your barbarian sorta not boyfriend in your room for two days straight- Tweek ripping through Tricia’s Morphe makeup palettes underneath the bathroom sink to messily reapply his tribal streaks across his freckled nose or flicking the bedroom lights on & off in pure curiosity to the point his next-door neighbors called the family phone and asked if he was having a seizure.

But now, he finally spoke, his pale blue eyes slightly crinkled looking at Craig and his softening expression littered across his freckled face before lowering the white fluffy towel that rested over his shoulders.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“Shouldn't be too long.”

Craig had his dark red backpack strap over his right shoulder, his dark blue hoodie warmly hugging his lean figure with the faint scent of pine needles lingering across the worn-out fabric. His golden fingertips were tightly wrapped around the handle of his bookbag for a moment before casually stuffing a few crumpled-up overdue assignments in the side pockets.

“Just for a couple of hours probably-” The Peruvian boy noted carefully with a slight stitch of his dark eyebrows, the dark wool of his blue hat warmly brushing by the sides of his tanned skin softly, “I should be back before sundown.”

Craig shuffled around his room, stuffing his AP History textbook into his old, worn backpack. The bag was covered in pins he’d collected over the years—little round bursts of color and personality. One was a NASA logo he’d snagged from a thrift shop, another a tiny enamel rocket ship, a few stars, a planet or two. They were clustered haphazardly on the strap, some faded and chipped from years of Craig messing with them out of habit. 

Tweek’s gaze lingered on Craig as he grabbed his biology textbook—a secondhand one with fraying edges—and shoved it into his bag. His injuries, Craig noticed, were healing well enough, though the barbarian winced now and again as he moved, running his fingers over the pale bandages that wrapped around his torso. The tattoos on his arms peeked from beneath the edges of his sleeves, dark ink winding up his forearms and disappearing under his clothing.

“You will be at school every day now?”

“Just for a little while-” Craig remarked with a light nod to himself in a slight hurry- he admittedly overslept- it was already 7 in the morning and he still needed to eat his breakfast- he quickly plucked a thick stack of scribbled on index cards from the cluttered space at his cramped desk, some drafts of random essays smoothly flickering to the ground as he shuffled around the mess briefly with a soft whistle, “It's just a couple classes and study hall.”

“I see-”

Craig felt his warm fingertips briefly graze the crumpled-up notebook paper that fluttered across his desk before snatching up a few Post-it notes from the corner, jamming the colorful sheets in the pocket of his hoodie.

He normally wouldn't be taking notes during class- that wasn't usually his thing, more distracted by the slightly cracked open window that he sat by in the mornings or the soft humm of The Smiths in his white wired earbuds that he hid beneath the fabric of his hat.

But his Tweek was gone- and he knew that when he came back, he would be missing a few things from the remainder of the semester that he would be definitely freaking out over.

He lightly glanced at this Tweek- his lean frame now rose from the edge of the unmade bed, his small fur cloak now wrapped carefully over his broad shoulders. His lower frame was carefully wrapped with pale bandages that were neatly tied around him for support, the middle slightly a pale shade of red. 

“I will be hunting before you return.” The golden hair blonde responded almost absentmindedly, quietly adjusting the leather belt that resided across his slender waist with his pale fingertips carefully curling around the worn-out area of where his dagger used to warmly rest- “I heard on- what I think you call- a radio - that it is deer hunting season here in south park.”

The statement made Craig halt mid-step, his green eyes narrowing with a dry chuckle. 

He finally glanced towards Craig, the paleness of his blue eyes flickering across his expression, the dried splatters of blood lingering on the fur cloak that lingered over his pale shoulders. Craig considered trying to wash out the blood, but he wasn't sure there were any dry cleaners in South Park that specialized in cleaning bloody barbarian clothing on a Monday morning.

Craig nearly felt his throat go dry at the sentence, carefully chewing the inside of his cheek heartily with his dark mossy green eyes slightly crinkling. He lightly tucked the ends of his wool hat, the thick strap of his bookbag messily covered with an assortment of colorful pins.

“Dude , I can literally run and get you some packaged beef or whatever shit from Whole Foods right now.” He retorted in reply as he lazily pinched the bridge of his Roman nose with his sun-kissed fingers for a moment, a soft breath escaping his pursed lips while continuing, “There is no reason to be hunting.”

He admittedly felt really fucking bad keeping Tweek locked up in his room all alone, it had been days since Tweek had last stepped outside the confines of the house. He knew that it was unnatural for him to be caged up in the house like this, watching his freckled hand itch impatiently while softly glancing out the window-

But the thought of someone potentially seeing him outside and questioning him really fucked with Craig’s head.

“I really don't think that's a good idea, Tweek.” The dark green-eyed boy added with a slight drawl of his warm voice, his softening gaze flickering towards the neatly wrapped pale bandages that covered the barbarian firmly and allowing his pointer finger to signal towards the healing wound.

It had overall been holding up decently every night, Craig freshly dressing the injury as best he could, his stitches dragging halfway to his waist. “You are literally still in the middle of healing.”

The golden blonde however dragged his pale fingertips over the thick fabric of the bandages with a soft touch at the comment, the dark tattoos that tainted his porcelain skin faintly brushed by the sweet morning light while his bottom lip slightly caught between his teeth slightly simply shook his head.

“I have had worse.” The barbarian easily replied curtly with a hissed breath, the end of his freckled nose lightly scrunched as the back of his thumb wandered over the middle of his bandages, allowing his curled-up hands to linger into the messy curls that gathered at the back of his neck. “These will heal into the scars of a warrior.”

“Or they’ll match perfectly with the bumper of my pickup truck?”

Tweek kept his eyes closed for a moment, long blonde lashes remaining across his speckled cheeks, and Craig could tell he was trying his best to ignore his stupid half-witted comment.

“It's barbarian tradition for us to hunt for our meals and feed ourselves with the nature around us-” Tweek lightly snorted, a rare little laugh that was realistically more of a huff, his fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of Craig’s comforter. The edge of his cloak draped across his shoulders, patched and sewn from battles Craig hadn’t witnessed, now a strange contrast against the mess of his bedroom. 

“Your- microwave meals have been interesting- but, they only served till I was able to move once more.”

Craig's tone was firm, however. He took a step closer, closing the distance, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath him, the sound echoing like a warning.“You can't go outside yet-”

“Craig-”

“You could get caught by someone, man-”  He chewed the inside of his cheek, a habit that calmed him, and his dark mossy green eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. The strap of his well-worn bookbag rested against his shoulder, a jangle of colorful pins chiming softly with every shift-  “We still haven't figured out how you even got here and how this even works, if someone sees you and realizes you aren't our Tweek, I-”

Craig tried not to notice the way Tweek’s mouth moved slightly as he muttered to himself, pink lips pressing and parting like he was on the verge of saying something to break the silence.

“I will be careful,” Tweek finally replied, his voice steady, but Craig could see the stubbornness simmering just beneath the surface with the slight click of his tongue. There was a faint glint in Tweek’s pale blue gaze, carefully adjusting the heaviness of his thick cloak. “The forest is a place that has always felt like home to me.”

Craig shook his head-

“Yeah, but it’s different now,” Craig countered, lazily crossing his arms over his chest, trying to project calm even as unease coiled in his gut. “There are people out there who wouldn’t hesitate to question you, especially if they see you wandering around like some lost puppy.” The memory of the last time Tweek had been outside flickered in his mind, and he shook his head, trying to dismiss the images that came flooding back—the faint scent of rain lingering in the corners of his thoughts.

Tweek leaned against the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but eyes slightly flickered. “I’m not afraid if that's what you are worried about,” he said, a slight rasp in his voice echoing through the room, mixing with the sunlight that streamed in. “I can take care of myself.” He pushed a curl back from his forehead, and for a moment, Craig’s heart softened. He could see the scars that painted Tweek’s skin, trickling down his pale skin.

“I know you can- but people are hunting out there-”

“I have been around other hunters before- besides, I can't stay forever either.”

The golden light was now spilling through the half-open curtains highlighting the clutter around them: crumpled snack wrappers, a few stray socks, and the remnants of last night's late-night gaming session scattered across his unmade bed. It was a mess, Craig knew that for damn sure, but somehow it felt like a sanctuary, albeit a cramped one.

Craig ran a hand through his dark hair, the weight of Tweek’s gaze pressing on him. “This isn’t a game, Tweek. It’s not just about you feeling cooped up.” He felt the urge to let out the laugh that lingered dryly in the back of his throat, to break the tension, but the truth clung to his burning throat. “I don’t want to be the reason someone gets suspicious. I’d never hear the end of it from my mom- or quite frankly the whole damn town of South Park.”

Tweek’s pale fingertips brushed over the thick fabric of the bandages, a flash of irritation crossing his face. The dark tattoos that adorned his porcelain skin stood in stark contrast to the morning light. Craig’s heart thudded as he noticed Tweek’s bottom lip caught between his teeth, a telltale sign that he wasn't gonna let this go.

“Just for a moment- I won't wander too far into the forest.”

Craig hesitated, the tension crackling in the air between them. He looked at Tweek—really looked—taking in the way the morning light framed his face, how it turned the golden strands of his hair into a halo. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop himself, the vulnerability in his voice surprising even him.

Tweek glanced at him for a moment, the blonde lightly nodding, the fur of his dark cloak brushing his cheek. “I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Fucking dammit.

With a sigh, Craig turned toward his bedroom closet, which was a disaster, even by his own standards. The sliding door creaked as he opened it, revealing a pile of clothes—mostly t-shirts in various shades of gray and blue, all half-folded, and an embarrassing collection of old comics stacked in the back. A few action figures lay sprawled across the floor of the closet, caught mid-battle, their little plastic arms frozen in poses he’d set up months ago and forgotten about. Craig dug around, feeling something squishy—an old hoodie—and something sharp—

Craig’s warm fingers brushed against the cold handle of the dagger he’d hidden in the back of his closet, and memories flooded back, sharp and vivid. That night on the rain-soaked road had left a bruise across the back of his arms, one that seemed to be a bitch for it to finally fade. Tweek’s strained voice, fractured and bitter, echoed in his mind: "I don’t know you."  

Even now, the words stung like the blade had against his throat- he remembered grabbing the bathroom sink after that night, examining the slight nick against his neck, every syllable a fresh reminder of the stale taste in his mouth.

Craig turned the dagger over in the palm of his hand quietly, feeling the weight of it—smooth, cold, and familiar. Part of him wanted to hand it back to Tweek, as if that would somehow be an offering of trust to him, proof that things between them were stable at least, that they were gonna work together.

But then he pictured Tweek’s expression from back then—empty, unrecognizing, his glazed blue eyes fixed on Craig like he was nothing more than a stranger in the rain.

The dagger felt heavier suddenly, its handle slick between Craig’s curled fingertips, and he found himself hesitating. Maybe it was safer here, out of sight, out of Tweek’s reach, where it couldn’t be a reminder of how close they’d come to something irreversible. As he tucked it away underneath some of his old gym shirts, he could almost hear the rain again, feel the slick pavement beneath him, Tweek’s elbow pressing sharply into his chest, the cold edge of the blade against his skin.

He dug around some more, a forgotten pencil, old Terrance & Phillip plushies, of all things—before his fingers closed around his Red Racer walkie-talkie.

Perfect.

Go figures his taste hasn't changed much since he was a kid.

The headset looked like it had seen better days, honestly. The plastic was scuffed and chipped, and one of the ear cushions had a little tear, but it still worked. Good enough, he thought briefly as he gingerly yanked it free from a tangle of black cords and tossed it casually over his shoulder.

Tweek, now perched on the corner of the bed, was watching him with those blue eyes of his, soft and intense at the same time. Tweek’s hair was probably what got people’s attention first—a golden blond mess of curls and waves, wild and untamed. A few strands caught the light just right, giving off this subtle glow that made him look almost ethereal sitting by the daylight like he’d stepped out of some ancient, long-forgotten legend.

“Here, man-” Craig's thumb casually pointed at the bright red walkie-talkie set that was now sprawled across the dark blue bed sheets, stopping himself from staring too long, “If you really need to go, you gotta take this.”

The barbarian carefully examined the children's toy set tossed beside him, his pale eyes flickering over the little set with a slight curl of his lip before allowing his pointer finger to hesitantly point at the device.

“What is this?” Tweek lightly asked with a slight tilt of his head, his dark blonde eyebrows thickly stitched together as Craig glanced over his shoulder for a moment.

“It's a walkie-talkie.” 

“It looks- odd?”

Craig walked over with a slight scuff on his lips, casually grabbing one of the walkies before flipping it over in the palm of his hand warmly- in dark black marker it had scribbled across the plastic, “CT” in the messiest chicken scratch from middle school- “Don't be a jerk, man, my mom got me this for my 12th birthday party.”

His dark green eyes flickered briefly in lightness, quickly signaling the blonde to watch as the back of his thumb carefully ran over the black button on the very side of the walkie to demonstrate, “The point is, you are able to talk to me if you need anything by clicking this button.”

He softly clicked it with a faint glint, a loud static filling the air for a moment before sharply pausing for his voice to ring through slightly choppily.

“Hello? Do you copy?”

Tweek stared at him widely at the sudden voice appearing through the other end, his pointed ears nearly perking at the slight static of his voice humming warmly into the speaker- He hesitantly inched closer, captivated by the sound and the strange little box. His pale blue eyes flicker with both fascination and unease, darting between the walkie and Craig as if trying to understand its purpose with a slight curl of his lip.

Craig quickly lowered the walkie to his chest, “Like this, okay?” The Peruvian boy noted, his lips pursed tightly in a straight line- “But only for emergencies.”

“What would count as an emergency for you?”

“Like you in the middle of you getting mauled by a bear or something-” 

The ends of Tweek’s mouth softly twisted, but he carefully nodded, a warm hand absently touching the bright red walkie-talkie Craig had given him. Craig noted how Tweek’s hand hovered over the device, his nimble fingers tracing its edge as though it were a piece of his old armor with a soft whisper on his lips. Tweek’s fingers, usually calloused and slightly scarred, looked softer now, tentative as they brushed against the foreign plastic.

“Okay, I will keep this ‘walkie talkie’ with me,” Tweek said finally with a hum, his warm tone lightening before clutching it tightly into the grip of his hand. “If that's what will allow you to let me go outside.”

Craig’s gaze shifted again as he adjusted his slung backpack over one shoulder. The light mole on his right cheek caught the sunlight streaming in from the window, holding the other walkie tightly in his grip.

“Just be safe, okay?” Craig’s voice dropped a notch, growing a bit warmer, his fingertips tightening on the strap of his book bag. “Don't let anyone see you—till we’ve got this all figured out.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Breakfast at the Tucker's home was always something interesting. 

At least that's what Tweek would say to him growing up. He would say that going there for breakfast always had something going on, that it wasn't like breakfast at his house- where everyone was more so focused on other things than a regularly scheduled family gathering of sorts.

Craig’s footsteps were soft on the wooden stairs as he walked into the kitchen, the scent of blueberry pancakes hitting him with a warm buttery kiss- It was definitely a familiar smell to him, one that had filled the house countless times before growing up. Particularly, when something not-so-great was happening, like when he got the news he had to get braces in freshman year for his “fucked up” teeth or when Tricia had attempted to flush his first guinea pig down the toilet.

The kitchen itself was small in the Tucker home, cramped, with just enough space to move around the clutter. A few mismatched mugs sat on the counter, forgotten from last night’s late-night snacks, and the sink was half full of dishes waiting to be washed. The floor, though swept, still carried the faintest traces of crumbs—

The fridge, slightly ajar, was covered in an array of papers: report cards from the previous school year, a few bills that hadn’t been opened, and some old drawings from Tricia. They were all under the colorful magnets on the door as Craig quickly reached for the jug of orange juice- The fridge hummed softly, a low, constant noise that blended into the rhythm of the morning.

Laura Tucker stood at the stove, briefly glancing at her son as he lazily unscrewed the half-finished juice with a slight pinch of his fingertips and took a quick swing of the sweet directly- Her golden blonde curls were pulled up into a messy bun, strands falling loose around slightly scrunched-up face as she lightly smacked the side of his hand with the back of her spatula with a light click of her tongue-

“Grab a cup if you want to drink juice, eso no esta bien.”

The use of Spanish made Craig's ears slightly burn underneath the soft touch of his wool hat- His mother had decided to pick on some extra words after his rather unexpected trip to Peru when he was younger- Mostly used in ways to scold him whenever he did something.

“Sorry, Mom.”

Her pale skin was smooth despite the lack of sleep. She wore a crappy hotel reception uniform from her second job, the thick fabric slightly wrinkled from a long shift, but her bright red lipstick was as perfect as ever. Her bright blue eyes, though lingering with faint bags underneath them, still glinted with that signature warmth while signaling for him to the open cupboard. 

Even as she flipped a pancake from the pan, the sizzle was loud and comforting in the quiet kitchen. The pancake landed back in the pan with a faint hiss, its edges slightly burnt but still somehow endearing in their imperfect, golden-brown shape.

At the wooden table, Tricia sat finishing her stack of pancakes, her fork hovering over the last bite. The maple syrup glistened on the table, pooling slightly on the plate. 

