Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hi. My name is Craig Tucker. Last week was my birthday—the anniversary of the day I became New York’s one and only Spider-Man.”
Craig stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, his voice dripping with feigned confidence. Internally, he cringed at how forced and saccharine it sounded. Dropping the act, he slumped his shoulders with a shallow sigh. Being a superhero was way more demanding than he’d ever imagined.

Turning away, Craig padded over to his nightstand and grabbed his makeshift Spidey-suit. It wasn’t attractive, but it got the job done. The base was a navy-blue long-sleeved shirt, painstakingly hand-drawn with Sharpie webbing, courtesy of a Google search image he could trace. He considered it a labor of indifference rather than love—it just had to work. The mask, a blue ski mask with poorly cut eye holes, was far from “menacing,” but Craig had ditched his beloved chullo for something less recognizable. That sacrifice stung more than he cared to admit. He supposed he could still wear it outside of spider-man duties.

The rest of the outfit? Whatever he had lying around. Today it was baggy jeans and his scuffed Vans, still clinging to life. Craig tucked his web-shooters under his sleeve and glanced in the mirror one last time. His expression soured. He didn’t think he looked intimidating as Spider-Man—just awkward—but it wasn’t about him, he supposed. It was his job to be protecting the city or whatever. Craig didn’t really care, he just did what he was told to do. He’d be fine either way.

Cracking open the window above his bed, Craig stared out at the bustling chaos below. After flexing his palms and stretching out a leg, he climbed onto the fire escape, crawling painstakingly up to the rooftop, courtesy of his grippy palm. Eight stories high felt like home, and with one smooth motion, he launched a webline across the gap to a building a hundred feet away. The science behind the webbing was solid—toluene, methanol, and some other chemical jargon Craig barely pretended to understand. All he knew was that it worked, holding his weight as he swung between towering skyscrapers.

Craig soared through the night, the city’s distant hum serving as background noise. He aimed for a quiet perch to stargaze—just a few minutes to breathe—but the sharp buzz of his spidey-sense shattered the calm. He froze mid-swing, every nerve in his body lighting up. After some hesitation, he changed course, following the invisible tug to a small, unassuming café nestled on a busy street corner. Its cozy, golden glow felt completely at odds with what was happening inside.

Perched upside down from the café awning, Craig watched the scene unfold. A masked robber waved a weapon wildly at the cashier, a jittery blonde with a name tag that read Tweek. The guy was trembling like a leaf, but his wide, panicked eyes darted toward something under the counter. Craig tensed, ready to intervene, but what happened next made him freeze.

“ACK! TAKE THIS!” Tweek screeched, grabbing a metal thermos and hurling it at the robber’s face. The loud clang echoed through the café as the thief stumbled, clutching his nose. Before Craig could process it, Tweek vaulted over the counter with a wild yell, flailing at the stunned criminal like a man possessed.

Craig blinked. What the hell is this guy on?

With a quick flick of his wrist, Craig shot a webline, binding the robber like a makeshift cocoon. Another tug hoisted him up to the ceiling, leaving the would-be thief dangling like a Halloween decoration. Finally dropping into the café, Craig landed lightly on his feet, the doorbell chiming as if he’d entered like a regular customer.

Tweek spun around, his eyes bugging out even more (if that was possible). “Are you—ARE YOU REALLY SPIDER-MAN?!” he shrieked, his hands tugging furiously at his messy blonde hair.

Craig snorted behind the mask. “Uh, yeah. The one and only.”

“Oh, man! I’m, like, your biggest fan! You’re amazing!” Tweek exclaimed, bouncing on his heels. Craig followed his gaze to the thermos Tweek had thrown earlier, which was absolutely plastered with Spider-Man stickers—some clearly hand-drawn. Craig raised an eyebrow.

“You, uh… like my work?”

“Like it? I LOVE IT!” Tweek practically yelled, edging closer to inspect Craig’s suit. His wild energy softened slightly as he added, “Should I call the cops? Or—oh! Do you want coffee? I mean, you’re probably too busy, but—”

Tweek’s frantic words blurred into white noise as Craig’s attention drifted to his face. Specifically, his eyes. They were a piercing, electric blue—so vivid they practically glowed. Craig liked blue. It was his favorite color. But Tweek’s eyes were something else entirely. Did this guy wear contacts? Craig wouldn’t be surprised. Man, his eyes were vibrant.

Realizing he was staring, Craig coughed awkwardly. “Uh, no coffee. But yeah, call the cops for this guy.” He gestured to the thief dangling overhead. Then, without waiting for a response, Craig spun on his heel and sprinted toward the door. “Thanks—bye.”

Swinging back into the night, Craig felt his face burning with a new intensity and color beneath the mask. That was… weird.

—
Craig woke the next morning with a nagging urge gnawing at the edges of his mind. It was the kind of feeling that refused to be ignored, no matter how much he tried to brush it off. He didn’t understand it—he rarely felt pulled to anything—but here he was, lacing up his sneakers and heading out the door without a clear destination. Yet somehow, as he turned a corner, his feet betrayed him, leading him directly to the coffee shop from the night before.

The familiar chime of the doorbell jolted Craig from his thoughts, and he froze just inside the entrance. Really? This is where I wanted to go? His gaze swept across the small café, landing on the counter—and on the same twitchy cashier from last night.
Tweek.

Craig blinked, trying to process the scene. Tweek looked… about the same. His messy blonde hair was partially tamed with a headband, but the apron tied loosely around his waist made him look like he’d dressed in a rush. His hands trembled as he adjusted a stack of cups on the counter, and his electric-blue eyes flicked nervously around the room, like he was anticipating disaster at any second.
Craig swallowed thickly and averted his gaze. Why is it so hard to look at this guy? He shuffled forward, suddenly hyperaware of the quiet hum of the café and the few pairs of eyes that might be watching him. He didn’t even like coffee. But hanging out in a coffee shop without buying something was probably weird, right?

Craig approached the counter, his posture stiff, and glanced at the menu. He had no idea what half of the drinks even were. “Uh…” He hesitated, staring anywhere but at Tweek’s piercing eyes. “I’ll get a, uh, coffee?”

Tweek’s head snapped up, his wide eyes locking onto Craig’s. The sudden attention made Craig’s stomach flip, and he immediately regretted speaking.

“Ack! Okay, what size?” Tweek’s voice was sharp and automated, his hands already reaching for the register.

Craig hesitated. For some reason, Tweek’s clipped tone rubbed him the wrong way. He’d never cared what strangers thought of him, but something about Tweek’s obvious lack of enthusiasm… irked him.

“Uh. Small,” Craig finally muttered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. After a beat, he added awkwardly, “…Thank you.”
Tweek didn’t even look at him, letting out a vague “hm!” as he turned to another blonde worker behind him. “Small coffee,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the register before retreating behind it.

The other worker, a cheery guy with “Leopold” on his name tag, responded with a chipper, “Right on it, fella!” Craig flinched at his overly enthusiastic tone. Who was this happy at 7 a.m. while working retail? Craig slouched and shuffled to the pickup counter, avoiding eye contact with everyone until Leopold handed him a steaming cup.