Tricia and Craig had always loved pancakes since they were kids, her bright orange hair pulled back into a neat braid that spilled down her back, catching the soft light. It was a special sort of thing in the house when they could trade the infamous packaged Eggos for their mom's signature blueberry pancakes.

The freckles on Tricia's button nose seemed to dance as she quietly grinned, her pale blue cardigan tucked neatly into her red skirt. Her blue eyes flickered between the syrup-sticky pancakes and her mom, who was now attentively focused on the faint sizzle of the pan.

“Hey, Tricia-”

“God, you are finally awake- I thought I might have to walk to school again at this point.”

“Great, good morning to you too, dear sister-”

Her dark blue backpack sat haphazardly on the wooden chair beside her, one strap hanging over the edge like it had been hastily tossed aside in a rush. She was a freshman now, Tricia's feet swung slightly under the table while she chewed contentedly, her lips briefly curling into a smile at the sight of Craig. 

Even with the mess and the rush of the morning, everything felt oddly normal, like time had a way of stopping in these moments, even if just for a second. 

Laura glanced over at Craig, her voice warm but with a hint of exhaustion at the end of her words. “Morning, sweetheart. Hope you're hungry,” she hummed, flipping another fresh pancake onto the pile. "You’re just in time." Her smile, tired as it might be, was enough to soften the hectic air of the room. “I made some blueberry pancakes!--- I was gonna heat up some waffles but we always keep running out of the damn things-”

Craig reached over to the fresh stack of pancakes his mom had just made, pulling a warm one from the top and folding it neatly in the palm of his hand. He could feel the heat through the soft dough, the faint scent of blueberries mingling with the buttery warmth. His mom noticed, her bright blue eyes catching his with a soft, knowing smile spread across her crimson lips.

"I’ll go to the store to pick some more up later this week," she said, wiping her hands on her stained apron. There was a touch of apology in her tone that smoothly hummed in the kitchen.

Craig simply nodded, taking a quick bite of the pancake with a soft smile twinging on the ends of his lips, "Thanks, Mom." He lightly glanced over at Tricia, who was now carefully scraping the last bite of pancake on the end of her fork. “Hey, Trish, pass the syrup?”

Without missing a beat, Tricia smoothly handed him the bottle, the sticky outside of it cool in his smooth hands. She watched him for a second, then set her plate down with a clink and carried it over to the cluttered sink. The water turned on with a soft rush as she scrubbed away the remnants of her breakfast, her small hands scrubbing dutifully, the light catching the freckles dusting her nose.

Meanwhile, Laura turned off the stove, the last pancake still sizzling faintly in the pan, and turned back toward Craig. She leaned slightly against the counter, watching him with a familiar motherly look.

“You’ve got that history test today, don’t you?” she asked, crossing her arms with a touch of pride. Craig knew that with her two jobs, it was a bit harder for her to remember the details of their personal lives- He didn't mind that, but she somehow still made sure to show up at nearly every school event. “I remember you were studying with your friends for it earlier this week. You’ll do well, hun—I just know it.”

Craig lightly nodded, unruly hair peeking out from under his blue chullo wool hat as he nodded towards his mother, his dark green eyes flickering with a quiet focus, smoothly folded the pancake up and took a bite. His hat had seen better days, admittedly- the colors slightly faded, but it was a staple—something he wore almost daily that was a gift from his grandmother on his 7th birthday, the ear flaps framing his face in a way that gave him a laid-back, almost thoughtful look.

Tricia finished rinsing her plate and set it aside with a faint clutter on the wired dish rack. She pushed her chair back and stood up, reaching for her dark blue backpack slung over the back of the wooden chair before she slung the backpack over her shoulder with ease, her freckles bright on her nose as she glanced over at their mom, nodding to acknowledge the reminder about her science project.

Laura noticed Tricia’s backpack and gave her a quick smile, her bright red lipstick slightly smudged but adding a cheerful, polished touch to her tired face. “Got everything you need, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Tricia lightly replied with a soft hum on her curled lips, casting a quick look at Craig, who gave her a small nod before focusing back on his breakfast, the hint of a grin on his face as he doused his last bite of pancake with syrup. “You seriously have to hurry up The girls are waiting for me at the front of the school so we can walk to class together.”

“Do you really have to walk together every morning, Trish? Seriously?”

The morning light filtered into the small kitchen, casting a soft glow over the cluttered countertops and worn-out wooden table as his sister scoffed at him before pulling out her cell phone. The air smelled faintly of blueberry pancakes, mingling with the slight tang of coffee. 

Laura stood by the stove, flipping a slightly burnt pancake, her tired blue eyes catching Craig as he lightly finished his breakfast. Her blonde hair, hastily tied up in a messy bun, had a few loose strands framing her pale face. There was a hint of nervousness in her soft smile, the kind she always wore when trying to ease into difficult conversations.

Or the reason for the blueberry pancakes.

"Craig, honey," She began gently, her smooth voice almost tentative. The faint sizzle of the pancake lingered as she looked over at the home phone mounted on the wall, the thick coiled over before then back at him. 

"Your father called. He was wondering if you’d like to speak with him today.”

This again.

Craig’s expression shifted immediately, his hand pausing mid-bite. The light-hearted atmosphere of the kitchen suddenly felt like shit, as though someone had pulled a thread that threatened to unravel everything. His green eyes crinkled, the light that danced in them moments ago now stilled. Slowly, his tan skin grew flushed as his jaw set in a tense line.

“No,” he said flatly, his voice quiet but firm. He didn’t even before looking up.

Laura’s shoulders dropped slightly, her uniform slightly wrinkled up at the sudden movement but she pressed on, a crease forming between her blonde brows. She moved closer, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, her fingertips warmly grazing the thick fabric of his dark blue hoodie. “Craig, please, just listen to me-”

He stiffened, shrugging off the warmth of her hand, his tone sharp- “Mom, please,” he said through clenched teeth, his usually warmer voice edged with a bite that felt too sharp for the gentle warmth of the kitchen. “I don’t want to deal with whatever bullshit he has to say.” He adjusted the straps of his backpack quietly, his gaze averted to the pattern of the kitchen flooring. His green eyes narrowed slightly, his grip tightening on the strap until his knuckles turned white.

Laura sighed, her blue eyes crinkling with worry as she shifted her weight, crossing her arms as though bracing herself. Her fingers absently brushed her apron, and she tried again, softer this time. “He’s really trying, Craig. Just because we’re not together anymore, doesn’t mean you can’t give him a chance.”

Of course, he’s trying—trying to make himself feel better.

Craig’s face hardened with a soft flicker, the morning light casting a shadow over his dark brow. “He had his opportunity to try, okay?” His voice was dry, almost cold, as he finally met her eyes, and for a split second, hurt flashed across his face. He glanced away again, catching sight of an old family photo neatly framed on the wall—the three of them together, smiling at a crappy Macy's Christmas photoshoot. “I don’t want to talk to that asshole.”

A flicker of sadness passed over his mother's face, and she took a slow breath between her pursed red lips, her pale fingers smoothly brushing the stray blonde strands that framed her tired face. “Craig, he’s still your father-” Her voice was barely above a whisper now, her hand reaching out once more, as though she could soften the tension with a simple touch.

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh, his dark green eyes flashing with bitterness as he lightly glanced back at her. “Mom, this is just him trying to clear his conscience, don’t you get that?” He feverishly ran a hand through the front of his hair, the worn fabric of his hoodie shifting with the faint scent of pancakes lingering at the edge of his words, “If he wanted to reach out, he should’ve mailed a postcard like every other deadbeat.”

He paused for a moment, his tone dry as he added with a slight spat, “I don't blame him for that- Where do you even get a ‘sorry I ditched you guys to start a new life’ card at a gift shop?”

The kitchen was now nearly quiet, except for the soft sizzle of the remaining batter that lingered on the warmth of the pan.

Tricia, who had been sitting quietly through the exchange between the two of them, finally turned towards him roughly, her dark orange braid swinging over her shoulder as her pale blue eyes sharply narrowed. Freckles dotted her puffed-out pale cheeks.

“God, you’re such a fucking asshole, Craig,” she finally spat out with a hiss in her lingering words, her strained voice briefly cracking as she promptly pushed past him, quickly knocking the side of her shoulder into his with a bitter scoff.

Nice one, he thought to himself, watching her grab her backpack, a wave of guilt washing over him. Congrats, Craig Tucker. You’ve officially ruined breakfast.

The scathing look from his sister hit him hard, and he was left standing in the wake of her anger, feeling its shitty sting. His eyes flickered back to his mother, whose attempt at a smile had slightly faded, replaced by a look of quiet twinge at the end of her painted lips. She clenched the spatula tightly in her grip, her soft blue eyes slightly crinkled at the corners as she fought to keep her expression calm.

But Craig could see the faint tremble in her lips, the soft glimmer in her gaze as she looked at him. Her forced smile flickered out, her face paling as her warm fingers fidgeted with the hem of her apron.

He fucked up.

He softened, the weight of his words suddenly heavy in his rising and falling chest. His mouth opened slightly, but he found himself fucking stumbling over whatever apology he was grasping for. “Look… I’m sorry, Ma,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, tinged with the roughness of guilt. He shook his head, fingers brushing his bag strap. “I just… I can’t.” 

The regret settled heavily in his chest, twisting with a pang of guilt he couldn’t shake as he watched her, the strained smile still on her face, her blue eyes filled with a sadness she was trying so hard to hide. With a last look at the kitchen, she lightly nodded-

“Just have a good day at school, okay?”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The hallways of South Park High had the usual morning rustle—students moving in packs, heads bent over phones, and the occasional burst of laughter bouncing off the tiled floors. Faded murals and uninspired posters for upcoming dances and club meetings covered the walls, some of them peeling at the corners.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale, washed-out glow that softened into the dimming autumn light from the windows. Locker doors slammed here and there, mixing with the hum of voices, footsteps, and a constant undertone of the school bell’s warning chime that the first period was minutes away.

Craig’s eyes drifted down the hallway as he adjusted the strap on his backpack, his gaze unfocused, lost in a place far from the hum of students. 

Thoughts of this morning lingered- Thoughts of Tweek- Somewhere in another world—literally, another world—Tweek was out there. Craig couldn’t shake the image of his Tweek, wide-eyed and anxious, his tanned fists clenched and his shoulders remained slightly tense.

Reaching for his locker, Craig had tilted his chin to the side, the softness of his dark green eyes taking in the familiar sight under his messy long lashes. Rows of metal compartments stood in an orderly fashion, each adorned with a wide array of stickers, photographs, and personal touches scattered across the dented surfaces.

Craig easily could spot the multiple posters announcing the upcoming football game that he showed little interest in, proudly cluttering the brick walls with bolded print slapped across: "SOUTH PARK COWS vs. NORTH PARK COWBOYS"

Craig slid his fingers into the combination lock, feeling the metal turn in his hands as he glanced around, half-aware of the familiar faces drifting by. When his locker clicked open, he was greeted by the usual clutter—a couple of notebooks stacked on the verge of collapse, a few crumpled-up assignments from last week he’d been meaning to get to, and his old gym shirt jammed into a corner.

Then his eyes caught on something else—a bright yellow Post-it note clinging to the inside of the locker door.

The handwriting was instantly recognizable, messy and looping, the letters crammed together in a way that made them look like they might spill off the paper. Scrawled in Tweek’s familiar handwriting were the words, "Remember to study! Can’t wait to see you." It looked exactly like his writing on the Tweek Bros coffee to-go order cups, the slight flick at the end of the words catching Craig’s flickering eyes.

Craig’s fingertips gingerly brushed over the surface note, and a pang went through him, tugging at his chest. His mind drifted to the image of Tweek—his wild, messy blonde hair that stuck out in every direction, his stupid crooked smile that always seemed a little hesitant, and the freckles that scattered across his cheeks like a constellation of tiny stars across his pale skin.

For a moment, Craig's expression softened, his green eyes tracing over the note again, the noise of the hall falling into the background. He couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips, his fingers hovering over the yellow square. You’re such a dork, Tweek, he thought, though the warmth in his chest made it impossible to be anything but fond.

Tweek was stuck in another world, and he still had no damn clue how to get him back.  

His chest tightened a bit more, and his jaw clenched. He missed him—missed the warmth of those goofy smiles, the nervous little laughs. It had only been days, but it felt like years, and the worry ate away at him every time he thought of it. He knew Tweek could handle himself, but something about this distance, this unknown world, left Craig feeling helpless in a way he hadn’t before.

“Hey Tucker,”

The silence didn’t last long. A figure appeared at his side, leaning casually against the lockers. Craig didn’t even need to look up to know it was Kyle Broflovski. Craig knew the type of guy he was the moment they met in kindergarten in the sandbox. Kyle wasn’t just the president of nearly half the clubs in South Park High—swimming, debate, mathletes—he was basically a shoo-in for Princeton and probably had his eyes on every Ivy League out there. 

The only reason he didn’t have a monopoly on the shitty school activities was Wendy Testaburger, his basically academic rival of sorts since birth. Craig found their rivalry fucking hilarious; if Kyle had recited the ABCs at age two, Wendy probably sang them in perfect harmony while explaining the history of the alphabet. Put them in a room together for a moment, and Craig was convinced only one would walk out.

Kyle, with his dark freckles and slightly hooked nose, gave him a look that was both bemused and exasperated. His thick red curls stuck out from the warmth of the bright lights, and his bright green eyes watched Craig with a knowing glint. Dressed in his usual orange plaid shirt and brown jeans, he looked like he’d just walked off a catalog for “Scholastic Book Fair.”

The redhead’s eyes briefly flicked to the small note in Craig’s hand, his thick brow furrowing slightly. Craig quickly tucked it away with a slight crumple within his tanned fingertips, shoving his light hands into the warm pockets of his hoodie. 

“Where’s your other half?”

Craig tilted his head to see Kyle leaning against the lockers with that all-too-familiar half-smile before casually shoving a few textbooks haphazardly into his locker with a slight click of his tongue. “He’s out sick right now. Caught something going around,” 

Kyle’s gaze softened a bit. “Seriously? Dude, what a bummer,” he replied with a light nod. “I was hoping to drop him off some notes for class later today.” He lightly unzipped his bag, pulling out a crisp study guide—neatly highlighted in green ink, with careful scribbles lining the margins. Craig took a look at the work, momentarily distracted by the meticulousness of Kyle’s notes as he scanned over classmates streaming down the hall, voices bouncing off the walls.

“Yeah, he might be out for a while-”

“Really? He's gonna miss out on our exams if he's out for too long.”

Craig lazily extended his hand to take the study guide, glancing over the page once more before casually cramming it into his own bag. The hall around them was bustling, students streaming past, their voices overlapping in waves. He could hear snippets of conversations about the upcoming history test, the new cafeteria menu, and someone complaining about gym class.

Kyle smoothly adjusted his book bag over his shoulder, his pale green eyes flicking back to Craig for a moment. “I haven’t seen him at all at his parent's coffee shop either,” he lightly added, his smooth voice laced with a slight pitch as his thick eyebrow slightly twitched, “It’s weird not to see him there- I just figured I could ask you- He is your boyfriend, y’know?”

Craig sharply zipped up his bag at the comment, his furrowed gaze narrowing slightly as he instead focused on the clasp of his bag. “Shouldn’t you be focused on yours, Broflovski?”

He knew it was a cheap shot to take at the redhead- But it was the easiest method to piss Kyle off since the 6th grade. It wasn't like the idea was completely out of left field either- He knew that Stan Marsh and Wendy had been an on-and-off thing since they were children, but he always assumed Kyle was more of the actual girlfriend to Marsh than Wendy ever was.

Kyle quietly rolled his eyes at the reply with a scuffed snort, casually shifting his stance so the side of his shoulders leaned more heavily into the lockers, his thin lips pressed together in a slight straight line. “Craig, are you seriously trying to imply something between me and Stan?” He asked, raising a single eyebrow, his expression hovering somewhere between fucking amusement and disbelief.

Craig shrugged slightly, sliding the dark strap of his book bag over his shoulder with a light hum, his mouth barely curving up at the corner. 

“Never said it was Stan, man.”

Running a hand through his messy curls as he narrowed his eyes at Craig. The hall’s fluorescent lights cast a faint shadow over his freckled face, accentuating the hint of annoyance in his expression. “Jesus Christ, dude. Have you ever learned to shut the hell up?”

At that moment, a sudden arm landed across Craig’s shoulders, and he glanced up to see Clyde, grinning from ear to ear with a blurry image displayed on his phone.

Clyde looked almost blissfully oblivious to the serious atmosphere he’d walked into, his coffee-colored hair sticking up in various directions like he’d tried to style it and then forgotten about it altogether. He wore his usual South Park High varsity jacket over a faded band tee, his wide grin revealing an enthusiasm that felt almost out of place in the fluorescent-lit hallway. His brown eyes sparkled with excitement as he waved the phone in Craig’s face.

“Party at Bebe’s tonight!” Clyde was bustling with excitement from the seams of his sports jersey, his phone screen brightness unbearably set to the highest setting before bringing Craig's puffed-out cheek closer to his own. His voice carried over the noise of the hallway as a few people glanced in their direction. “Her parents are out of town—finally!”