Craig clutched the coffee awkwardly and blurted, “Uh. Bye.” He gave a half-hearted wave before making a quick exit, the doorbell chiming again as he slipped out.

“Have a nice day!” Leopold called after him.

Craig didn’t stop. His face felt hot as he walked briskly down the street, the interaction replaying in his mind on an annoying loop. What the hell was that?

He didn’t usually feel self-conscious. He wasn’t the kind of person to overthink conversations or wonder how he came across to others. Yet, for some reason, Tweek’s scrutinizing gaze lingered in his mind. It wasn’t scary, exactly, but it felt… intense. Like Tweek was dissecting him, judging him with every nervous glance.

Craig frowned, his grip tightening on the cup. Screw that guy. I don’t care what he thinks.

But even as he thought it, Craig knew it wasn’t true. Something about Tweek’s sunken, jittery stare had wormed its way under his skin. Why does it even matter?

Craig didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he was probably coming back tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Craig blinks up at the daylight filtering through his simple navy curtains, pulling him out of his restless sleep. He groans and turns over, hoping for a few more minutes of rest, but after a few moments, he gives up, knowing sleep won’t come.

With reluctance, Craig slides the covers off and sits on the edge of his bed, his reflection staring back at him from the mirror hanging on the door. He stands and sluggishly grabs some clothes from the floor, clothes he’d worn only once. They couldn’t be that dirty, right?

Before dressing, Craig stares at himself in the mirror, uncomfortable with his lanky frame. He was tall—unnaturally tall—but with no muscle to show for it. Sure, his powers gave him strength, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of strength that would impress anyone. His hair was messy and wild, his skin littered with scars and bruises from street fights. An embarrassing amount of time passes before he looks away from his reflection and starts dressing.

A certain blonde drifts through his thoughts, making him fidget. Why did he care so much about what Tweek thought of him? The boy had obviously taken a liking to his superhero persona, but so did a lot of people. Who would really fantasize about Joe Craig Tucker, of all people? All he did was flip people off and ramble about guinea pigs and space. He didn’t care what anyone thought, or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. But with Tweek…he did care. He cared way more than he should.

Craig swallows hard, his hands shaking as he reaches for Stripe’s cage. The guinea pig chirps and squeals as Craig opens the bars and scoops her up. He gently scratches the top of her head before getting lettuce and hay. After settling Stripe back in her cage, Craig feeds her as she shakes and wheeks with excitement. He knows he shouldn’t be spoiling her like this, but the sound of her happy squeals is impossible to resist. Once she’s fed, he refills her water bowl—heavy enough to keep her from tipping it over. He pets her a few more times before grabbing his backpack.

It’s Saturday morning, so he doesn’t have to go to school, but Craig always finds it useful to keep his superhero supplies on hand. He throws a change of clothes into the bag—new pants and shoes, just in case anyone notices the old ones from his crime-fighting nights—and his usual shirt and mask. After a quick freshen-up in the bathroom, he grabs his bag and heads out.

He decides to take the stairs rather than the rickety elevator, which is long overdue for an inspection. It’s an unnecessary workout to walk all the way down from the eighth floor, so he slides down the railing of each flight of stairs. His mom would definitely scold him if she saw, but she doesn’t know he’s got some cool powers.

When he finally hits the streets, he remembers he’s supposed to be picking up groceries. As he walks, he notices the coffee beans on the list and groans internally. Well, at least it’s a good excuse to visit the coffee shop. He’d been trying to avoid going back, but something keeps pulling him there, and before he knows it, his feet are leading him toward the door.

He steps inside, awkwardly watching Tweek dart around behind the counter while Leopold handles the cash register. The coffee shop is packed with the morning rush, and Craig hadn’t expected it to be this busy. When he catches Leopold’s gaze, he flushes, embarrassed to have been caught staring, and shuffles toward the back of the line.

As he waits, he can’t help but watch Tweek work. Despite his jittery behavior, the boy is incredibly precise as he measures ingredients and pours drinks. His voice is loud and steady as he calls out orders, surprising Craig, who’s used to hearing Tweek’s shaky, unsure tone. He looks young, probably around Craig’s age, and Craig wonders if he’s been working full-time since he was 15.

Before he realizes it, Craig is at the front of the line, and Leopold greets him with a cheerful, “Well, hey there, fella! What can I get for you this wonderful morning?” Craig looks away, avoiding eye contact. His mom always said it was rude to look down when talking to someone, but Craig can’t help it. He clears his throat. “Uh…do you guys sell coffee beans?”

Leopold turns to Tweek and calls out, “Hey Tweek! Do we sell coffee beans?”

Tweek turns around, locking eyes with Craig, and his stomach tightens. He quickly looks back at Leopold, but he can still feel Tweek’s gaze in his peripheral vision. “Uh, nghh—yeah! I guess so!” Tweek stammers, before returning to his flurry of activity. Leopold hands Craig a hefty bag and announces the price. Craig awkwardly pays, handing over the cash his mom had given him along with the grocery list.

He’s disappointed he didn’t get to speak with Tweek more, so he blurts, “Uh, can I get a small coffee too?” After a beat, he adds, “Please?”

Leopold grins, “Right on it, name?”

Craig mumbles his name, and Leopold writes it on a cup, handing it to Tweek, who sets it aside with the other orders. Craig fidgets with his receipt while he waits by the counter. Honestly, he’s not even sure if he likes coffee, but he’s too embarrassed to back out now.

When Tweek finally hands him his drink, Craig fumbles for something to say, anything to keep the conversation going. “Uh…thanks. What’s your name?”

Tweek’s gaze flicks to his name tag, as if confirming that’s really what it says. “Tweek.”

“Right…” Craig replies, feeling even more embarrassed. “Thanks, Tweek.” He’s not sure what else to say—he’s too focused on Tweek’s movements. He notices how the boy adjusts his apron, how his voice shakes and speeds up when the line grows longer, how frantic he is.

Then, suddenly, Tweek freezes, a wide-eyed panic taking over. “Nghh! I gotta go—I gotta go! They weren’t happy to hear about all the money they, ACK!— lost when I shut down shop early last night.”

Craig tilts his head, trying to keep the conversation going. “Why’d you shut down the shop?”

“Ack! This—this robber came and—”

Craig took another sip of his coffee, still trying to shake off the weird tension in the air. He could feel Tweek’s nervousness from across the counter, but he didn’t have the patience to address it. He barely had the patience for the coffee in his hand, to be honest.

But then—

Snap.

His Spidey sense kicked in, sharp and sudden, like a light bulb turning on in the back of his mind. A criminal was nearby. Without even thinking, Craig’s body tensed, and he shoved the cup down onto the counter.

“Uh, I gotta go,” Craig muttered, cutting Tweek off before he could respond. He was already moving toward the door, his legs carrying him faster than his brain could process. He threw open the door and bolted down the street, not even bothering to look back to see if Tweek was giving him a funny look.

Craig’s feet hit the pavement as he sprinted, and he felt the city’s pulse quicken beneath him. A siren screamed in the distance, but it was the sudden rustling from a side alley that really caught his attention.

A couple of figures were moving in and out of sight—sketchy, darting around like they had something to hide. Craig’s spidey sense was practically screaming at him now. There was no mistaking it: trouble.

He was close. But he couldn’t go into full Spidey mode while wearing a random hoodie and jeans. He needed to get changed. Fast.

Without missing a beat, Craig veered into the nearest alley, keeping his head low. He quickly darted between dumpsters, his heart pounding in anticipation. This is stupid, he thought, but it was second nature by now. The city had seen Spider-Man do a lot of things, but never done by Craig Tucker.

As the alley grew darker, Craig glanced around to make sure no one was watching. He then pulled the hoodie over his head, yanked it off, and tossed it aside. He stripped off his jeans and changed into the makeshift costume he created a year back. His Spidey suit.

The motion was quick and practice had made it feel almost automatic—and within seconds, Craig was ready for action. The transformation was so swift he didn’t even need to check if anyone had spotted him.

Now in full costume, he felt the familiar surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He was Spider-Man again.

With a deep breath, Craig turned back toward the alley entrance and peeked around the corner. The rustling noises had stopped, but he could still feel it—the threat was nearby. His Spidey sense was practically buzzing, sharp and insistent.

He crouched low, surveying the area. Then he saw them. A couple of masked men, one with a crowbar in hand, trying to jimmy open the door of a run-down car. The other two appeared to be checking the trunk, looking like they had done this before.

Craig raised an eyebrow. A car robbery? Really?

He sighed, not exactly impressed. It wasn’t even a nice car. In fact, it looked like something you’d find in the junkyard.

“Hey!” Craig called out, his voice loud enough to draw their attention. He couldn’t resist. “A little more originality, huh? I mean, come on, everyone’s robbing a car in New York? Where’s the creativity? Everybody uses the subway anyways.”

The thieves froze, their heads snapping toward him. Craig dropped down from the rooftop above, landing lightly in front of them. The sight of him, fully suited up, clearly caught them off guard.

“Well, well,” Craig said, folding his arms, his tone dripping with disinterest. “What do we have here? A bunch of amateurs? How predictable.”

One of them fumbled for a knife, but Craig was already on top of him, webbing his hands to the car door. The guy yelped and tried to struggle, but Craig simply swung him into a nearby dumpster, sending a muffled thud echoing through the alley.

“Yeah, this is really lame,” Craig muttered with that nasal, monotone voice of his, watching the remaining two. “I don’t even have time for this.”

The second thief tried to run, but Craig shot out another web to his ankle, yanking him back with a grunt. The last one, now completely unarmed, was too slow to react before Craig was in his face, his hands already shooting more webs to pin him up against the wall.

“Honestly, guys, if you’re going to do something illegal, at least put a little effort into it,” Craig said, clearly bored. “Do you even know how to steal a decent car? This is embarrassing.”

With one last flick of his wrist, Craig webbed them all up and left them hanging in mid-air, dangling like fish in a net. He kicked the crowbar away and picked up the bag the thieves had left behind.

Stuffed with cash. Of course.

“Well, might as well leave this.” Craig said with a shrug, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He didn’t even bother with a dramatic exit. With a quick flick of his wrist, he shot a web to a nearby rooftop and swung away, feeling the familiar thrill of the city passing below him. Hopefully someone called the cops. But Craig didn’t really care enough to ask any pedestrians to check.

Craig was done with being Spider-Man and was about to swing away when he heard it—a voice—shouted from below.

“HEY! SPIDER-MAN!”

Craig froze mid-swing, hesitating before dropping onto a rooftop with a soft thud. He crouched low, scanning the street below. His Spidey sense was tingling again, but this time, it wasn’t a threat—just… curiosity.

He spotted him immediately. It was Tweek. Standing on the sidewalk, his eyes wide and his hands nervously tugging at the hem of his apron. Tweek looked… well, in awe.

Great. Of all the people to recognize him, it had to be the weird barista from Tweek Bros. Craig let out a long sigh and rubbed his temples under the mask.

This wasn’t exactly the kind of interaction he wanted to have after saving the city. But Tweek was still standing there, staring at him, with that hopeful look in his eyes.

Whatever, I guess, Craig thought. He swung down, landing smoothly in front of Tweek, causing the blonde to jump back slightly.

“Uh, hey! It’s you!” Tweek shouted, a little out of breath, clearly still on a high from the robbery he had witnessed just hours before. “I—uh, I mean… I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Like, you know, Spider-Man, in the flesh.”

Craig stood up straight, trying to look as casual as possible, even though he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with this. “Yeah, well… that’s me. Spider-Man. In the flesh.” He smirked under his mask, trying to shrug it off. “Guess I’m just making my rounds, saving the day and all that.”

Tweek’s eyes sparkled as he took another step forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “You—you really saved the day! Back there, when those guys tried to rob Tweek Bros., that was—” He stopped himself, realizing his words were coming out too fast. “I mean, that was awesome.”

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well… what can I say? It’s what I do.” He paused, then added, “But you were pretty brave, too. I saw you standing up to those guys. You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt.”

Tweek’s face flushed, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Oh, well, you know, just doing my part and all.” He looked at the ground, then back up at Craig, a little more shy now. “But seriously, I… I didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you again.”

Craig sighed, not exactly in the mood for a long conversation, but Tweek seemed so starstruck that he couldn’t really turn him down. “I’m not much for the whole ‘meet and greet’ thing, but hey… I guess if you’ve got questions, fire away.”

Tweek’s grin grew wider, his voice nearly cracking with excitement. “I do have questions! I mean, who wouldn’t want to talk to Spider-Man? You’re a legend, man!” He seemed like he was about to start rambling again, but Craig cut him off.

“Okay, one question, then I’m outta here.” Craig held up a hand. “Ask away.”

Tweek’s eyes went wide with possibility. “Oh, uh, sure! So… how did you get your powers? Was it like… a chemical reaction thingy or are you born with it?!”

Craig chuckled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Ouch. That memory was not a good one. Especially after his little sister… “Yeah, it was this whole ‘radioactive spider bite’ thing. But, you know, it’s a long story. Maybe another time, alright?”

Tweek nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, okay! But you’re really Spider-Man, like, the Spider-Man. That’s… that’s crazy! Do you have, like, a cool base or secret lair? Or… or what do you do when you’re not saving the day?”

Craig smirked behind his mask. “Secret lair? I wish. I mostly hang out on rooftops and do… whatever I feel like doing.” He gave a shrug, trying to brush off the question. “But hey, I’ve got stuff to do. I’ll catch you later.”

Tweek looked a little deflated but nodded enthusiastically, his eyes still gleaming. “Right, right! Of course! But, uh, next time you’re around, can we—like—talk more?”

Craig gave him a half-smile. “Maybe. Keep doing your thing, alright?” He gave Tweek a casual wave before webbing away, leaving the blonde standing there, watching him disappear into the skyline.