Clyde shuffled his illuminating phone screen to Craig's face before tilting it to show Kyle- The curly blonde was wearing a ruby dress that flowed to the floor in a quaint shop, hugging the crevices of her curvy figure as appeared to be talking to someone off camera. On the edge of her Instagram story, she had typed out, “Party at my place, 7 pm”

Craig raised an eyebrow, dryly replying as he looked up from the phone screen towards the brunette. “So you two got back together or something?”

Clyde had a slight glint in his crinkling eyes before tossing his phone into the depths of the pockets of his jeans, shaking his head slightly at the comment before waving his fingertips gingerly in the air.

His eyes drifted over the passing students, their voices blending into a low hum as they shuffled down the hallway. The fluorescent lights above cast a pale glow, bouncing off the rows of lockers, each plastered with various stickers and doodles.

“Oh, fuck, no!” Clyde lightly laughed, clutching his chest in mock horror. “But this is my shot to finally move on and maybe, just maybe, hook up with one of the lacrosse girls.”

Kyle faintly scoffed, crossing his arms as he took in the exchange with mild amusement- his lips quirking up in a barely-there smirk. “And somehow you think she’s gonna come back to you after that shit?”

Clyde shrugged casually, adjusting the collar of his varsity jacket with a mild hum on his pursed lips, “Bebe and I are cool, man. Besides, I’m Clyde Donovan. How could she resist?”

As Clyde chatted away by the lockers, Craig leaned casually against the cool metal, half-listening to whatever Clyde was animatedly recounting. His dark green eyes flicked over to Kyle, who was standing with his textbook propped in his hands, arms crossed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Clyde’s dramatic gestures.

Craig just shook his head, muttering, “Yeah, the lacrosse girls are going to be falling over themselves for you.” But there was a glint of humor in his eyes as he said it, his usual dry wit slipping through.

Clyde ignored him for a moment, his tongue slightly clicking. “So, you in, Tucker?” He pulled his arm back, fixing Craig with an expectant look, his light brown eyes faintly glimmering under the fluorescent lights that hung above them. “It’s our senior year, dude—if we don’t live it up now, who knows when it’ll be the next time.”

Craig slightly shifted, his dark green eyes darting back toward the post-it-note still clinging to the inside of his pocket. The thought of Tweek gnawed at him, making the idea of going to a party seem somehow wrong. Clyde, however, had an expression that made it clear he wasn’t about to let Craig slip away so easily.

“Come on, man, you don’t have anything better to do tonight. Just come!”

Kyle, arms still crossed but his expression was more amused than anything else. “Tweek would want you to go, wouldn’t he? Just show up for a little while; you can ditch right after if it’s that unbearable.”

Craig ran a hand over his chullo hat, his fingers lingering on the worn-out fabric as he thought it over. He glanced around the hallway, at the flow of students passing by, at the lockers covered in stickers and graffiti, and at Clyde’s hopeful expression. The idea of heading to a party—just for a little while—didn’t sound so terrible, especially with Clyde practically begging him. And besides, the senior year really was slipping away faster than he’d like to admit.

Craig took a moment, looking from Clyde’s hopeful grin to Kyle’s raised eyebrow, before finally relenting with a sigh. “Fine. But after an hour, I’m gone.”

Broflovski, who had been watching the exchange with an amused gleam in his eyes, raised an eyebrow at Craig. “Let’s see how long you actually last,” he lightly quipped, his tone half-joking, half-genuinely curious. He adjusted the strap of his green backpack, his curls bouncing a little with the motion. His freckled nose wrinkled as he gave a slight smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Craig lightly muttered, pulling his bag higher up on his shoulder. “We’ll see, assholes.”

Kyle let out a quiet chuckle, his pale fingers adjusting his hat as he gave a final nod before merging into the stream of students. Craig stood there a moment longer, feeling the soft echo of their laughter hanging in the air as he thought about the night ahead. The noise of the hallway gradually dulled as the last bell rang, students scattering to class. 

Craig finally turned back to softly pull out the note from his pocket, eyes lingering on the yellow Post-it before he closed the locker door.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Craig stepped into Bebe’s house and was hit instantly by a wave of loud, pulsing music that seemed to shake the walls with every bass drop. The warm smell of cheap beer, cologne, and something vaguely fruity—probably from some spilled mixer—hung heavily in the air. People were packed in close, barely leaving space to move around, each corner of the room bursting with activity. Red plastic cups littered nearly every available surface, some half-full, others knocked over and dripping onto the wooden floor, forming sticky patches beneath people's feet.

In the kitchen, someone had set up a makeshift bar, with mismatched bottles of alcohol and sodas lined up alongside bags of chips and pretzels. A few people were standing around the counter, pouring drinks, laughing loudly, and clinking their cups together in messy toasts that left splashes of liquid on the countertops. The kitchen island served as a sort of boundary to a group huddled around a game of beer pong. The players, leaning in with intense concentration, took turns lobbing ping-pong balls at the rows of red cups while onlookers cheered and booed.

To his right, the living room was crowded with clusters of people, some lounging on the sofas, others leaning against the walls or huddled together in tight groups, chatting over the pounding music. He spotted a couple on the far side of the room, half-hidden in the dim lighting, locked in a heated makeout session against the wall, oblivious to everything around them. Their bodies moved in sync with the rhythm, caught in their own world amid the music.

Craig felt someone brush past him, almost spilling his own drink as they jostled by. He could hear snippets of conversations as he moved deeper into the room, fragments about school, gossip, and inside jokes that made people burst into laughter. The crowd shifted, making way for Clyde, who appeared beside him with his usual, boyish grin, his own red cup clenched tightly.

“Dude, isn’t this insane?” Clyde yelled over the music, eyes practically gleaming with excitement. He gestured toward the living room, where a few people had started dancing in a loose circle, their bodies swaying and jumping in time with the music.

“Yeah-”

Craig took it all in, his gaze drifting over the groups of people, the way the house seemed alive with energy, loud and reckless in a way that made him both uneasy and oddly relaxed. He noticed Kyle leaning against the wall, rolling his eyes at something someone said but still looking amused. The familiar faces and crowded rooms felt surreal yet comforting—a rare chance to just let go.

Craig didn’t know how long he’d last here, but for the moment, he let himself get swept up in the music and energy, moving with Clyde toward the heart of the party.

The music thumped in the background, a heavy, rhythmic pulse that seemed to seep into everything. Craig was just beginning to adjust to the energy of the party when he felt a sudden, enthusiastic presence next to him. 

He looked up to see Bebe Stevens, her bright blonde curls bouncing with every step as she messily staggered over to him, a broad grin spreading sloppily across her glossy lips. Her light-blue eyes were slightly unfocused, clearly red, and her dark dress clung to her frame- the sheer fabric shimmering under the low lighting.

Without a second thought, she smoothly threw her arms around Craig lazily with a sweet hum on the edge of her mouth, pulling him into a tight hug that almost knocked the air out of him.

Holy shit.

"Craig! Where is T-baby?" she hummed out with a soft sigh, her usually sweet voice noticeably slurred, her jumbled words running into each other as she smoothly leaned into him- her strong vanilla bath & body works perfume lingering across his pale skin.

Ah- She's asking about Tweek.

Tweek and Bebe had become close friends oddly enough in their freshman year of highschool- Especially with their "boyfriends" being best friends and all. Craig could tell that Tweek was initially a little antsy being friends with the Queen Bee of South Park High, but Bebe literally was impossible to ignore with her persistence- It was probably one of the many reasons Clyde liked her so much.

"He's out sick right now-!" Craig quickly stumbled back a bit at the unexpected embrace, his dark eyebrows shooting up in mild surprise. He quickly tugged her off, his warm hands gently but firmly moving her off him, eyes widening as he looked down at her with a mix of disbelief and concern. "Bebe—holy fuck, you are wasted," he muttered out with a breath, a small shake of his head following his words as he examined her flushed face. She was swaying slightly with a slight tip of her cup, her expression nothing but pure, carefree joy as she softly blinked up at him, oblivious to his skepticism.

“Craig? Holy shit, I’m sorry!”

Before he could respond further, a familiar voice cut through the tussle of the music, and Craig turned just in time to see Wendy approaching. 

Wendy had stood next to Bebe, her pale lavender dress flowing gently around her legs as she subtly adjusted the loose strap over her shoulder. The soft fabric shimmered in the dim lighting of the room, but it was the sharp contrast of her dark, waist-length hair that ran down her hips. The silky black locks cascaded in perfect waves, framing her face with the kind of effortless grace that always made Craig wonder how she managed to look so put-together at all times. Her dark brown eyes were lined with shimmering eyeshadow, accentuating their depth, and her pink lips were perfectly painted, though they seemed to soften as she observed Bebe's tipsy antics over her shoulder.

Bebe, still caught up in the carefree, drunken daze of the party, gingerly twirled one of her golden locks around her pointer finger as she absentmindedly glanced up at Wendy with a cheesy smile. Bebe's chipper laugh was high-pitched and light, a sound that blended with the background hum of music and conversations.

"I came in earlier to help Bebe get ready," Wendy added, her smooth voice slightly distracted but still firm, a hint of responsibility in her tone. She looked down at Bebe again, who seemed oblivious to everything around her except her own world of giggles and swirling thoughts. Wendy’s warm brown eyes softened as she gave Bebe a gentle nudge to keep her steady.

Craig, still standing with his arms casually crossed, watched the scene unfold in front of him. The noise of the party seemed to fade just a little as he focused on Wendy. He tilted his head slightly, raising his voice just enough to cut through the music, though it still came out a bit muffled.

"Marsh came with you?" Craig asked out loud, his voice carrying just enough curiosity.

Wendy let out a small, dismissive hum, her dark eyes not quite meeting his as she continued to help Bebe adjust herself with a soft movement of her free arm, quietly smoothing out the creases of Bebe’s dress with a slight but noticeable care. Her warm fingers brushed lightly over Bebe’s golden curls, still calm and composed despite the madness around them.

"Stan? He's probably somewhere," Wendy finally hummed, her warm voice just loud enough to rise above the beat. She shifted slightly, her firm gaze turning back to Bebe as the blonde's tipsy giggles rang out. Wendy's movements were measured and careful as she sweetly wiped a streak of smeared lip gloss from Bebe's rosy cheek, the glossy residue left behind from their earlier conversation. Her nimble fingers moved with a practiced touch, smoothing over the pale skin, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she glanced at Craig.

“I mean- I don’t know,” Wendy replied with a casual shrug, her lips curling into a playful, knowing smile. "I just figured he’d show up at some point. He always does." Her soft voice was steady, though there was a slight tease in her tone that made Craig roll his eyes.

Bebe, still swaying in her drunken haze, giggled, unaware of the moment of quiet interaction between Wendy and Craig. Wendy’s expression softened as she caught a glimpse of Bebe's smeared shiny pink lip gloss once more, letting out a soft sigh, the movement slow and deliberate between her parted lips.

Craig couldn’t help but stare for a second at Wendy’s focused expression, the way she balanced looking after Bebe while still keeping a cool and collected composure—a sense of calmness amidst the whirl of the party.

"You're really the one doing all the work here, huh?" Craig said dryly, a hint of amusement behind his words, though his tone was still as nonchalant as ever.

Wendy glanced at him then, her dark brown eyes locking with his for just a moment, before she shook her head, a small smile playing at her strawberry lipgloss lips. "Someone's got to," she finally muttered, softly brushing Bebe's thick curls back from her scrunched-up face as she returned to carefully tending to her.

“You need anything?”

Craig considered her question for a moment, his dark green eyes flicking over the room before they settled back on Wendy, who was standing with the same practiced care. "Nah," he replied simply, "Just making sure you don’t need backup."

Wendy gave him a half-smile in response, her face showing no signs of the frustration she might have felt earlier. She just nodded. "Thanks," she said quietly, before turning back to Bebe with a slight whisper to her flushed ear. "Now, where the hell did you leave my drink this time?"

Bebe just sweetly giggled again, oblivious to everything around her as the noise of the party slowly swallowed the moment whole. Craig gave a slight chuckle and turned to blend back into the party, letting the music pulse around him.

The party lights flickered and pulsed, casting colorful patterns across Craig’s face as he stood amidst the crowd. Neon blues, reds, and greens flashed in waves, bouncing off the walls and sweeping over his sunkissed skin, giving his features a sharp, a faint glow. Each flash and pulse brought out the curls of his dark hair, highlighting the way they framed his face with an almost careless elegance.

Kenny McCormick sat at one of the cluttered tables in the dimly lit corner of the living room, surrounded by bottles of all shapes and sizes, each one a forgotten relic from Bebe’s parents' secret stash. The room buzzed with the sound of laughter, music, and clinking bottles, but Kenny seemed unfazed. His dirty blonde hair was a little messy, strands sticking out in a way that made him look perpetually carefree. 

His dark blue eyes, half-lidded in a mix of drunken amusement and mischief, scanned the labels on the bottles as his tanned hand casually picked up a nearly full bottle of something amber. His plain white t-shirt clung to his frame, stained slightly by whatever drink he’d already managed to spill on himself. He leaned back in the chair, the hum of the party swirling around him, momentarily forgetting about everyone else.

That was until he noticed Craig approaching, his sharp green eyes cutting through the chaos of the room. Kenny raised an eyebrow and, with a smirk, held the bottle up, the liquid swishing lazily inside. "Tucker—fancy seeing you here," he said, his voice slightly slurred but still carrying that signature teasing tone. "What? You saw these bottles lonely here too?"

Craig let out a dry smile, glancing around the party before shaking his head. The usual party was in full swing—people stumbling into each other, red solo cups in hand, a few laughing and yelling- A couple was making out in the corner, oblivious to the world. The air smelled like stale beer, sweat, and the over-sweetness of cheap liquor. The music thumped against the walls, a bass-heavy rhythm that made the floors vibrate. People shouted to be heard, their voices rising and falling with each new song.

"Can't," Craig replied casually, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie as he leaned against the table for a second, his gaze flicking over the crowded room. "Drove here."

Kenny gave a lazy nod, rolling his head back as he stretched and let out a deep breath. He then tipped the bottle back, taking a generous swig with a few droplets slipping down his lips. The bottle clinked as he set it down, before grabbing a nearby plastic cup from the stack. With a grin, he smoothly poured something into the cup, giving Craig a cheeky, knowing look.

"Relax," Kenny teased with a slight wiggle of the drink, his playful tone light and mocking, "It's Capri-Sun, you baby."

Craig raised a dark eyebrow, glancing at the drink for a moment before smoothly grabbing it from Kenny's outstretched hand. The drink was a familiar color, but the fact that it was in a regular plastic cup made it feel somehow less innocent than the brightly-colored pouch. Craig lifted it to his pursed lips, taking a short sip, only to immediately taste the sugary-sweet fruit punch mixed with something stronger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

"You’re an idiot," Craig muttered while his thumb wandered at the edge of his twinging lips, though the dry humor in his voice betrayed his amusement.

Kenny just grinned wider, completely unbothered by Craig’s slight disapproval. "Told ya."

With a quick shake of his head, Craig walked off, warmly flipping him off before slipping his hands into his pockets again as he scanned the room. His eyes locked briefly with Kyle's, who was in another corner, talking animatedly to someone. The sight of the group of familiar faces in the crowd made the party feel more like a routine than anything else.

Craig made his way to a quiet corner, far enough from the table full of drinks, and settled down into an old couch that sagged in the middle. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, the noise of the party still a distant hum, but a faint, constant presence in the background. He didn’t really need to be part of the loud, center of the party. It was enough to be on the outskirts, sipping the drink that Kenny had handed him, feeling the pulse of the night—so far removed from the drama and the noise.

The party around Craig continued its wild rhythm, the music pounding against the walls and echoing through the house as people danced, drank, and mingled. The dim lights made everything feel like a blur of colors and motion, but in the corner, Craig had found his moment of solitude. He nursed the drink in his hand, trying to let the noise fade into the background. It was the best way he could think of to avoid feeling too out of place or too trapped in the crowd. 

That was when she approached.

She was tall, with bright blonde hair that cascaded in soft waves down her back, a stark contrast to the dark atmosphere of the room. Her skin had that smooth, golden glow, and her eyes—dark brown but somehow sharp—caught the dim light and glistened like they were trying to capture the attention of anyone nearby. She wore a black dress that hugged her figure just right, the straps thin, the hem sitting above her knee- She held a red solo cup in one hand, the drink inside swirling lazily as she made her way toward him.

Craig paused mid-sip, his tanned fingers tightening around the cup. She smiled at him, a genuine, easy smile that sent a brief flicker of unease through his chest. He couldn't place why, but something about her expression made him hesitate. 

Her voice broke through the buzzing sound of the party as she spoke, leaning casually against the back of the couch. "Hey, Craig, right?" she asked, her voice smooth, softness at the edge of his tone, "I don’t think we've really talked much before."

She was wearing a North Park High jersey, the fabric slightly oversized on her frame, the bold letters stretched across the front with the unmistakable red and black colors of her school. The number on the back—23—stood out against the sheer fabric of her dress, and her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, some strands falling out and framing her face.

Craig quickly blinked, feeling a knot of discomfort tighten in his stomach as her words sent him spiraling back to a conversation he’d had only a few days ago. He remembered Tweek's words, his anxious face flickering in Craig's memory. 

“We graduate in two months—after that, I’m moving on.”

It was too much—too sudden. Craig had never quite been good at keeping his thoughts focused when Tweek was involved. 