—

Great. Another fan.

After the brief encounter with Tweek, Craig swung back to his usual rooftop, staring out at the city below. He was trying to shake off the feeling of weirdness that had come from being treated like some kind of… idol.

But no matter how much he tried, there was something about Tweek’s words that stuck with him.

”You’re like, a legend.”

That was… a lot. Tweek was just a regular guy working in a coffee shop, but the way he spoke to Craig made him feel important. Almost famous—if he cared about that kind of thing.

He barely had time to think about it, though, before his phone buzzed in his pocket. Craig pulled it out, glancing at the message.

It was from his friend, Clyde. He was the only person familiar with his super-hero identity.

”Dude. What’s with that kid who was geeking out over you earlier? He works at that coffee shop, right? He's definitely got some kinda weird crush on Spider-Man”

Craig snorted, his stomach doing a little flip. Was that true? Did Tweek seriously have a crush on Spider-Man?

No way.

But as much as Craig tried to brush it off, the more he couldn’t stop thinking about it. That weird, fanboyish energy Tweek had. The way he practically glowed when talking about him.

Shut up, Craig, he thought, shaking his head. It’s not like that.

Still, there was something about Tweek’s gaze that unsettled him in the best possible way. Maybe it was the way Tweek had looked at him with those wide blue eyes, full of wonder. The way he’d made Craig feel like… well, like he was more than just some teenager with a mask.

Craig leaned back against the building, looking out over the city. There was a strange feeling in his chest now, and he couldn’t figure out if it was discomfort or something else.

Whatever, he told himself. It doesn’t matter.

But deep down, he couldn’t shake the idea. He steeled himself and made a promise he would never visit the coffee shop again.

We both know that was a lie.

Chapter Text

Tweek Tweak is not an ordinary person, and he’s painfully aware of it. He’s spent years grappling with his constant twitching, jittery behavior, and wild spirals of irrational thought. Most people who know him just chalk it up to Tweek being “quirky,” but Tweek knows better. It’s not quirky when your brain feels like it’s in a never-ending wrestling match with itself. Over time, he’s grown to live with these quirks—or at least survive them. He thinks his nerves are entirely justified, though, as he flutters around the coffee shop in a frenzy, disheveled and anxious from the onslaught of customers.

It’s Sunday morning, the tail end of rush hour, and while most would feel some relief at the slowdown, Tweek is hardly grateful. His shaking hands grip the register as he dutifully takes orders, every beep of the machine and hiss of the coffee machine feeling like a personal assault. The flurry of customers presses in, their chatter blending into a suffocating white noise. Tweek’s head buzzes, his thoughts racing faster than he can control.

What if I get an order wrong? What if someone yells at me? What if I spill the coffee all over myself—again?

He’s barely holding it together when, at last, the line dwindles. There’s only one customer left, standing at the counter with an air of infuriating calm. Tweek peers up at the taller boy and feels his chest tighten.

Oh no. It’s him again.

Craig Tucker. The worst customer in the world.

Tweek exhales shakily, glaring at Craig’s expressionless face. He’s convinced that Craig was sent here by the universe to test his already crumbling sanity. It’s not just that Craig refuses to make eye contact—it’s the way he doesn’t care. The dull, nasal voice. The deadpan delivery of every word. The completely half-assed, delayed “thank you” that sounds more like a chore than an act of courtesy. Tweek clenches his pale fingers around the edge of the counter, grounding himself with the pain.

“What can I get for you?” Tweek asks, his voice dripping with sugary sarcasm. He pairs it with a tight, fake smile that he hopes gets the message across. Of course, Craig doesn’t pick up on it. He never does.

Craig replies in that same monotone voice, rattling off his order like a robot reading from a script.

Tweek feels his eye twitch. Is it really that hard to sound like a human being? He scribbles the order down, glances at Craig’s name on the payment screen, and whirls around to prepare the drink. His hands tremble as he works the coffee machine, praying under his breath.

“Please, Star-Coffee-Gods, just let him grab his drink and leave. No weird conversations. No awkward moments. Please.”

He can feel Craig’s presence behind him, and it makes his skin crawl. Tweek glances over his shoulder, just in time to see Craig staring at him. Their eyes meet, and Tweek’s face goes red-hot.

Goddamn it. Why does he have to be so.. nice to look at?

Tweek hates admitting it, but Craig is ridiculously attractive. The olive-toned skin dotted with tasteful moles. The sharp jawline. The messy, perfectly imperfect black hair. Even his lumpy, slightly crooked nose somehow works for him, adding character to an otherwise annoyingly symmetrical face. Tweek swallows hard and forces himself to look away, willing his thoughts to behave.

When the drink is ready, Tweek slams it down on the counter with more force than necessary. “Craig!” he calls, his voice harsher than intended.

Craig takes the cup and nods, briefly locking eyes with Tweek again. There’s a flicker of something in Craig’s expression—maybe amusement?—but it’s gone before Tweek can process it.

“Thanks,” Craig mutters, his tone as disinterested as ever.

The door chimes as Craig leaves, and Tweek lets out a frustrated groan, stomping to the back room. “Butters!” he yells, his voice cracking under the weight of his spiraling emotions.

Butters, his ever-sunny best friend, looks up from the small table where he’s been organizing receipts. “What’s wrong now, Tweek?” he asks patiently.

“I just—don’t you hate that guy too?!” Tweek explodes, pacing in frantic circles. “The Craig one! He’s so rude! He doesn’t tip, he doesn’t make eye contact, and he always acts like being polite is work! AGH!”

Butters blinks, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “Oh, Craig? I dunno, he seems like a nice fella to me. Why’re you so mad at him?”

Tweek freezes mid-step, throwing his arms in the air. “What do you mean he’s nice?! He’s awful! He’s—he’s the worst customer in the history of customers! And he doesn’t even care!”

Butters hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Well, maybe he’s just shy or somethin’? Or maybe he’s havin’ a tough time. You never know what someone’s goin’ through.”

Tweek groans, collapsing into a chair and burying his face in his hands. “Please spare me the ‘look for the good in people’ talk. My parents give me enough of that crap already.”

Butters chuckles, sitting down across from him. “I’m serious, Tweek. What if he’s just awkward? Or what if he really can’t afford to tip? You’re always so quick to judge, but maybe you just need to give him a chance.”

“Give him a chance?!” Tweek screeches, his voice cracking again. “He’s literally the worst! Ughhh!”

Butters pats his shoulder sympathetically. “Tell ya what. Next time he comes in, try bein’ extra nice to him. Ask him how he’s doin’, smile a little more. See what happens.”

And so, Monday morning at 5 a.m., Tweek finds himself painstakingly greeting every customer with a fake smile and a forced, “Hello! How are you doing today?” It’s exhausting, but Butters’ words nag at him, and he figures he might as well give it a shot.

When Craig walks in, Tweek’s stomach twists into a familiar knot. He forces a bright, “Good morning, Craig! How are you today?”

Craig blinks, visibly startled. For a split second, his gaze flickers to Tweek’s, and there’s…a smile? No, it’s barely a smirk, but it’s something. “Uh, fine,” Craig says awkwardly.

It’s not much, but it’s enough to leave Tweek reeling. Over the next few days, he keeps up the act, greeting Craig with forced enthusiasm. Eventually, he gets a response that nearly makes him drop dead on the spot.

“Well, better because I saw you,” Craig says, his voice stilted but undeniably sincere.

Tweek’s jaw drops. His brain short-circuits. He barely manages to fumble through the rest of the order before bolting to the back room.

“He’s a serial killer!” Tweek shrieks, tugging at his hair as Butters rubs soothing circles on his back. “He’s gonna kidnap me and chop me into tiny pieces! I knew it! I knew he was a Ted Bundy wannabe! Oh man, I’m gonna end up on dateline!” He cries.

“Tweek, he’s not a serial killer,” Butters says gently. “He’s just awkward. That’s all.”

But Tweek doesn’t believe it. He starts avoiding Craig entirely, darting to the back room whenever Craig walks in. The idea of facing him again sends Tweek’s anxiety into overdrive.

It’s not just dislike anymore—it’s genuine fear. And no matter how much Butters tries to reassure him, Tweek is convinced that Craig Tucker is out to get him.

Craig Tucker doesn’t really like coffee. It’s not his thing. He orders the same drink every morning, barely sips it, and throws the rest away once it’s lukewarm. But despite this routine waste of money, he keeps showing up at Tweek Bros Coffeehouse every single day.

The reason? Tweek Tweak.

Craig doesn’t know what it is about him. Maybe it’s the way his chaotic energy seems to fill every inch of the room, or the wild mop of blonde hair that looks like it’s in a perpetual state of rebellion. Maybe it’s his sharp blue eyes that flicker like broken neon lights but somehow still seem to glow. Or maybe it’s just the way Tweek says, “Good morning, Craig!” like he actually means it.

That’s the part Craig doesn’t get. Tweek works in customer service, sure, but there’s no way those greetings are fake. There’s too much energy in his voice, too much warmth in the way he says Craig’s name. It’s not like Tweek goes out of his way for anyone else in the shop. Craig’s watched—discreetly, of course. Everyone else just gets a rushed “next!” or a mumbled “here’s your coffee.” But with Craig? It’s always different.

And it’s not just the greetings. Tweek always asks how Craig’s doing. Always hands him his drink with a faint smile that’s more endearing for how shy it is. It’s real, Craig’s sure of it. Because if it’s not, well… what’s the point?

Craig isn’t used to this kind of attention. Most people overlook him entirely, which is fine—he doesn’t like being the center of anything. But with Tweek, he feels seen. Not in some dramatic, romantic-comedy way, but in a quiet, meaningful way that leaves Craig wondering what it is about him that Tweek notices.

And that’s why, after weeks of mulling it over, Craig decides to finally say something back. He doesn’t just want to mumble “thanks” and shuffle out like he always does. Tweek deserves more than that. Craig figures he should at least try to be… friendly?

Easier said than done.

Craig spends days thinking about it, combing through Google searches for conversation starters. He knows he’s not good at this sort of thing—social stuff has always felt like walking through quicksand for him. But he stumbles on a suggestion in some random forum: “Say something complimentary, but not too intense.”

Eventually, Craig lands on a line: “Well, better because I saw you.” It’s short. Simple. Maybe even kind of smooth, if he delivers it right. He spends all weekend practicing in the mirror, trying to make it sound casual. By Monday morning, he feels… not confident, exactly, but prepared.

When Craig walks into the coffee shop that morning, his stomach is in knots. Tweek’s at the counter, his usual jittery self, but when he sees Craig, his whole face lights up.

“Good morning, Craig! How are you today?” Tweek asks, his voice bright and just a little too loud.

It’s genuine, Craig thinks. It has to be.

He swipes his card, waits for his drink, and tells himself to breathe. When Tweek slides the cup across the counter, Craig locks eyes with him and says it:

“Well,” he begins, his voice a bit too sharp, “better because I saw you.”

For a split second, Tweek just stares at him. Craig feels a flicker of hope—maybe he pulled it off. Maybe Tweek will smile and say something back, and this weird, awkward thing between them can finally shift into something… normal.

But that flicker dies quickly.

Tweek’s face flushes a deep, blotchy red, and his green eyes dart around the room like he’s searching for an escape route. His mouth opens and closes a few times, but no sound comes out.

“Uh. Uh. Uh.”

And then, just like that, Tweek bolts, disappearing into the back room without another word.

Craig freezes. His stomach sinks. The handful of other customers in the shop glance over, but Craig doesn’t care. He grabs his drink, leaves the shop, and spends the entire walk home replaying the moment in his head.

What the hell just happened?

By the time he collapses into his chair at home, Craig feels like a complete idiot. He stares at the ceiling, willing the memory to stop replaying itself on a loop. He thought Tweek would like it. He thought Tweek would get it. But clearly, he’d been wrong.

The thing that bothers Craig the most, though, is how much he cares. He barely knows Tweek. They’ve exchanged maybe ten words total. So why does this feel like such a punch to the gut?

Craig groans and rubs his face. “Why do I even care?” he mutters to no one.

But the answer is obvious. Tweek isn’t like anyone Craig’s ever met. There’s something magnetic about him, something in the way he manages to be a complete disaster and totally captivating at the same time. He’s… beautiful, in this weird, unpolished way, like a mess you want to keep looking at. And now, Craig’s ruined whatever fragile thing they had going.

He knows he should stop going to the coffee shop. Just cut his losses and move on. But the thought of not seeing Tweek—of not hearing his voice, not catching glimpses of that crooked smile—makes Craig’s chest ache.

So, for now, Craig tells himself he’ll try again. Not tomorrow. Not the day after that. But eventually.

He’s not good at this stuff, but maybe, if he keeps trying, he’ll figure out how to say the right thing.

Or at least how to not scare Tweek away.

Chapter Text

The thing is, Craig had no idea how many classes he shared with Tweek until recently. It was hard to ignore once he noticed—bright, jittery blue eyes seemed to bore into him at every turn, and it was messing with his focus. Science first period, gym third period, and history sixth period: three periods too many with a certain blonde who made his chest feel weird and his brain short-circuit. This, of course, has not been great for Craig’s sanity.

Craig loves science. It’s his favorite subject because it’s logical and reliable. There’s no guesswork or ambiguity—just facts. But lately, facts weren’t the only thing occupying his brain during science. No matter how hard he tried to focus on experiments and equations, Craig could feel Tweek’s eyes on him, a tingling heat pooling at the back of his neck. Was he imagining it? Did Tweek even realize he was doing it? It didn’t matter; Craig was overthinking so much that science, of all things, had turned into a nerve-wracking ordeal.