He rubbed the back of his hand over his face for a moment, trying to steady himself. His dark green eyes flicked up, focusing on the girl standing if front of him again, and he forced a faint smile across his lips. "Yeah-" he replied dryly, trying his best to sound casual. "You’re, uh, from North Park High, right?"

That's probably the reason she was even talking to him- She most likely had no clue about the established "relationship" Tweek & Craig had at South Park, she was just approaching him at a random party.

The girl’s smile widened slightly, and she carefully nodded as she crossed her arms, leaning in just a little closer, her black dress shifting with the movement. "Yeah, North Park. I’m Lindsey. I've seen you around before at some of our football games." Her honey-sweet voice was light, easy to follow in the loud thundering of the music, but Craig’s mind was clouded, constantly drifting back to Tweek. 

As she talked, something about her kept pulling at Craig's attention, but it wasn’t her. Not really. It was her features, her blonde hair, the dark eyes that now seemed to flicker with a faint, impossible blue light. For a split second, Craig could’ve sworn the color of her eyes had changed entirely. He blinked, and it was gone. He shook his head, trying to focus, but every word she spoke felt like it was passing through him instead of sinking in. He caught fragments of her story—something about her friends, a plan to meet up next weekend, how she was heading off to college—but his thoughts kept drifting back to Tweek.

And then there it was again—another flicker. The girl’s blonde hair seemed almost too bright now, glowing in the dim light like a halo of sunshine. Her eyes flickered, just for a second, from dark brown to a pale blue, like Tweek's. 

Craig felt his heartbeat warmly in his chest. His thoughts, caught in a whirlwind, tried desperately to hold onto reality, to focus on the girl in front of him, but all he could think about was the blonde—the way his eyes would dart to the ground, his panicked demeanor, the way he’d never really said what was on his mind but somehow always knew what Craig needed to hear. 

"I’m sorry," he muttered out, taking another sip of his drink from the edge of the plastic cup, trying to push the thoughts away- "What were you saying?"

The girl—Rebecca? Stacey? He tried to remind himself—paused for a moment, her brows furrowing just slightly as she studied him with the plastic cup neatly held between her manicured fingertips. 

"Uh, I was just asking if you were going to that big concert next month. It’s gonna be amazing," Mackenzie said, her smooth lips curling into a smile again with a bright strawberry lipgloss, trying to reengage him with a slight wiggle of her drink.

But it wasn’t enough. Every time Craig tried to focus, her features seemed to morph into something he didn’t want to see—something that reminded him a little too much of Tweek. The blonde hair, the light eyes, the soft smile that wasn’t quite Tweek’s smile but somehow felt like it. The whole night, the party, it all felt out of place. And the more he tried to be present in the moment, the more he realized how wrong it all felt.

His warm fingers tightened around the red solo cup in his hand, the plastic seeming to almost bend under the pressure as his mind wandered back to Tweek. Tweek's words rang out like a distant echo— “I’m moving on.” Craig’s heart tightened in his chest.

He shouldn’t be thinking about Tweek like this. Not here. Not now. But the harder he tried to focus on the conversation with the girl, the more his mind rebelled, slipping back to the small moments with Tweek—the way his light blue eyes would widen when he was nervous, how he would absently tug at his golden locks of hair when he was anxious.

Craig swallowed hard, shaking his head. This was just a party. Just another night- He would have to get used to the fact that Tweek would eventually come back and be completely fucking done with him.

Craig’s own green eyes flickered back to the girl, but his focus was slipping. His tan skin felt hot under the dim lights of the party, his dark curls slightly damp at the edges, as though he'd been sweating in the heat of the room. The noise, the music, the chatter of people all seemed so far away as his mind locked on the thought of Tweek—his face, his smile, the way he had tried to hide the hurt he felt when Craig had pulled back.

His hand gripped the cup tighter, feeling the pressure of it against his palm with a slight seethe of his teeth- He looked at the girl again, trying to see her clearly through the fog of his thoughts, but all he could see was Tweek’s image—shifting, changing, flickering like a half-forgotten dream.

Bridgette was still talking, her voice warm and melodic with the beat of the music, but Craig’s mind was elsewhere. He could hear her words, but they didn’t make sense, didn’t hold any weight. It was like her voice was coming from miles away, muffled by the rush of blood in his ears. His eyes were fixed on hers, but they weren’t really seeing her. His mind kept drifting.

Why do I keep thinking about him? Thinking about him like that-?

He forced himself to refocus, trying to ignore the image of Tweek's face that kept overlapping with hers. But it wasn’t easy. Craig shifted his weight, feeling the weight of the cup in his hand as if it could somehow make the situation feel real again. 

He could feel the warmth of the party, the heat of the crowd, and the way his pulse raced in his veins, but all he wanted was to leave—

Her voice broke through again, a little louder this time. "So, are you planning to go to that concert next month?" Michelle asked with a soft hum in her tone, her voice pulling Craig back to the present, but his mind was still spinning. 

He wasn’t sure how to respond, his heart still pounding, his eyes still flashing with images of Tweek’s smile at every feature that vaguely reminded him of the blonde, his pale hair, the quiet laugh that always made Craig feel like he was home.

"Yeah..." Craig managed to mutter, forcing himself to snap back to reality. "I guess I’ll think about it."

The words felt hollow as the moment they left his lips. Craig’s hand tightened around his cup again, his green eyes trying to focus, but the more he tried to engage, the more his mind rebelled, dragging him back into the familiar, aching thought of Tweek. The night around him seemed to blur even further, the music and chatter melting into the background as he felt a familiar ache spread through his chest.

What the hell am I doing?

As Craig tried to pull himself back into the conversation, his fingers instinctively brushed the small walkie clipped to his jeans. He hadn’t even realized it was buzzing until the static broke through the layers of party noise, cutting through the chatter and the music that blared from the speakers.

The static was soft at first, like a distant hum, but it was loud enough to catch Craig’s attention over everything else. His grip tightened around the plastic, his pulse instantly spiking. He could hear it now—a quick, shallow breath, ragged, as if someone was running. The sound was faint, but it was unmistakable. And then, just as his stomach tightened in instinctual alarm, there was a loud, jarring shot —a gunshot.

The static suddenly cut out, leaving only silence.

Craig froze for a split second, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel his breath hitch as the world around him seemed to blur. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the party, or just his own nerves, but all of a sudden, the only thing he could focus on was the cold grip of fear curling in his stomach. 

Tweek.

He didn’t even think twice. 

Without looking back, Craig turned away from the blonde girl still talking to him, her voice barely registering as he hurriedly shoved through the crowd, barely aware of the people he bumped into in his haste.

His beat-up sneakers scraped the floor as he pushed past strangers and friends alike, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, drowning out everything but the image of Tweek.

"Wait- where are you going-?" Courtney's voice reached him, but he didn’t even process the words. He was already moving, his chest tightening as the shot replayed in his mind, vivid and clear.

Outside, the cool night air hit his face, and Craig felt a surge of adrenaline flood his veins. His legs burned as he broke into a run, heading toward the street, his heart hammering in his chest with every step. His beat-up sneakers hit the pavement in quick, thuds, and he felt the cool breeze whip against his skin as his thoughts raced. He didn’t care about the party. He didn’t care about anything except the static-filled walkie, the shot, and the fear that clenched in his gut.

He didn’t even pause as he quickly tossed his cup onto the freshly cut grass, the contents splashing across the ground as he sprinted. His short breath came out in uneven bursts, but he pushed himself harder, faster. Tweek had used the emergency channel. Something was wrong. 

He had to get to him—he had to make sure Tweek was okay.

As his feet pounded against the asphalt, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. 

Was Tweek hurt? Was he in danger? 

That gunshot echoed through his mind like a warning, and Craig felt his pulse race as he thought about the possibility of something happening to him. He couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut that it was all real—that Tweek was out there, possibly in trouble, and Craig was too far away to protect him.

Each stride carried him closer to home, to where he knew Tweek would be, or where he hoped he would be.

He just had to make it there. He couldn’t let anything happen to him, not again.

The lights of the party were quickly behind him, and all that remained was the sound of his footsteps and the distant hum of his own thoughts, chasing him all the way home.

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Craig burst into his house, his breath ragged, his mind still racing from the terrifying crack of the gunshot he had heard through the walkie-talkie. He ran through the darkened hallways, skimming past the rooms, his pulse pounding in his ears as his eyes scanned each space in desperation. He knew where he had to go—his bedroom.

When he finally reached it, he didn’t even hesitate to fling open the door. His room was fucking dark, the only light coming from the glow of his desk lamp and the slivers of moonlight streaming through the open window. 

As Craig entered his room, his muddy sneakers slapped against the floor with each hurried step. His heavy breathing was shallow, every exhale jagged as he scanned the room with wide, frantic eyes. His green eyes—deep, sharp, and always a bit too perceptive—raced across the familiar surroundings, his mind still reeling from the booming shot he’d heard through the walkie. 

There was a faint light of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. Clothes were scattered haphazardly, a half-empty water bottle sat untouched by his bed, and the window was wide open, as though inviting him to follow the sound of his beating heart. His room was a mess, like usual—clothes scattered around, a half-empty water bottle on the nightstand, the bed unmade, and scattered papers littering the floor. He didn’t care about any of it now, his focus only on the window.

He quickly noticed that it was wide open.

“What the hell?” His voice barely rose above a whisper as he approached it, his heart racing even faster. Tweek was never the type to leave his window open—unless something was wrong.

Frantically, Craig tore open his closet door, feeling around the dark space, and finally grabbed the dagger that he had hidden there, away from Tweek’s prying eyes. His fingers tightened around the hilt as he shoved it into his pocket, the cold steel a small comfort in his panicked state.

He didn’t wait for another second. He rushed to the window and climbed out, the crisp wind hitting his flushed skin as he stepped onto the roof. He didn’t care how precarious the position was—his eyes locked on the figure sitting on the roof’s edge.

Tweek.

He was just sitting there, staring out into the dark, his back to Craig. The fur coat draped over his pale shoulders looked heavy, and his light blonde hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. The pale glow of his skin was marked by exhaustion, and his long, dark lashes fluttered against his cheek as he breathed in short, panicked gasps. 

Craig could see the fear in him, the way his chest heaved with each shallow breath. His dark tattoos seemed to glimmer faintly in the moonlight, and the dark facial paint across his flushed cheeks was slightly smeared messily down to the end of his chin.

Craig couldn’t help himself—he was angry, frustrated, scared. His breath caught in his throat as he took a step forward and nearly pushed Tweek off the roof. “What the actual fuck, Tweek?” His voice was sharp, filled with a seething hiss, his curled fingertips digging into the palms of his hands quickly.

But the moment he saw Tweek’s face, he softened. 

Tweek's eyes were closed now with his tangled blonde lashes flickering down his sullen cheeks, his breathing unsteady, and Craig noticed how pale he looked under the soft hue of the moonlight. The thick fur coat, the swirling tattoos, and the smeared face paint—it all made him seem so out of place in Craig’s world, and yet, he couldn’t seem to leave him behind.

He looked so much like his Tweek.

“Shit- Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Craig quietly whispered out finally in a staggered gasp, carefully sitting down beside him on the rough roof tiles that scraped underneath the fabric of his faded jeans. Tweek let out a soft gasp from his slightly parted lips before slowly gathering the material of his fur coat between the ends of his quivering fingers, his broken breathing still uneven as he tried to focus on Craig’s face for a moment at the sound of his voice, his pale blue eyes flickering back and forth across his expression. 

He took a moment to look at Craig as if he was taking in a painting, the swirls of his eyes softly growing wild with each passing minute before brashly replying.

“Yeah, I just...” Tweek started out with a choppy breath, his raspy voice still shaky with each word that escaped his smooth lips, his rough hands shakily curling into fists that landed in the middle of his lap before breaking his gaze for a lingering second.

“The hunters here... They must’ve mistook me for an animal.” His voice faltered, and his eyes squeezed shut again with the sentence that tumbled from his slightly opened mouth. “I didn’t realize how different the methods of hunting are here.”

The hunters mistook him for an animal.

Craig should have said something- he should have known they would- Tweek almost got killed again because of him.

He's upset because of him.

Craig held his hand closely to his chest for a moment, feeling the warmth of his heartbeat smoothly thump against his NASA shirt as the white fabric rubbed against the material. He wasn't entirely sure how to help Tweek- Sure, this was Tweek, but it was not his Tweek. They were two completely different people from two different worlds.

But as he looked at him with the soft crinkle of his pale blue eyes, Craig couldn't help but wonder if they had similar methods of being calmed down.

Craig softly reached out for a second, the palm of his hands almost hesitating in the air for a moment in the air before tentatively gripping Tweek’s shoulders with his fingertips, grounding him in the moment. 

“Everything is okay,” he said softly, leaning in, his mossy green eyes locking onto Tweek’s faint blue ones, lightly framed by his long wispy lashes. He held Tweek’s gaze for a minute, his shaky breath slowing as the words settled between them.

Craig shook his head with a slight tilt, carefully leaning the warmth his forehead against Tweek’s for a brief moment before pulling away just as quickly. Just enough to get him to focus on him-“You’re safe,” he whispered out contently, the palm of his smooth hand moving smoothly to lightly wipe some of the dirt that had spread across his forehead with a soft sigh gathered on his words, “No one’s going to hurt you.”

He knew that wasn’t entirely true, but it was all he could say to ease Tweek’s frantic mind.

As Craig and Tweek sat on the roof for a few moments longer, the silence between them growing more comfortable, their breaths slowly syncing as they allowed the cool night air to wash over them. The flickering stars above were bright, scattered across the sky in their eternal constellations, like silver dust strewn across the black velvet.

The night was clear, a perfect canvas of dark blues and purples, with the occasional flicker of a shooting star crossing the expanse above. The smell of pine needles, fresh and earthy, mixed with the crispness of the evening air, filled Craig’s lungs and made the weight on his chest feel lighter as Tweek took a few eager breaths with a quick sigh.

Tweek shakily nodded in reponse, his pale blue eyes finally starting to calm, his breath slowing down. Craig sat next to him, their legs hanging over the edge of the roof. They both watched their worn-out shoes dangle off the roof, Craig's bright navy blue converse swaying for a moment. The crisp cold air rushed against them, the stars a blanket above, and Craig, for the first time that night, allowed himself to breathe—deep and slow, matching Tweek’s rhythm that hummed gingerly beside him.

“You’re not alone,” Craig added softly once more in reminder, his voice barely a whisper. “You’ve got me.”

He didn't know how much exactly Tweek believed that- but he allowed his hand to hesitantly linger on Tweek's slightly lowered shoulder. He knew better than to test his limits- But he figured that this was okay, at least- Considering what they had been through a few nights prior.

Slowly, Tweek’s breathing began to calm, his pale blue eyes no longer frantic, but focused—on Craig. They both nodded, the tension lifting just a little.

The words hung in the air between them, the sweet scent of pine needles lingering. Tweek looked at him, his breath still slow on his parted pink lips, his nimble hands loosening as he finally exhaled a soft breath. Craig’s hand was still on his shoulder, warm and steady, offering comfort.

The crisp cold air was sharp against Craig’s sun-kissed skin with each hum that lingered on their faces, the warmth of the evening still lingering on his body despite the chill. His dark green eyes flickered up to the stars, and the night felt endless, a quiet expanse that seemed to hold them together at this moment.

Tweek didn’t say anything else at first. He just breathed, his stiff body lightly relaxing beneath Craig’s steady touch. Slowly, he turned to face Craig, his light blue eyes gazing at him with a mixture of relief and exhaustion that reminded him of the faint swirls of the sky.

After a beat of silence, Craig finally released him, pulling back and letting the quiet of the night settle over them. They were both still catching their breath, the cool night air brushing their skin as they sat on the roof, just taking it all in. 

Tweek finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse with a soft laugh in his words. “You smell like alcohol. Reek of it,” he said, with a matter of fact in his raspy voice, despite his exhaustion.

Oh right- That.

Craig chuckled dryly, looking up at the stars as he tried to catch his breath. “Yeah, went to a party... I drank a little-” he muttered out, lazily wiping his forehead with the back of his hand with a sharp sigh. 

He wondered if Tweek was gonna chew him out for showing up later than he promised- Honestly, he should. But the barbarian simply nodded, as if he was examining him for a moment under the soft hue of the moonlight that wandered over their expressions.

They both fell into silence again. Craig’s lean chest heaving as he looked over at Tweek for a quick glance, his dark blue hoodie pulled tight against his body from the soft crackle of the summer winds that threatened to give him a slight chill. He stared at the sky, the stars flickering above them.

“So... are you okay?” Tweek finally asked quietly, his voice soft and tentative, still shaky with lingering shards of his prior panic.

Craig took a breath gingerly, letting the air fill his lungs in reply to consider the question. He could feel the remnants of his own panic slowly fading, and he let his eyes drift down to Tweek. His warm eyes lingered on the light freckles across his face, the way the moonlight made his pale skin glow, the slight flush in his cheeks from the cool air. 

The conversation earlier in the house echoed in Craig’s mind- He knew what was bothering him- his heart still heavy with the words his mother had spoken downstairs. He tried to push it aside during his classes, but the memory lingered as he sit at the back of the class with his chin resting on the edge of his desk. Tweek's voice, ragged but soothing, pulled him back to the present. His smooth blue eyes still seemed to shimmer in the pale moonlight, despite the warpaint, his gentle features softened as he caught his breath.