As bad as that was, gym was much worse. Due to their last names both starting with T, their lockers were right next to each other, separated only by one unlucky kid. Craig had to exert Herculean self-control to keep his eyes on his own stuff in the locker room. But the real trouble came during dodgeball. Somehow, they ended up on opposing teams, and Craig’s concentration went out the window. Every time he caught a glimpse of Tweek’s surprising muscle tone—or when Tweek’s ugly gray gym shirt rode up slightly to reveal a sliver of pale stomach—Craig lost track of the game entirely. This lapse in attention earned him a dodgeball straight to the face, courtesy of none other than Tweek.

The sight of Tweek rushing over, hands flailing and babbling frantic apologies, made Craig’s heart do something weird. The nurse’s office wasn’t exactly where Craig wanted to be, but having Tweek hovering over him made the whole bloody-nose thing bearable. He was left shaken, not by the ball, but by the realization that he actually liked the attention. Why did he care so much about this guy? It was terrifying.

Craig couldn’t stop thinking about Tweek. Ever since Clyde let it slip that Tweek had a crush on Spider-Man—Craig’s secret alter ego—things had gotten even worse. Not him, per se, just the guy in the mask. Somehow, that made it sting more. Craig couldn’t understand why his usual indifference didn’t work when it came to Tweek. Instead, he felt flustered and unsure, which was frustrating as hell. Not that he was about to admit any of this to anyone, especially not his friends.

Craig’s friend group was his safety net: Clyde Donovan, Tolkien Black, and Jimmy Valmer. The four of them always sat at the same corner table in the cafeteria, which was a good place to brood without too many interruptions. Clyde was Craig’s best friend and, unfortunately, a nosy one. He had discovered Craig’s Spider-Man identity by sheer persistence, following him after school one day. Now Clyde referred to himself as Craig’s “man in the chair,” though his version of support often veered into annoying territory. Still, Clyde was loyal and good for a laugh, so Craig put up with him.

Tolkien was the responsible one. Too responsible, if you asked Craig, though he appreciated having someone level-headed around. Tolkien’s advice was usually solid, even if he sometimes acted like a nagging mom. And then there was Jimmy, the group’s wildcard. Jimmy cracked jokes at the worst times, but his carefree attitude was oddly comforting. Craig didn’t trust him with serious topics, but for lighthearted distraction, Jimmy was unmatched.

As much as Craig liked hanging out with his friends, the cafeteria wasn’t exactly exciting today. Across the room, Tweek was sitting with the girls—an intimidating clique Craig preferred to avoid at all costs. Every time Craig accidentally locked eyes with Tweek, the blonde would jolt in his seat like Craig had just yelled at him, whipping his head around to stare at literally anything else. This happened multiple times, and Craig had no idea why. Was Tweek freaking out because Craig caught him staring? Or was Craig doing something weird? Either way, it made him hyper-aware of every move he made, which was not helping his already shredded nerves.

When the lunch bell rang, Craig grabbed his tray and left the cafeteria with his friends, walking a little slower than usual. As they passed through the hallway, Clyde babbled on about Bebe Stevens—his latest, hopeless crush—while Jimmy chimed in with poorly timed jokes. Craig wasn’t listening. His mind wandered back to Tweek as he approached his locker, where he froze in his tracks.

There, just down the hall, was Tweek. Wendy Testaburger, the student council president and all-around overachiever, had her arm looped around his. She was laughing at something he said, and Craig watched as Tweek gave her a shaky, nervous smile in return. Wendy. Wendy. Of all people. Craig felt a strange, tight sensation in his chest, like his heart had been put through a vice. He didn’t know what it was—annoyance? Resentment? It didn’t matter. All he knew was that the sight of Tweek and Wendy together made him want to be anywhere else.

Dragging his eyes away, Craig shoved his books into his locker and trudged off to math class, feeling the weight of something he couldn’t quite name pressing down on him. Whatever it was, he hated it.

In math, Clyde kept pestering Craig with questions, clearly sensing something was off.

“Dude, you’ve been weird all day. What’s up? Is it Spider-Man stuff? Or are you just brooding for the hell of it?” Clyde leaned over his desk, squinting at Craig like he could read his mind.

Craig glared at him. “I’m fine. Stop being annoying.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Clyde smirked, clearly unconvinced, but he thankfully let it drop.

Craig sighed, resting his chin in his hand as the teacher droned on about quadratic equations. He wasn’t sure what was happening to him, but he did know one thing: whatever this weird feeling was—this frustrating, unshakable thing—it had everything to do with Tweek Tweak. And it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

—

Craig stepped out of math class feeling drained, the day dragging on like a bad movie. Tweek had managed to slip out of his head for a solid twenty minutes, but as soon as he hit the hallway, the image of Wendy’s arm looped through Tweek’s came rushing back. Great. He shook it off, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket and heading to his locker. Whatever this weird emotion was, he was going to bury it under layers of indifference, where it belonged.

Clyde caught up to him, swinging his arm around Craig’s shoulders like a wannabe sitcom character. “Alright, Tucker, spill it. You’ve been sulking since lunch. Did you bomb the math quiz? Did Tolkien roast you again? Is this about that dodgeball incident?”

Craig shrugged him off, slamming his locker shut with a little more force than necessary. “I told you, I’m fine. I don’t sulk.”

“You absolutely sulk,” Clyde argued, leaning against the lockers and flashing his signature dumb grin. “Remember that time in fourth grade when Mrs. Lowry said you couldn’t take your guinea pig to the science fair? You didn’t talk to anyone for, like, three days.”

Craig shot him a flat look. “That was different. And I’m not sulking.”

“Sure, buddy,” Clyde said, clearly not buying it. Before Craig could snap back, Jimmy and Tolkien wandered over, joining their little group in the crowded hallway.

“Man, I can’t believe we still have a history test tomorrow,” Tolkien said, shaking his head. “I’ve barely had time to study. You guys ready for it?”

Craig shrugged. “I’ll cram tonight.”

“I’ve got a killer strategy for multiple choice!” Jimmy chimed in, grinning. “It’s called guess-and-stress.”

Clyde laughed, clapping Jimmy on the back. “That’s just called failing, dude.”

Craig barely heard them, already zoning out as they made their way outside. The school day was finally over, and his friends were insisting on “hanging out.” Normally, Craig would make up an excuse to go home and play video games or zone out, but today he figured some mindless banter might actually help. Anything to keep his brain from spiraling.

—

They ended up at Jimmy’s house, which was basically chaos central. His little sister was running around in princess pajamas, waving a wooden spoon like it was a sword, while Jimmy’s mom tried to wrangle her into the kitchen for dinner prep. Jimmy led the group to the basement, which doubled as a game room and a total disaster zone. Pizza boxes were stacked in one corner, and an ancient-looking foosball table sat in the middle of the room, missing a few handles.

“Alright, who’s ready to lose?” Jimmy said, grabbing a foosball handle and spinning it dramatically. “Craig? Clyde? Tolkien? Step up and face greatness.”

Tolkien sighed, sitting on the couch instead. “You guys go ahead. I’m not getting sucked into another one of Jimmy’s foosball deathmatches.”

Craig and Clyde exchanged a look before stepping up to the table. Jimmy immediately launched into commentary, narrating every spin like he was hosting the World Foosball Championship.

“And Tucker takes the shot—oh, but it’s blocked by Donovan! A shocking save from the underdog!” Jimmy crowed, spinning his players wildly as the ball ricocheted across the table.

“Dude, stop spinning them so much,” Clyde said, laughing as he tried to keep up. “That’s not even how you play!”

Craig smirked, focusing on the ball and lining up his shot. With a swift flick of the handle, he sent it flying into Jimmy’s goal.

“Boom. Goal,” Craig said, deadpan, while Jimmy let out an exaggerated groan of defeat.

“You’re cheating, Tucker,” Jimmy said, though he was clearly joking. “You’ve got some kinda reflexes or something.”

Clyde snorted, quickly cutting in to save Craig. “Right. Craig Tucker, professional foosball superhero.” Craig casts a thankful glance in his direction. He did not have a good excuse for the reflexes and strength his powers gave him yet.

Craig rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the tiny smirk tugging at his lips. It was dumb, but for the first time all day, he actually felt kind of relaxed.

After a few more rounds of foosball, they migrated to the couch, where Clyde insisted on watching some over-the-top action movie he’d rented. Craig leaned back in his seat, half-watching as the explosions and cheesy one-liners filled the screen.

“I’m telling you, this is a classic,” Clyde said, shoveling popcorn into his mouth. “You can’t go wrong with ‘Mutant Commando Squad.’”

“It’s literally the worst movie I’ve ever seen,” Tolkien replied, though he didn’t seem too bothered by it.

Jimmy chuckled. “Worst movie? Please. You clearly haven’t seen ‘Alien Zombie Cheerleaders.’ Now that’s a masterpiece.”

Craig stayed quiet, letting their chatter wash over him. Normally, he’d roll his eyes at their dumb arguments, but today he was just… glad to be here. Glad to have something to focus on other than his own tangled thoughts.

As the movie dragged on, Clyde and Jimmy got louder, reenacting the action scenes with overly dramatic sound effects. Tolkien tried to shush them, but it was no use. Craig, for his part, stayed out of it, content to watch the chaos unfold.

By the time the credits rolled, Jimmy had somehow ended up on the floor, Clyde was half-asleep, and Tolkien was scrolling through his phone, muttering something about “wasting two hours of his life.”

“Well,” Craig said, standing up and stretching. “That was… something.”

“Admit it, you loved it,” Clyde said, grinning through a yawn.

Craig shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

—

It wasn’t until later that night, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, that Craig’s mind started to drift back to Tweek. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of those wide blue eyes darting toward him across the lunchroom. Or the way his heart had clenched when he saw Wendy hanging onto Tweek’s arm.

He sighed, rolling onto his side and burying his face in his pillow. His friends had managed to distract him for a while, but now he was back to square one, stuck with the same frustrating, unshakable thoughts.

What was it about Tweek that made him feel so… off-balance? Craig didn’t know. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. This whole situation had Craig restless, and he eventually opted to go out and stargaze on the roof of his apartment building to clear his worries.

Craig shut his bedroom door before changing, the muffled hum of the apartment around him falling to silence. He reached for the corner of his desk, where a heap of clothes and supplies was piled in a barely organized mess. There it was—his “Spider-Man” suit. If anyone ever found out about this, they’d either laugh him out of the city or call him insane. Maybe both.

He pulled off his hoodie and kicked it into the corner before lifting the makeshift costume from the pile. It wasn’t exactly cutting-edge superhero tech, and he really wanted a new costume, but it’d have to do for now.

Craig slipped the suit on piece by piece, the fabric snug against his skin. He pulled on the gloves last, flexing his fingers as he checked for rips or tears. Satisfied, he grabbed the mask and tugged it over his head, adjusting the eye holes so he could see clearly. In the mirror, his reflection stared back—amateurish, scrappy, a far cry from the polished hero you’d see in movies.

He cracked open his bedroom window, glancing out at the alley below. The cool night air brushed against his face as he climbed onto the ledge, his fingers gripping the frame for balance. One deep breath, and he leapt.

The first swing of his homemade web-shooter was exhilarating, the line sticking to the brick wall of the neighboring building with a satisfying snap. He swung forward, his momentum carrying him higher as he scaled the apartment complex. The city stretched out beneath him, a patchwork of glowing streetlights and shadowed alleys.

Reaching the rooftop, Craig pulled himself over the edge and sat down heavily, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His legs dangled off the side of the building as he leaned back, gazing up at the night sky. The stars were faint against the haze of city lights, but they were there—pinpricks of brightness scattered across the dark canvas above.

This was his favorite part of being Spider-Man. The quiet moments, when the world seemed to pause, and it was just him and the stars. No Clyde making dumb jokes, no Tweek invading his thoughts, no responsibilities pulling him in a million directions. Up here, he felt untouchable. Free.

For a while, he just sat there, his mind drifting aimlessly as the city hummed below him. He almost let himself relax—almost. But then it happened.

A sharp, electric buzz shot through his skull, the familiar tingle of his spider-sense snapping him out of his reverie. Craig groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat up straighter.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t even have one quiet night.”

He stood, stretching out his arms before firing another web line and swinging down the side of the building. His spider-sense tugged him in the direction of a nearby club, the pulsing bass of the music growing louder as he approached.

When he landed in the alley beside the club, he saw them—three men, drunk and laughing, their attention fixed on a woman standing near the back entrance. She was trying to brush them off, her body language tense and defensive, but they weren’t taking the hint. One of them grabbed her arm, and that was all Craig needed to see.

“Hey!” Craig’s voice rang out, muffled slightly by the mask. The men turned toward him, their laughter fading as they took in the sight of the costumed figure standing a few feet away.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” one of them sneered, stepping forward.

Craig crossed his arms, tilting his head. “The guy who’s gonna make you regret that question. Let her go.”

The men exchanged glances, then laughed. The leader—the one who had spoken—let go of the woman’s arm, but not to back down. He cracked his knuckles, grinning as he sized Craig up. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

The fight started fast and chaotic. Craig darted forward, aiming a punch at the leader’s gut. The man staggered back, but his two friends were on Craig in an instant. One grabbed his arm, twisting it painfully, while the other swung a fist at his side. Craig gritted his teeth, using his free hand to fire a web at the second man’s face, blinding him temporarily.

For a moment, it looked like Craig might have the upper hand. He ducked and weaved, using his agility to stay one step ahead of their attacks. But then the leader caught him off guard, slamming a fist into his ribs and sending him sprawling onto the pavement.

Pain flared through Craig’s side as he scrambled to his feet, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. He managed to trip one of the men with a well-aimed kick, but the other two were relentless. They landed blow after blow, and Craig could feel himself slowing down, his reflexes dulled by exhaustion and pain.

Finally, with one last burst of energy, Craig fired a web at the leader’s legs, yanking him off balance. He spun, delivering a roundhouse kick that sent the second man crashing into the alley wall. The third man hesitated, then bolted, leaving his friends groaning on the ground.