“Everything okay?” Tweek's voice broke through his thoughts. He turned toward him at the sudden question, quietly blinking a bit in the dark as Tweek gazed back at him with those big blue eyes, softened by the night’s quiet wind that trickled by their lips.

Craig swallowed and let out a deep breath, allowing the conversation with his mom to fade back into the background for now. “Yeah. Just...” His voice trailed off dryly in the back of his throat, his green eyes flicking to the stars before he sighed out a shaky laugh. 

Tweek didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at him with those wide, soft eyes. The cool air made the silence feel heavier- Tweek, with what Craig could only imagine with his past as a barbarian—shaped by pain, loss, and the strange ways his people lived—seemed to understand more than anyone else. Craig looked down at the ground for a moment, feeling the weight of the words he hadn’t said yet at the back of his burning throat.

“I heard you downstairs... with your mother,” Tweek said finally with a soft whisper, his voice lingering but knowing. Craig’s chest was still rising and falling softly underneath the thick fabric of his dark blue hoodie, but as the cool air touched his golden skin and Tweek’s words lingered by the warmth of his flushed ears, his heartbeat began to slow against his chest. He looked up at the sky again, searching for a distraction.

Ah- That's why he was asking. He heard all that.

Not that he should be surprised exactly- The house was pretty cramped and with a family as loud as his, practically everything was on the newspaper, front page.

At least, it felt that way. When everyone in town found at that Thomas Tucker up and left his family in the goddamn middle of the night, with no note- Basically everyone in the town knew overnight the moment the Tucker Family showed up to the Town Hall meeting with the matriarch of the household. Suddenly everyone seemed to care, or at least, with the whispers that followed suggesting reasons as to why his father had left.

The stars seemed endless at South Park- It was probably one of the only things he liked about the shitty town. The stars here scattered like tiny diamonds, reflecting the vastness of everything that had happened tonight. It was as though the whole universe had stopped to listen, holding its breath with him.

For a moment, Craig couldn’t speak. He just stared at Tweek, feeling the weight of everything between them—the confusion, the tension, the weight of the world that seemed so heavy on Tweek’s shoulders. He nodded slowly, his own green eyes reflecting the quiet, endless sky above them.

“My- uh, dad…,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, and he swallowed, pausing to steady himself. “I haven’t talked to him in months. Not since he left us.” His sun-kissed fingers tightly curled around the edge of his knee, his smooth knuckles whitening as his bottom lip slightly curled.

He wasn't sure how to even have this conversation. He had this talk with Tweek before, but this was different- This Tweek barely even knew him prior to 48 hours ago.

He smoothly tugged the ends of his chullo hat, pulling at the edge of the frayed pieces of yarn that rolled between the ends of his fingertips. “He lost his job a while back. Things were rough, yeah, with bills piling up and my mom doing everything she could, but I thought…I thought he’d at least stay.” He briefly glanced down, letting out a sharp, shaky breath, his smooth lips pressing into a hard line as he tried to gather himself with a slight rasp at the ends of each word, “But he didn’t. He just packed his stuff one day, and he was gone.”

Craig’s face was furrowed, flickering down to the ends of his muddied shoelaces- The muscles in his jaw tensed as he spoke- he carefully shifted his gaze from the stars to the ground below, hesitating as he wiped off some of the dirt off his jeans with his pointer finger.

Conversations like these had always been hell for him. He could remember when Mrs. Marsh had stopped by to drop off some fresh produce for the family a week after the news- Her dark brown eyes softening when seeing Craig. He could remember her asking him if he was alright. All he could remember was shoving past her and snatching his beat-up bike from the overgrown grass of the yard, his flushed cheeks suddenly growing damp.

The wind tugged gently at the swirling locks of his dark hair before softly pulling his blue hoodie closer, seeking comfort in its worn touch. His mossy green eyes seem had a soft glint, focused somewhere past the rooftop’s edge, as if watching memories replay behind the glaze.

Beside him, Tweek listened intently, his pale blue eyes softening with understanding as his pale fingertips briefly lingered on the surface of the roof. Leaning the warmth of his body slightly towards Craig, his smooth pink lips slightly curled while hanging on every word that slipped from the quiet Peruvian boy, as if trying to shoulder some of the burden. He softly blinked a few times, staring at the sky- he was looking at it as if the stars might have answers.

Craig laughed softly, though there’s no humor in it in the dry breath that left his cracked lips, just a raw bitterness within his strained voice. “I kept thinking maybe it was just a rough patch, you know? Like, one day he’d realize what he left behind and come back. But…”

He bit his lip, feeling it press against his teeth, tasting the faint tang of iron. “That day never came.” His faint voice trailed off, heavy with resignation as the back of his thumb smoothly ran across the tip of the dagger stuffed in the pocket of his worn-out hoodie, the lingering scent of bitter beer mingling in the warmth of the fabric.

He didn't even realize that the edges of his lashes had grown slightly damp- The back of his thumb carefully flicking off some of the droplets that gathered in the corners of his eyes with a slight hiss.

However, Tweek reached out softly, his smooth hand hovering for a second before resting on Craig’s shoulder lightly in return, his soothing touch firm and steady, grounding Craig in the here and now- only the soft rustle of leaves and distant sounds from the town below filling the crisp summer South Park air.

Tweek’s eyes were on him now, his expression softening.

“I never met my parents,” he said quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion that mingled with a raspy breath. “Or at least, my memory of them is very vague.”

Craig shifted, propping himself up on his elbow, and looked over at Tweek. The soft shake in Tweek’s voice, the way his shoulders slumped under the weight of his past- The wind ruffled Tweek’s golden blonde hair, a few blonde strands carefully sticking to the dampness of his forehead, and Craig found himself briefly staring at the way his pale blue eyes flickered under the stars.

“Barbarians are usually separated from their children early on in childhood,” Tweek added with a soft nod, his voice trailing off before scanning the neighborhood that softly buzzed underneath them. “To create strength and independence.” He sighed, the weight of his own history pressing down on him. “However... here, I feel so lost in this world.”

He turned to look at Craig for a moment at the admission, his light eyes carrying swirls of faint purple underneath them as they flickered, but still searching for something, something Craig couldn’t put into words. “I’m glad you found me,” he said finally, his voice raspy. “It feels... a little less scary.”

Craig swallowed hard before nodding.

His warm hand hovered over his jean pocket, his fingers hotly brushing the worn fabric as he hesitated with a slight bite of his bottom lip, feeling the soothing weight of the dagger there. For a moment, he quietly watched Tweek in the dim light—the way the smooth wind caught in his soft curls of hair, blonde strands lifted gently in the breeze, casting soft shadows across his forehead.

Tweek's face lightly flushed from their conversation, the cool night air barely soothing the remnants of his panic that lingered in the depths of his eyes. His pale blue eyes fixed on Craig with a hint of a crinkle, fucking tugging at something deep in Craig’s chest.

He knew what he had to do. It wasn't right to just keep this from him like that.

How else would they start to trust each other more?

Finally, Craig reached into his jean pocket with a slight scramble, feeling the cold metal of the dagger's hilt, pressing against the surface of his palm with a reassuring solidity. The weight felt heavier as he pulled it out, as if parting with it is parting with a piece of his own control.

He didn't want to. He really didn't want to- He could still feel the soft nick at the middle of his neck contently burning.

But he brought it forward anyways, holding it carefully between them, and with a soft sigh before he briefly opened his palm towards the twitchy blonde sitting next to him.

"I should have given this back to you."

A soft wind stirred again, faintly rustling through the trees around the house and sending a slight shiver through both of them. The cool air bit at their rosy cheeks, but neither of them moved. Tweek’s eyes were fixed on the soft shimmer of dagger, and for a moment, he looked up at Craig, their gazes locking. 

"I got freaked out- and I hid it from you and-"

The blade gleamed faintly in the moonlight, its silver edge sharp and dangerously precise. Tweek watched it reverently, his gaze fixed on the weapon with an almost blank expression scribbled across his soft features. His fingers seemed tempted to trace over the intricate designs etched along the hilt, remnants of his past world that now seemed almost out of place here.

For a long moment, Tweek just stared at the dagger, as though it were a link to something he could no longer touch but couldn’t fully let go of either. Then, as if sensing Craig’s attention on him, he turned his head, his blue eyes locking onto Craig’s face.

Craig felt his chest tighten under the weight of Tweek’s gaze. There was something raw, something haunted in Tweek’s stare—a mix of vulnerability and maybe fear that made Craig feel like he was seeing deeper into him than he’d ever expected. Tweek’s fingers clenched around the dagger just a bit tighter before he exhaled slowly, glancing away before lightly nodding.

As Tweek reached out in response, his warm fingertips brushed lightly over Craig’s, warm and slightly rough, a touch that was in this moment- there’s a quiet understanding between them, his nails smoothly lingering on the cool surface of the dagger as Craig lets his hand fall back to his side casually. Not really feeling the need to hold on so tightly.

Tweek took the dagger firmly into his hold once more, their warm fingers brushing for a moment, and they both finally settled back, the weight of the night pressing down on them. 

Craig felt his voice steady now on the edge of his lips, calmer than he felt. “I am glad I found you too.” He finally replied.

The silence stretched between them, deep and comfortable, as the stars above them twinkled quietly, each one a promise, a distant wish. The crisp air was cool, but the warmth of Tweek’s hand on his shoulder, the steady rise and fall of their breath, made the night feel a little less lonely.

Craig couldn’t fix everything for a week. He fucking knew that. But right now, at this moment, with the sky stretched out over them and the scent of pine needles in the air, he knew that maybe—just maybe—they didn’t have to figure it all out right away.

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additional notes: this is nearly 16k guys in one chapter- tell me to shut up pls- lol hi everyone! thank you so much for reading! :) the support and everything have been so overwhelming and sweet for a silly fic concept that i hold very dearly

ALSO PLEASE LOOK AT THE BEAUTIFUL ART by @cursedartistnelari on tumblr :,) they did such a lovely commission for me for the fic, ahhhhh, plrease go and look at the rest of their art, she is very talented! i got so excited to show you guys! 

Also down below is art by @mayonnaise-sock on tumblr! she told me she was gonna draw art for my fic in the comments but i was still so shocked when i saw it :') i literally look at it all the time, it's so well drawn and is one of my favorite scenes so far in the fic! please check out her art as well as other projects on tumblr! :) <33

Chapter Text

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪𝖶𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗃𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗒 ── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹

𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖾'𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁.

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While hiding away your alternate version of your blonde barista neighbor might seem like something far-fetched and the plot one of those early 2000's Disney Channel shows- Craig didn't realize the reality of much he would actually be dealing with trying to keep up with the piling list of shitty lies coming out of his mouth.

For example: their teachers.

After a couple of days, their professors started immediately sending out emails regarding Tweek's repeated absence from classes that week. It started off with only a single email; just updating him on the lesson material that was gone in class and offering extra support after class. The only reason Craig could even see his emails was from the shared shitty laptop they had together after Tweek broke his own on accident years prior.

But soon, more emails started to come in after a few missing homework assignments were missed. Asking when he would be back to catch up on material on the syllabus and how "important" it was to stay focused on assignments, even during the bustle of senior year of high school.

Attendance Alert: Multiple Absences - Tweek Tweak
Important: Missing Assignments Update
Final Notice: Immediate Response Required

Apparently missing nearly a week of school without prior notice is sort of a big deal to the Education Board of South Park, who fucking knew?

"Fucking hell-" Craig hissed under his breath.

The dining room in the Tucker household was the heart of their well-worn home. The table—a solid, dark oak piece Craig's mom had found secondhand years ago from the Marsh's yard sale— was covered with stains of countless meals, spilled drinks, and scattered homework assignments. 

The wood was scratched and faded as Craig knelt his elbow on the surface, showing its years, and a few faint stains still lingered from Tricia's various "science experiments" on her Barbie dolls and art projects. A small stack of napkins was shoved to one side, next to the pile of bills that their mom had been meaning to get to. The corners of a few napkins were frayed, and there was a coffee ring or two on the table from hectic mornings when no one thought to grab a coaster.

Tweek was in the kitchen for a bit as the Peruvian boy remained slightly hunched over at the wooden kitchen table, avoiding his mother in the garage, preparing for a double shift at the hotel reception desk due to a few callouts and Tricia was staying over at her friend's house for the afternoon to do a Gilmore Girls marathon.

Against one wall of their dining room stood a battered sideboard that held a rotating collection of everyday odds and ends: a bowl of apples that were a little past their best, an old clock whose second hand ticked a little too loud, and a small heap of unopened mail. There were also a few framed photos propped up against the off-white wallpaper.

One showed a much younger Craig and Tricia grinning with dirt-smeared cheeks from a day at the local park; another was a faded wedding photo of their parents, taken back before life got so shitty and his mother kept "forgetting" to take it down. More recent photos featured Tricia and their mom, their lingering smiles a bit weary but genuine at the South Park Fair.

Craig sat at the kitchen table, leaning into his laptop, his scrunched-up face faintly lit by the screen's soft blue glow. Dark green eyes scanned the emails with a slight flicker between the screen, frustration flickering through them as he read each line. His usual confidence looked worn down, and hints of tiredness darkened his gaze. 

All of this was starting to get out of hand.

A few stray locks of black hair fell messily over his forehead, catching the screen's light, while the rest sat tucked under his familiar yarn chullo hat, the yellow tassels swaying slightly as he shifted in his seat.

The golden blonde glanced up from where he was by the wooden counter with a soft flicker of his light eyes, his steel dagger neatly pulled up to messily butcher some of the wild berries he had gathered from the outskirts of the forest.

"Why is your face making such an- ugly expression?"

Craig faintly snorted with a slight scrunch of his Roman nose- allowing his dark mossy eyes to lightly drift away from the faint hue of the screen as his dark lashes smoothly lowered to his tanned cheeks.

"It's called frustration- the ugly expression you are talking about, asshole."

Tweek's light blue eyes, sharp but slightly softened, scanned Craig as he approached the wooden table quietly, his expression slightly crinkled. Loose blonde curls framed the side of his smooth cheeks, faintly catching the light as they fell messily across his forehead, some strands slipping just above his crinkled-up eyes. His pale skin, dotted with freckles, seemed to glow faintly under the kitchen's warm lights, giving him an almost soft look against the ruggedness of his fur cloak.

"I just meant- I have never seen you make such a face like that."

He hesitantly paused by the edge of the kitchen doorway, noticing Craig hunched over the laptop at the dining room table, his furrowed gaze fixed on the screen with an intensity that edged into the slight stitch of his crinkled-up brows. Tweek's light brows furrowed as he carefully watched Craig, his dark green eyes flickering over the faint blue hue of the screen as the back of his smooth thumbs smoothly rubbed at the side of his temples. 

"What is causing you frustration?"

Craig's sun-kissed fingertips smoothly tapped restlessly on the table's worn surface, which was cluttered with textbooks, loose papers, and a half-empty mug. He wore his favorite Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back t-shirt, the logo cracked from endless washes, layered under a faded blue hoodie he hadn't bothered to zip up. His tan skin looked a shade paler under the harsh glow, and his expression turned sour with a slight curl of his bottom lip for a moment.

"Nothing- just don't worry about it, okay?" He finally replied with a slight bite of his curled-up bottom lip, allowing a soft hiss to blow past his slightly parted lips, "What we should be focusing on is getting you home-"

Craig quietly glanced up, his mossy green eyes meeting Tweek's for a brief, startled moment before his gaze flickered away, a flash of uncertainty passing over his face. His warm fingers hesitated on the trackpad of his laptop, his dry mouth parting slightly before clearing his throat.

"What did you have in mind, Craig?"

 Craig's gaze shifted back to the soft hue of the laptop screen, where a messy mix of tabs and windows crowded the screen from his earlier research. The back of his smooth thumb gingerly slid across the surface of the laptop, bringing up a page of blurry images and article reports.

"Like look here-" Craig loosely muttered out, his warm voice rougher than usual as he smoothly turned the laptop toward the blonde. He had begun pushing aside textbooks and papers to make room on the surface of the wooden table. His black hair fell messily around his tanned face, some strands falling into his eyes, which he quickly brushed away with a flick of his hand.

"There's, uh, something I wanted to show you." The worn-out fabric of his navy hoodie pulled tight across his shoulders as he adjusted himself, trying to find a comfortable position before tilting the screen.

Tweek's appearance seemed even more intense against the dim light from the screen. His fur-lined cloak, rough and weathered, hung loosely around his smooth shoulders, the deep brown fur contrasting sharply with the pale freckled skin on his neck and arms. 

"What did you wish to show me?"

He fiddled with the cloak for a moment, the thick cloak was held together by worn leather straps, crisscrossing over his chest, with the hood draped loosely over his wild blonde curls. His piercing blue eyes scanned the screen as he leaned forward, his freckled face framed by the pale glow of the laptop.

The screen blinked to life, showing a mix of blurry photographs and grainy videos—strange, unexplained weather patterns, flickers in the air, and blurry figures caught on camera in moments of strange distortion. Craig's dark green eyes flickered over the images, allowing his tanned fingertips to graze across the surface as he quickly pointed to one of the links on the screen.

"Here are some sightings I found online- possible links of the day of your appearance to something happening in this very town." Craig shifted in his seat, his posture stiff as he leaned forward just slightly, his nimble fingers hovering over the edge of his busted-up laptop. He pointed at the screen for a moment, the tip of his finger just grazing the cold, sleek surface of the laptop. His dark eyes lingered on the strange, grainy photos, his expression momentarily blank. 

Then, a faint chuckle slipped out, almost in spite of himself. It was a low, dry sound—one that didn't quite reach his eyes, but still carried a certain amusement.

"You know," Craig muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of incredulity and dry humor, "You're very lucky your counterpart happens to be an extreme fucking conspiracy theorist."

Tweek's freckled finger hovered over one of the images on the screen—a blurry photograph of a swirling rift in the sky from a couple of days prior, the edges faintly jagged and rippling like it was being pulled apart with the dark curls of the clouds. His pink lips parted slightly, but his usual sharp edges softened in curiosity.

The screen blinked to another tab, revealing a mishmash of blurry photographs, strange articles, and grainy videos. Craig's mouse clicked on one headline: "South Park: Mysterious Weather Anomalies in the Last Few Days". Below that, another said: "Weird Sightings in South Park: Could this Town Get Any Weirder?". Craig cleared his strained throat, his nimble fingers tapping the edge of the laptop nervously, as he pointed to one of the images—a weird distortion in the air that looked like a rift.

"I mean- it's just a bunch of shitty articles I found," His familiar chullo hat was slightly askew at the slight tilt of his head, his faded hoodie bunched at the elbows as he lazily leaned forward onto the surface of the wooden table. "Probably some annoying freshman reporter trying to make a scoop out of nothing." 

However, Tweek remained focused on the screen with a soft flicker of his pale blue eyes faintly reflecting the bolded headlines, quietly allowing the tip of his finger to wander over the image for a brief moment. 

 "This," he muttered out with a soft linger of a breath in his tone, his voice low and almost mystified with each word that slipped from his parted lips, "This was from the storm that came when I arrived, is it not?" 

His pale blue eyes never wavered from the soft hue of the screen, but there was a glimmer in them, something Craig couldn't quite place as he quietly watched the barbarian with a slight nod as if Tweek was finally piecing something together in his head. Something he couldn't quite place himself, honestly.

"Seriously though, these articles-  they're kinda all over the place," he added with a soft hum, gesturing vaguely at the collection of tabs scattered across his screen with a slight wave of his waggling fingertips. The mix of bizarre weather patterns, odd rifts, and blurry figures seemed to blur into one strange, unsettling mess. "I mean, it only gives us a vague idea of what might be going on and how to get our version of Tweek back."

He shook his head, a strained smile etched on the edge of his lips as his fingertips lightly hovered over the blurry images of strange phenomena. His dark green eyes flicked to Tweek, watching the blonde's reaction. Sure, it wasn't the most fucking accurate compilation of information- But it was a decent start.

"But it's better than nothing, right?"

 Tweek's wide, pale blue eyes were still fixed on the screen, clearly absorbed in whatever odd piece of information Craig had pulled up. Craig gave a small, amused shrug, as if to downplay the absurdity of it all, before leaning back again with a nod, his body folding into the stiff wooden chair with a soft groan.

He'd always hated how stiff it felt—like he couldn't quite get comfortable sitting in the dining room. He rubbed the back of his heated neck, his Roman nose scrunching up a little at the sight, his flickering eyes landing on the stickers covering the back of his laptop. They were his pride and joy—images of planets, galaxies, and rockets in various stages of disarray. A NASA logo was front and center, just below a sticker of a black hole with the phrase "Space is the Place" written in bold, slightly slanted letters from a random Etsy shop he and Tweek had purchased from a couple of years ago.

"And this shit might not even have anything to do with you, realistically, bat shit crazy things happen in South Park all the time." Craig finally added, his tone soft against his twinging lips before gesturing towards the light hue of the bustling articles.

However, Tweek didn't seem to mind the comment much, still staring at the screen with his fur cloak almost blending into the backdrop, his freckled skin lit by the faint glow of the laptop. His lips parted slightly, but his usual intensity softened as he processed the information.

Craig's sunkissed finger hovered over the trackpad, pointing at one of the articles briefly when a small notification blinked into view in the corner of the screen with a red outline. His green eyes flickered toward it, his expression freezing as he caught sight of the subject line: 

Requesting Update: Tweek Tweak's Absence

His smooth hand quickly darted to the edge of the clunky laptop, pulling it just a bit closer to himself with a quick, almost possessive movement. He smoothly leaned in, his dark hair faintly brushing against the soft light of the screen as he hunched forward, casting faint shadows across his tan skin. The faint scent of his aftershave mingled with the earthy smell of the wooden dining table, the quiet space suddenly feeling too close, too full.

"What is it?"

Craig clicked on the email, his crinkled eyes narrowing as he skimmed the lines for a moment, his jaw clenching tighter with each word:

——————————————————

 South Park High has not been notified of any updates on when the student will return to school. Please contact us as soon as possible to discuss his attendance.

The Administration Office of South Park High School

——————————————————

He lightly clicked back to the top of the email, rereading it as if looking for some hidden detail he might have missed, his smooth fingers tapping the trackpad a little too hard with each word. The back of his thumb pressed warmly into the edge of his laptop, where a small, well-worn NASA sticker was peeling gingerly at the corner. 

Fucking shit.

With a low, muttered curse, he finally dragged a single hand through his black hair, the motion rougher than usual. The nimble fingers of his other hand drummed against the side of the laptop in an erratic, almost agitated rhythm, echoing faintly against the wooden surface.

They are gonna notice.

 Then, without warning, he quickly snapped the laptop shut with a soft but decisive thud, a muscle in his jaw lightly tensing as he promptly pushed the screen away from himself.

Across the surface of the table, Tweek looked up, quietly blinking underneath the smooth linger of his golden lashes. However, Craig's gaze was elsewhere, fixed on the wall as if he were staring straight through it. His thumb rubbed insistently at the faded edge of the NASA sticker, pressing so hard that the skin around his nail turned white. His mouth was set in a thin, hard line across his features.

He hadn't thought this through- Not really-

It was admittedly a shitty ass plan from the start. The trip could only cover for so long before his parents would soon get notified. It was only a matter of time till-

Tweek pressed the palm of his hand flat against the table, the motion deliberate and strong, making the wood creak just enough to get his attention. Craig's dark green eyes flicked up for a moment, meeting Tweek's steady, almost expectant stare.

"Alright," Tweek said finally with a light nod, his voice clear and edged with curiosity that mingled with his dripping words. "You have to tell me—what has you all irritated?"

Craig let out a short, dry laugh, one hand running through his hair as he looked off to the side, a stubborn line creasing his brow. 

"Outside of you taking over my bed while I sleep on the lumpy ass couch?" His narrow shoulders were slightly bunched up, tense beneath the worn-out fabric of his hoodie before exhaling a sharp breath from his parted lips.

"Craig."

Craig's eyes crinkled up to meet Tweek's, only to dart away again for a moment. He dryly swallowed, his thin fingers curling over the corner of the dented laptop.

"Fuck- Okay, fine." His voice was lower now, softer, as though the words themselves were difficult to force out. He rubbed the back of his heated neck, eyes smoothly narrowing. "It's just- Tweek's teachers have been freaking out since he's been gone for a couple of days now."

He looked away again towards the peeling wallpaper of the dining room for a second, jaw tightening, the words almost spilling out against his parted lips. 

"No notice, no explanation. And if he doesn't start to show soon- they're gonna call his parents."

The words lingered between them, and Craig pressed his slightly chapped lips together into a tight line across his tight expression, his smooth thumb running across the worn edge of a space sticker, the motion almost nervous.

"They will inform his parents-?"

Craig exhaled slowly with a slight nod, his smooth fingers tapping on the edge of the laptop as he scanned the emails, his shoulders loosely slumping. His green eyes were shadowed with a slight crinkle, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck roughly once more, catching his curled-up fingers in the worn-out yellow tassels of his hat.

"The school is gonna tell them that he is gone-" He finally sighed with a light breath lingering on his bottom lip, the faint flicker of his green eyes trickling across the clustered surface of the table. "When I told them he's supposed to be with me."

The light that hung above the two of them was a simple fixture, a low-hanging dome that gave off a warm, yellowish glow on both of them. Its cord was wrapped with clear tape to hold it together where it had split long ago, and every once in a while, the light would flicker if Craig brushed against the table too hard as it left a warm hue across their faces.

"What are you going to do?" The barbarian finally asked, his voice soft but blunt with the lingering words that slipped from his tongue in his reply, catching Craig's eyes for a second.

The dark circles lingered beneath his mossy green eyes, giving them a slightly lowered look, and there was a slump to his narrowed shoulders. Even Craig's fucking eyelids felt heavy, and he blinked a few times to clear the tired blur from his slightly blurred vision. He absentmindedly rubbed at his scrunched-up face for a moment, his hand warmly pausing on his temples.

"I really don't know what I plan on doing."

Craig let out a quiet, tired sigh, his gaze gingerly drifting over Tweek's expression before dropping back to the laptop that remained stationed in front of him.

"I don't know, man," he quietly murmured out lightly, sounding resigned more than angry with the words that slipped from his warm voice.

Honestly? He had no idea what he was even gonna do- Everything was a vague string of shitty ass ideas that he was trying to pull together and hoping they would sound coherent.

 "I thought I'd figure something out by now-  but they're gonna notice he's gone. They'll start calling, asking questions." He tilted the laptop screen, reaching up to tug the knit tassels of his chullo hat down over his flushed ears, leaning into its familiar warmth. His dark hair, messier than usual, stuck out slightly beneath the edges,

"This is going to shit, honestly."

Tweek's pale blue eyes lingered on Craig briefly, unfocused for a moment as he absorbed the scene in front of him. His curled-up hands smoothly curled into his smooth chest before quietly tightening.

Then, slowly, a glint of realization flickered to life in the barbarian's gaze. It was subtle, but Craig noticed it right away. It was similar to Tweek's expressions, giving away that he had an idea. His eyes faintly widened, just a fraction underneath the mess of his blonde lashes, a subtle spark catching as he glanced between Craig's slumped posture and the tight grip on his laptop. His breathing hitched, and his gaze darted away, only to snap back.

"It doesn't have to go to shit."

His freckled fingers tightened around the fur cloak draped over his shoulders, and he quietly blinked once, then again, his expression shifting with each thought connecting to the next. His mouth opened just slightly, but he said nothing, the weight of his realization settling visibly in his posture.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm here. I could go for Tweek be in his place at school till he comes back and I can go home." 

 Craig slouched in his chair, green eyes dulled by tiredness but sharp with frustration as he glanced back at the laptop screen. A quiet sigh escaped him as he rubbed his eyes, his fingers catching on the worn-out tassels of his chullo hat. 

With a scoff, he waved a hand in Tweek's direction.

"Oh fuck no-"

"What?"

Craig sat at the dining room table with the slight curse on his pursed lips, the dim light casting a soft, warm glow over the space. The room felt worn but comfortable, with mismatched chairs around a table that had seen its fair share of scratches and stains as he briefly reached for a few sheets of paper.

"That sounds exactly like your last idea."

Tweek had been watching him in silence from across the table, his pale blue eyes wide- The flickering shadows from the light overhead highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the faint paint smudges around his eyes giving him an almost ethereal, out-of-place deer stuck in the headlights. His thick cloak hung heavily around his pale shoulders, but his nimble fingers slowly tightened, curling into a tight fist as he mulled over Craig's reaction.

"Why not try again-?"

Craig smoothly ran a hand through his dark hair, tension evident in his shoulders, as he cast Tweek a quick, skeptical look. "It's been like two days since you nearly got shot by actual hunters, Tweek," he retorted dryly, his voice gingerly dripping with exasperation with each word that mingled from his voice. "Not surprising that I'm not entirely thrilled about you trying another knack at getting to know the people here."

Craig's tired eyes flickered to the emails piling up on his screen, casting a soft glow over his face, etched with frustration and something darker—uncertainty. He leaned back, sighing, his sun-kissed fingers tense as they gripped the edge of the laptop. Dark green eyes met Tweek's steady, pale blue gaze, and Craig let out a short, exasperated huff.

"That was in the dark," Tweek argued back sharply, waving a hand feverishly in the crisp air to dismiss the entire idea. "Alone, near dusk, in a forest—"

Tweek didn't flinch- Craig had to give him credit for that shit. He stood straighter, the soft fur cloak draped over his pale shoulders catching the warm kitchen light. His freckled hand hovered near his waist, his pale fingers curling slowly into a fist as he held Craig's gaze for a moment longer, his scrunched-up expression calm but resolute.

"This will be in a school," The barbarian roughly countered again, his smooth voice low but steady, his eyes narrowing before faintly pinching one of the school assignments that remained tossed across the wooden surface. "With other individuals on school grounds."

Craig lightly scoffed, warmly rubbing a hand through his disheveled black hair as he leaned back, glancing away with a quick shot of his dark eyes. "You don't even know the lessons for this semester, Tweek. You'll be behind in so many areas—not to mention you don't know any sort of social stuff."

Tweek's expression didn't waver; he held Craig's gaze, the slight furrow in his blonde brow deepening with a faint crinkle. "Why don't you teach me?" he asked finally, blunt and straightforward, his soft blue eyes searching Craig's face.

Craig's jaw tensed, and he glanced away, muttering under his breath. 

"That wouldn't work, Tweek." Craig's fingers hovered over the laptop's edge, hesitant for a moment, before he slowly flipped it open once more. The cool metal surface of the device gleamed under the dim light of the dining room, the stickers on the back—small and colorful—catching his eye for just a second as the laptop clicked open. 

The first sticker, a small coffee mug, looked almost out of place with the scattering of space-themed designs that followed: a rocket, a constellation map, a tiny moon with a smiley face. The faint smell of ink and paper mixed with the underlying scent of wood, giving the room an oddly comforting atmosphere, despite the tension in the air as he ran his fingertips across the design.

Tweek took a slow breath, his pale eyes glinting from the warmth of the light above the two of them, his faint freckles standing out against his smooth skin. "I don't see you offering any solutions," he replied curtly, his voice softer but edged with impatience. He leaned forward slightly.

Craig looked back at him, the corners of his mouth tightening, smooth fingers tapping against the laptop, his warm voice slightly strained. "I'm trying to think of one."

Tweek didn't back down.

He knew his answer was shit. His light eyes were sharp and unwavering, soft lines etching across his forehead for a moment. "And this might be the best time to have an idea," the barbarian replied firmly with a slight firmness in his pursed lips, his tone daring Craig to disagree.

Just then, a soft chime sounded, another email notification lighting up Craig's screen with the subject line glaring in bold letters:

Regarding Tweek's recent absences.

It was from his PE teacher. 

"Shit-"

 Craig hadn't even registered the movement until he heard the sharp crack of glass splintering under impact. He jerked back within his chair, wide-eyed, as Tweek's smooth dagger stood embedded dead-center in the laptop screen. Thin, jagged cracks spidered out from the blade's point of entry, branching through the glass in frantic lines as small sparks fizzled at the edge of the puncture. The screen flickered, struggling to stay lit, casting their faces in a stuttering glow.

"Tweek! Holy shit, dude-" Craig's strained voice came out in a strangled mix of shock and exasperation, his heart hammering as he quietly stared at the tip of the weapon lodged into the middle of his fucking laptop. He feverishly whipped his gaze from the screen up to Tweek, his pink lips faintly parted at the sudden damage.

Tweek, on the other hand, looked entirely unfazed, his freckled hand still content resting on the dagger's hilt. He tilted his head slightly, meeting Craig's gaze with that same wild, blue-eyed stare. 

"The machine was frustrating you, was it not?" he replied lightly, his smooth voice so calm it bordered on straight casual. "I took out the problem for you."

Craig's gaze stayed fixed on the laptop screen, his face scrunched up. The screen was a fucking disaster— thin cracks webbed out from the point of impact like fractured ice, and faint wisps of smoke now curled from the damaged circuits.

The sparks had died down, but the jagged lines made the screen look like a broken mirror, reflecting the room's light in sharp, chaotic patterns. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his hand instinctively reaching out as if he could somehow piece it back together.

Craig ran a hand down his face haphazardly, his curled fingertips briefly catching on the warm material of his yarn chullo hat as he groaned out quietly. 

"No—man—that's not how we handle problems here." He let out a shaky sigh, rubbing the back of his heated neck, his dark green eyes flickering between Tweek and the mess of fractured glass and sparking wires.

Craig just stared at him for a moment, torn between frustration and something else he couldn't quite name, his gaze shifting from the ruined laptop to Tweek's unwavering, freckled face. The calm, expectant look in Tweek's eyes left him no room to argue—not this time.

Tweek simply watched him, his expression steady as he lightly uncrossed his lean arms, the thick fur of his dark cloak warmly shifting with the movement of his body. His pale eyes, despite their cool intensity, held something that Craig couldn't quite place—a quiet confidence, maybe. Possible-ass insanity? Also very likely.

The blonde promptly reached forward, smoothly gripping the dagger's hilt with his curled-up fingertips, and pulled it free from the sparking wreckage. The stiff metal loosely slid out with a dull scrape, and he let the weapon fall casually to his faded leather belt that was secured warmly around his waist.

"Then teach me."

Craig's crinkled-up eyes stayed fixed on the wreckage of his laptop, the shattered screen reflecting jagged lines and faint wisps of smoke. He barely noticed the faint flick of his black hair falling across his forehead as his mossy dark eyes flickered- The faint scent of his aftershave mixed with the dusty air in the room, the smell of old wood, books, and scattered papers filling the space around him.

"I can't just teach you-"

"Why not?"

"It's not that simple, Tweek."

Tweek, on the other hand, remained unmoved by the scene in front of him. His blonde hair, wild and tousled, seemed almost too bright in the soft light of the dining room. A few strands fell across his freckled face, partially covered by the war paint smeared across his cheeks—sweeping lines of black that left his pale blue eyes, unblinking and focused, didn't waver from Craig's frustrated expression.

 The thick, patchwork cloak, made from strips of fur, swayed gently with his movements as he took a step forward. It contrasted against his freckled, sun-kissed skin, the cloak's deep browns, and grays almost blending into the wooden backdrop of the room. Despite the layers of fur, he didn't seem weighed down at all. If anything, he stood as though the weight of the world hadn't even touched him.

"Tell me how it's not simple?"

Tweek's face was serious, his freckled skin almost glowing in the warm light of the room. His cloak, once rich in detail, now looked a bit out of place among the ordinary furniture of Craig's house. It was hard to believe this was the same person who had only recently fallen into Craig's world and nearly got killed by his Ford pickup truck.

A small sigh firmly escaped his pursed lips as he curtly pushed himself back into his wooden chair. His long Roman nose wrinkled with thought as his smooth hands, so used to being in control, fidgeted slightly in the fabric of his faded jeans. He looked back at Tweek, then back at the mess. 

"Fine," he muttered finally, his voice a little more defeated than he liked. "I'll teach you. But next time-" He smoothly paused, looking at the slight drag of the fur cloak and the thickly smeared war paint, feeling the weight of Tweek's unwavering gaze on him.

"Next time, maybe don't use a knife to fix everything."

Tweek gave a slow, deliberate nod, his freckled face expressionless, his pale blue eyes never leaving Craig's. There was no question in his eyes, no hesitation. Just a quiet certainty that this, too, was another thing to be handled with his kind of calm. 

"I'll learn." His voice was smooth, almost soothing, but there was something in the way he said it that made Craig wonder if this was how he always handled everything—calm, collected, and with a strange, unsettling trust that he could solve anything.

Craig's warm fingers hesitantly rubbed the back of his smooth neck, his golden tan skin still warm from the earlier conversation. His gaze flickered back to the knife at Tweek's side and the mess of the laptop. "Alright," he sighed, standing up and stretching. "But no more knives, alright?"

Tweek remained silent for a moment, the thick cloak's fur slightly swaying as he shifted his weight, still looking as unbothered as ever. "No knives," he promptly agreed with a final nod to himself, his pale blue eyes faintly sparkling with an unreadable thought that briefly flickered. "I'll do anything I can to help you get things back to the way they were."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

"I am not doing this."

By the wooden closet door, Craig stood with his arms lazily crossed over his chest, watching Tweek with an exasperated sigh pressed firmly against his thin lips. His soft sage green eyes flickered to the pile of mismatched clothes that Tweek was still holding in his hands with a disgusted pinch between his warm fingertips, his freckled skin barely touching the cotton fabric between his grip.

"What is it now, princess?"

 Craig nuzzled the tip of his chin in the warmth of his blue hoodie, his golden tan skin contrasting against the muted navy of his fabric. His black hair, a little disheveled under the hat, stuck out in odd angles after digging into his closet for a spare of Tweek's clothing that he had left a couple of weeks ago during a group project—-- his Roman nose wrinkled slightly as he watched Tweek struggle with the concept of normal clothing.

Tweek was a complete contrast to Craig's demeanor as his back remained firmly pressed into the stiff closet door. His freckled skin seemed even paler in the soft afternoon light of the bedroom with his wild blonde hair sticking out in all directions from the earlier struggle of trying on the fabric- his pale blue eyes were locked on the green shirt in his wobbling hand with a slight crinkle.

"I am not doing this," Tweek finally said once more with a slight shake of his chin, his buttery voice firm and frustrated between his parted lips. He weakly held the shirt up to his lean chest with two fingers, as though it were diseased. "Is this even really necessary?-"

"If you wanna fit in when you are out there, then yes. This is very much necessary."

 His pale blue eyes darted between the shirt and Craig's calm, expectant expression, a messy eyebrow slightly raised- "What are all these buttons even for?" 

"Fashion."

 The fur cloak that had hung over his shoulders like armor was now neatly nestled on the edge of the wooden bedframe- Craig had to basically fucking yank it off the blonde's back to even release it for a few moments, the dark brown furs tangled in messy layers that almost seemed alive. 

Admittedly, the lack of cloak allowed Craig to examine the barbarian a little closer- His bare arms were tattooed in intricate swirls upon closer inspection, the dark ink contrasting sharply against his pale freckled skin. Funnily, he still looked completely out of place in Craig's bedroom, standing there in all his barbarian weekly glory— dryly staring at a simple buttoned-up green shirt with the most confused and disgusted look on his crinkled-up face.

"This has to be some type of torture-"

Craig, not backing down, raised a singular eyebrow slightly and further leaned the surface of his back contently against the thin door frame of the stuffed closet. His firm arms were still casually crossed across the warmth of his chest as he sighed heavily, lightly pushing the material of his chullo hat back on his messy black locks of hair.

 "Oh? What happened to all that energy earlier?" He hummed out lightly, his matter-of-fact tone more playful than serious, though there was an edge to it. His smooth lips twitched at the edges, half in disbelief, half in a teasing smile that threatened to split across his expression.

Tweek's eyes narrowed, his lips forming a thin line. "This is inhumane." He gestured vaguely at the shirt, his honey-sweet voice dripping with light with disdain. "I cannot be expected to wear this outside." His freckled face was set in a stubborn scowl, his fingertips curling around the bunched-up fabric between his pale fingertips.

Tweak stood frozen, holding the shirt at arm's length as though it were a poisonous relic. He twisted his mouth into a grimace and mumbled to himself, turning it over and over in his hands like it was going to transform into something else if he stared at it long enough.

"I don't even know how to wear this," he muttered lightly, rolling it over his fingertips for a few moments. "Where's the rest of it? It's just... one piece? How do I even—?"

Craig let out a small laugh between his lips, more out of habit than anything. "You put it on, genius- over your head?" he replied dryly- He pushed off the doorframe, walking across the room slowly, but not without a shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. "Look, it's simple. It's clothes. You wear it. Don't overthink it."

"And the fact you are enjoying my panic--"

Tweek wasn't fully paying attention to the words that escaped his parted lips as he dragged his curled fingertips across the wrinkled-up fabric for another moment. He took another look at the shirt, placing it firmly against his skin before examining it in the reflection of the mirror that hung inside his closet door.

"Cotton! It's too soft! I'm supposed to wear something like this, and—" He turned it inside out, then looked at it like it might explode from the inside. "There's no fur on it! How is this... how is this even... acceptable?"

Craig smoothly plucked the button-up from his grip for a second, neatly smoothing it out with his fingertips as the faint scent of coffee beans still lingered sweetly on the material. "Tweek. It's a shirt. It's not gonna bite you."

Tweek's eyes were wide like he was about to launch into a full-scale protest. "No, no way, man. I'm not wearing this." He shook his head so feverishly that his messy blonde locks of hair whipped around and hit the edge of his flushed cheek, his freckled face slightly scrunched up.

If he's having this much of a meltdown over a button-up, Craig couldn't imagine how he would react towards lace-up sneakers.

 "Oh, really? You're gonna give up now? After everything?" He nodded to the shirt tightly clutched in his grip, smoothly wagging the thin material between his pinched fingertips for a moment as a light hum dangled in his warm tone- "What happened to 'I'll do anything'?"

There was a soft flicker in his pale blue eyes, lightly widening behind the long wispy lashes that surrounded them- His lips faintly parted while registering the words that lingered in the air sweetly.

"I-"

Tweek's grip loosened for just a moment, and his shoulders sagged quietly. His vision had briefly flickered towards the texture of the bedroom ceiling before looked up at Craig, face flushed, jaw tight, and for a second, it seemed like he was going to keep fighting.

Instead- Tweek lightly glared at him, his freckled face faintly dusted with a rosy pink, but after a long moment, he grunted out a staggered sigh.

"Fine. I'll wear it. But don't expect me to keep it on." He gingerly snatched the shirt in the palms of his hands again firmly, his fingers curling around the fabric and allowing the material to pool around his speckled skin.

Craig's lips twitched faintly, the hint of a smile breaking through as he nodded, backing up just enough to give Tweek space to go to the bathroom. "You'll live. Who knows? Maybe you'll even like it-"

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Craig and Tweek were now sitting side by side on the couch, the soft glow of the table lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the living room. The faint hum of the television in the background was barely noticeable as they focused on the yearbook in Craig's lap.

 The cover was clearly a bit worn, the edges creased from years of use. A bright white cow, with an obnoxiously shitty cartoonish smile, was emblazoned across the front with "SOUTH PARK HIGH" in bold, dark green letters. The cow seemed to be mocking them as they began flipping through the pages, too innocent for the madness that high school had brought.

Craig figured that if Tweek were to come to school with him- It was important for him to recognize faces at school and the relationships.

He didn't want him to fuck up on accident and be friends with someone who shouldn't- God forbid it was someone like Scott Malkison or Eric Cartman.

The yearbook's pages were thick and slightly bent at the corners, worn down by years of students flipping through it. Craig never cared much for it—his mom had insisted he buy it during the end-of-the-year school fair, saying, "Every kid needs to remember their high school days," but it wasn't something Craig had ever clung to. Now, it was just a time capsule of awkwardness and memories he didn't care to relive during his senior year when he would finally get the opportunity to ditch this place.

They sat on the couch, Tweek stiffly perched at the edge, the fur cloak he had managed to steal back draped over his shoulders like some warrior's trophy, contrasting sharply with the softness of the couch's cushions. Craig, on the other hand, was sprawled lazily, a little too relaxed for his own good, allowing his sun-kissed cheek to nuzzle into the worn-out material of the couch.

One page was dedicated entirely to the clubs. There were the usual suspects—band, drama, yearbook, and debate team. Each section had a picture of the group, their members crowded together, all trying to get cramped in for the picture. Some groups had a forced, stiff quality to their smiles, others clearly caught off guard, while others seemed genuinely excited, as though they had found something that actually meant something to them. 

Craig's golden finger hovered over the picture of the track team tryouts. He quickly recognized a few of them—Eric, of course, with his absurdly oversized crimson hoodie, trying to look like he wasn't about to puke after running a single lap. A few others were in their track uniforms, smiles that could only be described as awkwardly pleased.

Then, there was the yearbook committee picture. Craig's eyes went straight to the two people he knew well—Kyle and Wendy, standing next to each other, clearly standing an agreed-upon distance between them. They both had that serious, no-fucking around look, even as freshmen. Kyle's bright red curly locks were neatly combed, and the thin wired glasses he occasionally wore remained perched just right on the end of his nose.

Wendy, on the other hand, looked almost cold. Her black bob framed her face perfectly, the sleek style drawing attention to the sharpness of her features. She was standing with her arms crossed while Kyle stood just a little too stiffly beside her. They were framed in the middle of the picture, their contrasting personalities almost radiating from the still image. The rest of the committee surrounded them in a blur of mismatched poses, contently throwing an array of peace signs, bunny ears, and crooked smiles in the air.

Tweek's freckled fingers, rough and calloused, hovered over the glossy pages, lightly tracing the faces like he was mapping out new territory. His pale blue eyes scanned the images carefully, as though he was trying to get a sense of each person's personality, their energy. He slowly ran his finger over the photo of Wendy. Her short bob cut curling around her face, and a few colorful barrettes kept her black hair neatly in place. 

"She looks like she could slit your throat-" Tweek softly muttered, his lips curling slightly. He barely moved his finger, though, still trailing over the photo and the faint caption underneath.

South Park High Yearbook Committee

Craig smiled briefly, the ends of his lips slightly twinging before tapping at the photo lightly. "Yeah, that's Wendy for you. She's tough as hell."

Tweek didn't say anything else, just moved his finger to the next photo on the next page with a soft glimmer in his eyes. 

Butters. 

The kid's wide, innocent blue eyes stared back from the page, his blonde hair ridiculously slicked back with so much gel it looked like a shiny helmet. He was wearing a button-up pink top, looking absurdly out of place, but Tweek's finger lingered on the photo.

Tweek seemed more focused on the background of the photograph, Butters talking to someone in the corner, his head seemingly tilted towards the direction of the person. There was a soft glimpse of an orange coat peeking at the very edge of the image as Tweek briefly parted his pursed lips to speak, before closing them once more for a moment.

Craig lightly snickered. "That's Butters. He's like the weirdest ass guy you'll meet. He tries way too hard, but he's a good kid."

Craig's curled fingers lightly brushed over the yearbook's pages, turning them slowly as he took in the faces that filled the thick pages.

There were so many memories, so many moments captured in time, like little glimpses of lives they had all lived in that strange bubble of high school. The ink was faint in certain spots, but the images remained clear enough— some pages were filled with marker scribbles from the end of the year yearbook signing.

Tweek softly hummed, flicking through the pages until he came to a picture of Stan. His gaze quietly settled back on the glossy yearbook page, drawn again to the group photo of the varsity football team. At the center of the image, Stan Marsh stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a subtle tug at the ends of his lips. 

What seemingly had truly captured Tweek's attention, though, was Stan's hair—dyed a deep beach blonde at the very tips. The color stood out sharply against the backdrop of brunette shades, catching him mid-laugh. 

Tweek leaned in closer, his thin brows faintly knitting together in focused curiosity as the soft scent of fresh detergent lingered on the pale green fabric of the button-up shirt. "What is this?" he asked lightly, his soft voice quiet but insistent as he smoothly pointed the end of his fingertip to Stan's head.

"Do people in this world actually change their hair to be like colors like that?" Tweek asked quietly, incredulous, his smooth finger lightly hovering above the mess of blonde for a moment longer. His brightened eyes still captured the messy curls.

Craig couldn't help but laugh. 

He lightly nodded, the soft tassels of his hat warmly tickling the sides of his smooth cheeks with the slight tilt of his chin towards the picture.

"Yeah, he did it himself with a bunch of his mom's old hair dye. Tried to make it look good, but it came out looking like he stuck his ass in a mop bucket. We gave him shit for weeks."

The ends of his pink lips faintly twinged, clearly enjoying the gossip, but he didn't dwell on it. His pale blue eyes flicked down to the next picture beside the football team picture. Pausing briefly before gingerly allowing his freckled fingertips to wander over the image for a moment.

It was a picture of the astronomy club. 

The small group had huddled together for a picture- The back of the classroom was messily plastered with classic Sci-Fi movies and different colorfully detailed posters. A few of the students were contently sitting at their desks with a few assignments scattered across the wooden surface, the picture catching them in the moment.

One of those students just so happened to be Craig.

It was him.

 His own photo stared back at him, the soft pimple-ridden face of a freshman with bright braces and fresh bandages decorating his cheeks. He was in the front row, the awkward smile just barely hiding the faint glint in his slightly squinted eyes. The yearbook staff forced him to take off his hat, his dark curls messily forming around his flushed expression.

He couldn’t quite remember why he had quit the club. All he could remember was he got into an argument with his father that day.

Tweek's pale finger paused, almost reverently, quietly tracing the outline of Craig's face in the picture. Craig felt his stomach fucking flip, suddenly aware of how long Tweek's long fingers were lingering there. He looked up at him for a moment, watching his freckled fingers gingerly run across the glossy photo like he was trying to figure it out as if his freshman self was some sort of puzzle to solve.

Tweek's eyes narrowed with a soft glint, his pink lips twitching upward ever so slightly. 

"Is this really you?" he muttered out finally with a quiet laugh in his tone before cupping the yearbook closer into the warmth of his lap, "You look so... soft. Just a pretty little face."

Craig flushed, his face quickly heating up.

It wasn't the fact that Tweek had called him pretty. It was the fact that he had said it so damn matter of factly- Like it was something so nonchalant such as reading it off a newspaper or hearing it off the radio on a Sunday morning drive.

It was like hearing:

BREAKING NEWS: FRESHMAN CRAIG TUCKER HAD THE FACE OF A SESAME STREET CHILD ACTOR

 "Oh, my god, shut up," he finally mumbled out with a slight hiss, trying to hide the soft heat spreading across his golden-kissed cheeks. He feverishly made an attempt to grab the yearbook from Tweek's hands before he could say anything else, wiggling his fingertips towards the spine of the book with a light purse of his bottom lip. "It was freshman year! I just got my stupid braces-"

The familiar smell of dust mixed with the faint trace of air freshener from the nearby room lingered between them. They were so close to the armrest, the ends of their elbows almost brushing lightly with each attempt he made to snatch the book back, but neither of them moved to shift. 

Tweek quietly raised a blonde eyebrow for a moment, his crinkled-up face slightly tilting at the reaction curiously with a slight tug at the end of his curled-up pink lips. 

"I just meant you looked delicate."

"I am this close to ending this whole "helping you get accustomed to our society" shit-"

Tweek warmly leaned back against the fabric of the couch with a smooth sigh at his retort, his freckled finger still lingering on a yearbook photo for a moment longer than he would care to admit he was comfortable with.

"It's not a bad thing, Craig." The barbarian finally replied with a soft hum on the edge of his pursed lips, his voice casual but still faintly flickering at the glossy picture. "It's quite nice to see that your face is still like this, actually."

Craig slightly froze, his mind scrambling to process the nonchalant tone of Tweek's words. His flush deepened, his green eyes darting toward the ceiling for refuge. Before he could react, Tweek flipped the page, the sound of the turning paper breaking the silence.

Craig didn't even fully get to process what he had said-  Just as quickly Tweek had flipped to another section of the book, his pale finger skimming the glossy surface of the yearbook until it stopped across one of the pages firmly.

Craig, who had tilted his gaze towards the ceiling pattern, flickered towards what Tweek had come across something interesting. His warm eyes lingered for a moment, a bit too long, and he followed his gaze.

The barbarian's finger stopped suddenly on a new photo that took up nearly the entire damn page. Craig glanced over despite himself, his stomach twisting as he realized what it was.

There, in bold colors, was a photo of him Tweek. His Tweek- labeled with a garishly bright caption. Craig felt his jaw slightly tighten.

It was a picture of him and Tweek, taken at the end of their freshman year. Their crinkled-up faces were both a little flushed at the cheeks- It looked like they had been caught in the middle of the hallway for the photo, both of their book bags riddled with an assortment of pins slung over their shoulders.

"Cutest Couple" was decorated at the bottom as the caption- Drawn in a bright pink and yellow font with messily scribbled hearts tucked in the corner of the letters. It was one of the school's super cheesy awards that were thrown in for shits & giggles.

Suddenly, he remembered why he had insisted on not buying the yearbook that year.

Craig had his arm casually slung over Tweek's shoulder and Tweek was smiling awkwardly with his crooked grin spread across his face, looking like he might burst out laughing or die of embarrassment. Probably both. But they looked happy, even if it was one of those photos that made Craig curl inside now.

Tweek had stared at the picture for a few seconds longer than necessary, his crinkled-up brow gingerly furrowing. The way Tweek's pale blue eyes were neatly fixed on the photo made Craig feel a little like rolling up. 

He knew he would have to eventually tell Tweek about what the relationship was like with his counterpart publicly to the residents of South Park- But he got nervous. He kept putting it off, hoping it would never come up. At least, not in a bedazzled rhinestone display.

After what felt like a fucking eternity, Tweek's gaze slowly slid to Craig, his freckled face unreadable. Craig's heart skipped a beat for a second, realizing he had been staring back too intently, caught in the moment.

A slight flush crept onto Craig's face, and before he could think, he snapped the yearbook shut with a loud thud between his fingertips warmly.

Tweek, lounging casually on the other side of the couch, raised an eyebrow at Craig's sudden shift in demeanor. The couch beneath him was soft, its cushions slightly worn and sagging in a way that made it feel lived-in. The fabric was rougher than it looked, textured from years of use, and it carried a faint scent of detergent mixed with something uniquely Craig's—a mixture of mint and cedar forest air after rain.

"Uh—yeah, we were, uh, voted for that. It was just some stupid shit they do here." Craig lightly rubbed the back of his burning neck, trying to sound casual as he avoided Tweek's curious look. His voice came out a little tighter than usual, his face a little hotter than he wanted it to be.

Tweek didn't say anything right away, just looked at him with that same calculating expression, like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, he shrugged, letting out a soft snort. 

"It's nothing to be ashamed about-"

Craig's smooth fingers drummed against his arm, quick and restless, his smooth breath hitched for half a second before he forced a laugh, the sound coming out a little too sharp, a little too fake.

"It's not a big deal," he muttered, his voice clipped, the words tumbling out like they had to escape before he could stop them. "We aren't actually together, it was just-"

Tweek tilted his head slightly, his sharp gaze flicking back to the closed yearbook scattered on surface of the coffee table. He had noticed the tension in Craig's shoulders with the way they hunched-up, the way his knee bounced slightly as if he couldn't sit still.

Tweek didn't buy it. Craig could tell by the way his lips twitched upward, the faint amusement in his eyes growing just a bit brighter. He lightly leaned back against the couch, draping one arm lazily over the backrest as if he were settling in for a show. His other pale hand still held the yearbook, his freckles fingers resting lightly on the glossy page.

"You're embarrassed," Tweek said, his voice calm but laced with a note of amusement in honey-sweet tone. His warm fingers gingerly tapped against the edge of the couch cushion, his posture relaxed, but his pale blue eyes were slightly crinkled up.

Craig whipped his head around, his blue eyes wide with indignant disbelief. "I'm not embarrassed," he snapped, the flush on his face darkening. "It's just- it was mainly the girls in the yearbook committee and they go batshit crazy for this kind of junk." 

Tweek glanced around, his movements deliberate and slow. The room was anything but hot; the air was cool and still, the faint smell of grass and earth wafting in from the slightly ajar window. His lips curled softly as he leaned back further into the couch, one arm smoothly tapping over the backrest.

"I see."

Craig couldn't help but feel a little lighter, even though his face was still fucking burning. It was one of those moments where he didn't want to think too hard about what had just happened, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that Tweek might've seen something more than just a dumb photo.

But, thankfully, Tweek didn't press him on it.

Craig let out a quiet sigh of relief, though his heart was still beating faster than normal through the worn-out material of his warm hoodie.

Tweek ignored the jab, his attention drifting back to the yearbook. The glossy pages stuck slightly where they had been shut too quickly, the faint scent of printer ink lingering. He opened it again, flipping to the picture that had caused Craig's outburst.

There they were—Craig and Tweek, standing close together, their arms brushing as they smiled for the camera. The caption below read Cutest Couple.

Tweek didn't seem phased from this in the damn slightest. He just gave a low chuckle and turned the page, uninterested in letting Craig's flustered reaction ruin his fun.

Craig leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore the heat rising on his face as Tweek continued to study the pages of the yearbook, each photo still drawing his gaze with an odd sort of curiosity.

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The afternoon South Park sky was awash with shades of orange and pink, the colors melting into one another like the strokes of a painter's brush. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a golden light that painted everything in warm, honeyed hues. Shadows stretched long and soft across the grass, their edges blurred by the gentle glow. The air carried the fresh, earthy scent of damp soil mixed with the faint tang of grass as they both slid the door open to the backyard.

Craig had led Tweek out to the yard, the sunlight warm and golden, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. The air smelled fresh, filled with the scent of earth and faintly of grass, a peaceful quiet settling over everything.

 The yard wasn't big—just a patch of space surrounded by an old wooden fence that had seen better days. The white paint was faintly chipped in certain places, some boards warped or hanging loosely, but it still had a certain charm. It felt private, like their own little world, tucked away from everything else. 

A few thick weeds poked up through the grass, but the yard was mostly simple—just a few patches of soft grass, a spot of dirt here and there, and a worn-out swing that creaked when the wind blew. Off to the side, an old bike lay on its side, half-embedded in the soft earth. It had been there for a while, its tires flat, its frame slightly rusted.

On the porch, Stripe was snug in his little cage they had brought downstairs —a guinea pig with soft fur mottled in shades of brown and white. Craig knelt with practiced ease, unlatched the metal cage, and scooped the small creature into his hand. Stripe squeaked in approval, his pink nose twitching as he sniffed the new air. His fur was velvety to the touch, the patches of white gleaming in the sunlight like freshly fallen snow.

Craig carefully set him onto the grass, watching as Stripe darted forward, exploring his temporary kingdom before flopping down in the sun, content for the moment.

"Alright, little dude, go nuts," Craig muttered, half-smiling as he watched Stripe settle. He stretched out beside him, smoothly sinking into the coolness of the grass, his arms lazily stuck behind his head.

The soft blades tickled his sun-kissed cheeks, a contrast to the warm heat of the sun that flickered above them. He looked up at the sky, watching the few swirling clouds drift lazily across the vast soft orange. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the old tree near the corner of the yard, and for a moment, everything felt simple—like all the worries of the world were just distant echoes.

It was a relief.

Craig's chullo hat, knitted with soft alpaca wool, sat snugly over his dark hair, as he rested on the smooth grass, the material of his shirt textured but warm. The intricate blue-and-white patterns of the hat mirrored the sky above, though its colors had faded slightly from use. His black Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back shirt was worn but clearly loved, the print of Darth Vader and the Imperial Walkers slightly cracked but still vibrant. The fabric clung to him in the heat of the sun, the dark color absorbing its warmth.

Tweek, stood at the edge of the yard and hesitated for a moment with a slight glint in his expression. The sun's warmth contrasted with the coolness of the earth beneath him. He glanced up at the sky, watching the clouds—thin and wispy—drift lazily across the expanse of orange and pink.

He lingered at the edge of the yard, his golden curls catching the fading light, framing his face like a halo. The freckles dusting his pale cheeks stood out against the rosy flush brought on by the sun. His vivid blue eyes flickered between the soft clouds above and the worn wooden swing swaying in the corner. He hesitated briefly, then joined Craig, lowering himself stiffly onto the space of grass.

"It's... softer than I expected," Tweek smoothly muttered, his pale fingers brushing over the grass curiously.

He finally relaxed, laying back to stare at the sky before quietly lying down beside him. He was still a little stiff, Craig noted. Probably unsure of how to handle the softness of the ground beneath him. No armor, no weapons, just the strange feeling of being in a normal place. He shifted and finally laid back, his eyes tracking the soft curls of the white clouds. Craig glanced over at him, watching as Tweek's golden curls flickered across his freckled cheeks from the light tickle of the wind.

Stripe contently trotted over to them, his little paws barely leaving an impression on the grass. He contently sniffed at Tweek's hair for a moment, giving a squeaky approval before waddling over to the warmth of Craig's hand, nuzzling smoothly against it. Craig let out a small snort as Stripe playfully nudged him again, clearly wanting attention. 

"Didn't expect to meet a 'warrior beast' in your time, huh?" Craig hummed out with a soft tug at the ends of his curled lips, smoothly raising an eyebrow as Stripe gave another enthusiastic squeak.

Every now and then, Strip would stop, wiggle his nose in the air, and let out a squeak, as if announcing his findings to the world. His fur, a soft mix of brown and white, glinted in the sunlight as he scampered in circles, his small body almost too fast to follow with the eyes. He darted between the weeds and under the swing, his tiny feet making faint pattering noises that blended with the breeze.

Tweek chuckled softly, his thin fingertips smoothly brushing over the soft fur of Stripe's tiny back. "No, definitely not. But he's... a good companion. Brave." He lightly smiled, his gaze following Stripe as the guinea pig turned in small, curious circles. 

The two of them shared a quiet laugh, the kind that felt easy and real, before settling back into the peaceful rhythm of the yard. The sunlight softened as the evening crept closer, bathing everything in a golden glow that felt almost ethereal. Stripe had made himself at home between them, his small body radiating a gentle warmth against the cool blades of grass. Every so often, his tiny nose wiggled as he caught a new scent, his soft brown-and-white fur rippling slightly in the breeze.

Craig's hand instinctively moved to gently scratch behind Stripe's ears, eliciting a contented squeak from the tiny creature. His green eyes, flecked with hints of hazel that caught the fading sunlight, lingered on Stripe for a moment before drifting to Tweek. Craig didn't say anything; he didn't need to. There was something about Tweek's expression—softened by the fading light—that made the silence feel fuller, richer. The usual tension in Tweek's features had eased, and his blue eyes, as deep and restless as the ocean, seemed calm as they reflected the shifting colors of the sky.

The two of them lay there in silence for a while, just soaking in the quiet. The only sounds were Stripe's occasional squeaks, the soft rustling of the leaves above, and the distant hum of a car passing by. It felt like everything else was a world away like time itself had slowed down to match the peaceful rhythm of the moment.

The wind outside was gentle, a soft breeze that swept through the yard, rustling the leaves of the trees and sending a few blades of grass swaying. It wasn't strong, just enough to carry the faint scent of earth and fresh-cut grass across the yard.

Finally, Tweek broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to try to understand this place, at least a little, while I am here" he said, his words carrying a sincerity that made Craig pause. "It's strange, but... I think I'm adjusting, bit by bit."

Craig's chest tightened a little, but he shrugged it off, trying to keep it casual. "Yeah, well- don't get too comfortable, alright? This place is a shitshow half the time," he hummed out lightly, but even his words couldn't hide the warmth in his chest, the faint tug of something soft underneath his usual sarcasm.

Tweek's laugh was quiet, but it was genuine. "I'll try my best." His expression softened, thoughtful, as he stared up at the sky. "I think taking it slow is a good plan. Everything here is so different, and I don't want to mess it up by rushing."

The quiet stretched out again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The hum of the wind, the distant chirp of a cricket, and the faint rustle of grass filled the space between them. Stripe, who had been busy nosing at a small patch of weeds, waddled back toward Craig and Tweek, his tiny feet making barely a sound. He settled once more in the crook of Craig's arm, his small, contented squeak blending perfectly with the gentle sounds of the evening.

Craig shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his movements slow and deliberate as if reluctant to break the fragile peace surrounding them. He glanced over at Tweek, his green eyes flickering in the fading light like the last embers of a fire.

"You know," he began with a soft nod, his warm voice carrying a casual ease that didn't quite mask the sincerity underneath, "if you're gonna stick around, you're gonna have to learn how to deal with more than just quiet yards and sunsets." He tilted his head slightly, a smile gingerly tugging the corners of his lips faintly. "This place can be a real pain in the ass."

Tweek's laugh was soft, a low and unguarded sound that seemed to settle into the air like it belonged there. He turned his head toward Craig, the strands of his messy blonde hair catching the soft purples and oranges of the twilight sky. "I think I've handled worse," he replied, his voice steady but tinged with that familiar spark of energy that never seemed to leave him entirely. His blue eyes, bright even in the dimming light, met Craig's with a glint of humor, "Besides, I've got a decent guide, right?"

Craig gingerly snorted, though the sound was more amused than dismissive. He rolled his eyes, but not before a faint heat crept up the back of his neck, spreading to his cheeks. 

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, flopping back down into the grass with exaggerated effort, a soft sigh spread across his sunkissed face. "Don't start writing love songs or anything. I'm not signing up for that shit."

His smooth lips, however, betrayed him, curling into a reluctant, crooked smile that lingered even after his gaze turned upward to the sky.

The sun finally sank below the horizon, pulling the last streaks of vibrant orange and pink with it and leaving behind a canvas of deepening purples and blues. The yard softened in the twilight, the shadows stretching long and lazy across the grass. The air had taken on a cooler edge, carrying with it the faint sweetness of night-blooming flowers. Somewhere in the distance, a cricket began its rhythmic chirp, soon joined by others, creating a quiet, natural symphony.

Stripe stirred between them, letting out one last, high-pitched squeak before curling tighter into a little ball of fur. His tiny body rose and fell with a soothing rhythm, his contentment as tangible as the cool breeze. Craig absently reached out to brush his fingers over Stripe's soft fur, the small action grounding him in the present moment.

Tweek shifted slightly, his gaze drifting from Craig to the sky above. The first stars had begun to emerge, faint pinpricks of light against the vast darkness. He let out a slow, almost inaudible sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing as if the weight he carried every day had lightened just a fraction.

The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was full of the hum of the evening, the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind, and the unspoken understanding between them. For a while, neither of them moved, their world shrinking to the patch of grass beneath them, the blanket of swirling clouds above, and the quiet connection they shared in between.

A sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves of the old tree near the corner of the yard, its branches creaking in protest. A few dry leaves broke free, twirling lazily in the air before settling softly onto the ground. Tweek reached out absently, his fingers brushing against one of the fallen leaves, its brittle edges crumbling slightly under his touch.

"I think I understand what you mean about this place being so overwhelming," Tweek said finally, his voice quieter than before but carrying a steady conviction. He glanced at Craig for a moment longer, his honey-sweet curls shifting slightly in the wind and tickling his freckled cheeks. "But it's not all bad. This—" He gestured vaguely to the yard, the sky, the two of them. "This is... nice."

Craig raised an eyebrow, his pink lips twitching faintly.

Tweek rolled his eyes but didn't argue, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the collar of the soft green shirt tickled the side of his cheek warmly. "I'm being serious," he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone. "It's... different, but I think I could get used to it till I return back to my home."

As the night deepened, the stars brightened, their soft glow spilling over the yard like a promise, or maybe a reminder, that some moments didn't need fixing—they just needed to be lived.

Craig's grin softened, his sarcasm melting away as he looked back at the sky. The swirling clouds had begun to darken, the orange and pink hues deepening into richer tones of amber and rose. "Yeah," he said quietly, almost to himself. "It's not all bad."

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additional notes: this was a fun chapter to write and just add more development ^^ i hope you guys enjoyed and comment ! <3 ALSO STRIPE CAMEO :)As

ALSO THIS ART BY @mayonnaise-sock

PLS CHECK OUT HER STUFF, her animation is so beautiful and gahhhhhhhh omg her work is so lovely, im here biggest fan :')<3