Craig staggered backward, clutching his side as he tried to catch his breath. Blood dripped from a cut above his eyebrow, and his whole body ached from the beating. But he’d done it. He’d won.

The woman had already disappeared, likely taking the chance to escape while Craig kept the men occupied. He hoped she was safe. That was what mattered.

Craig limped out of the alley, his vision swimming as he made his way down the street. His spider-sense wasn’t buzzing anymore, but the adrenaline was wearing off fast, leaving him dizzy and unsteady. He needed help.

As he rounded the corner, a familiar neon sign caught his eye—Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse. Craig blinked, his steps faltering as he approached the shop. The lights inside were dim, the chairs stacked on the tables, but it was the only place he could think to go.

He reached the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. Frowning, he knocked weakly on the glass, his hand trembling. The “CLOSED” sign stared back at him, but Craig barely registered it. His legs felt like jelly, and his head was pounding.
“Tweek,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “Hey… Tweek…”

He knocked again, his movements slow and uncoordinated. Blood smeared the glass where his hand had rested, and his vision blurred further. As the darkness crept in at the edges of his sight, Craig leaned heavily against the door, his body threatening to give out.

“Tweek…” he whispered one last time before his knees buckled, and he sank to the ground.

Chapter Text

Craig is fading in and out of consciousness, but even through the fog clouding his brain, he registers a familiar freaked-out blonde frantically exiting the coffee shop.

“Hey—sorry, we’re closed… Oh, ack! Oh— fuck! Dude!” Tweek exclaims, his eyes wide with panic as he throws himself onto the ground beside Craig, twitching and making spastic noises. His frantic movements blur in Craig’s vision, and he barely processes Tweek tugging him upright from his dazed, bleeding-out seat against the wall.

“Tweek,” Craig mumbles weakly, the sound barely escaping his lips. He thinks he sees Tweek’s expression soften for just a second, but it’s quickly replaced by a frantic determination as the blonde starts examining him.

Craig vaguely realizes he hasn’t changed out of his suit, though his shirt is so thoroughly soaked in blood it’s unrecognizable. He releases a relieved sigh despite himself—Tweek doesn’t seem to have noticed the telltale signs of his other life just yet.

“Stay awake, man, okay? Ngh—I’ve got you.” Tweek’s voice is laced with panic, but his actions are purposeful. Like Tweek.. cares about him? Craig watches, dazed, as Tweek locks the coffee shop door and hooks an arm around him, struggling to drag him toward the staircase in the back.

Craig stumbles up each step, feeling oddly detached as Tweek half-carries him to a small apartment above the shop. The door swings open, and within moments Craig finds himself deposited into a kitchen chair. The sudden loss of Tweek’s touch as he pulls away leaves Craig feeling inexplicably empty.

“Don’t move,” Tweek orders, scurrying into another room. He returns a moment later with a large first aid kit clutched to his chest. His hands shake as he rifles through the contents, muttering something about gauze and antiseptic.

“This is gonna sting,” Tweek warns. Craig doesn’t really process it until a damp washcloth dabs at a particularly nasty wound on his side.

“Shit!” Craig hisses through clenched teeth, instinctively clutching at his ribs.

“Ngh! Hold still!” Tweek growls, batting Craig’s hand away. His fingers brush against Craig’s skin in the process, leaving a trail of warmth that lingers even after his hand is gone.

Craig complies begrudgingly, watching as Tweek works with careful precision. It’s weird seeing him like this, so focused and serious. The usual jittery nervousness is still there, bubbling under the surface, but there’s a calm determination in Tweek’s movements. He’s diligent when cleaning up Craig.

As Tweek works, Craig’s gaze drifts. His eyes trace the lines of Tweek’s face—the furrowed brow, the sharp angle of his jaw, the way his hair catches the dim light. He looks different up close, more grown-up than Craig remembers. There’s an intensity in his expression that’s almost mesmerizing.

“Why’re —nghhh— you staring at me like that?” Tweek snaps suddenly, not looking up from the bandage he’s securing around Craig’s arm.

Craig blinks, caught off guard. “I wasn’t staring.”

Tweek snorts. “You so were.”

Craig doesn’t have a comeback for that, so he looks away, his cheeks heating in spite of himself.

By the time Tweek finishes cleaning and bandaging every wound, Craig feels lighter. Or maybe it’s just the lack of blood in his system. Either way, when Tweek thrusts a towel and a bundle of clothes into his hands, Craig only blinks at him.

“Shower, nghh! Now!” Tweek says firmly. “You’re not ACK! bleeding on my furniture.”

Craig doesn’t argue, too tired to fight him on it. In the bathroom, he peels away the rest of his ruined suit and steps under the hot spray of water. It stings like hell, but it feels good too, washing away the grime and blood.

He lingers in the shower longer than he needs to, his mind drifting back to Tweek. The way he’d looked at Craig earlier—wide-eyed and panicked, but still so gentle—lingers in his thoughts. Craig can’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that, like he mattered.

When he emerges, wrapped in Tweek’s spare clothes, he notices that the sweatpants end short, and the shirt rides up when he moves. It’s oddly endearing. Tweek’s scent lingers faintly on the fabric, and Craig finds himself not minding the tight fit. Which is weird, because Craig loves to complain about stuff.

He pauses at the bathroom door, his mind replaying a moment he’s definitely not proud of: when Tweek had cupped his cheek gently earlier, checking for injuries. For one horrifying second, Craig had thought Tweek was leaning in to kiss him.

Craig’s stomach flips at the memory. He’d caught himself staring into Tweek’s wide, impossibly blue eyes and had actually thought, beautiful. He doesn’t know why he wasn’t opposed to it.

Craig groans softly, dragging a hand down his face. Get a grip. That’s pretty gay. And you’re not gay. Obviously.

Shaking off the thought, he cautiously peeks out of the bathroom. Tweek is sitting on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, watching him with wide, expectant eyes.

“So,” Craig begins, breaking the silence.

The word sets Tweek off.

“ACK! Why the FUCK were you bleeding out on the Tweak Bros. Coffeehouse doorstep?!”

Craig fiddles with a bandage on his hand, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish. “I… don’t know, man. It just kind of happened.”

Tweek flips him off, and Craig’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. That was his thing.

“That’s my thing,” Craig vocalizes dryly. Why was Tweek picking up on his behaviors?

Tweek turns bright red, his blush stark against his pale skin. He looks away, muttering, “Sh-shut up, Craig. You’re avoiding the question.”

Craig debates his options. He can’t just blurt out the truth, not yet. “Uh… some lady was being harassed. Three guys wouldn’t leave her alone. I told them to back off, but they jumped me. Spider-Man showed up and finished them off.”

Tweek’s eyes light up, and he leans forward eagerly, completely disregarding Craig’s heroic act. “Spider-Man?! Oh man, Spider-Man saved me once too! He’s so cool! Ngh, I’d gladly get jumped if it meant seeing him again!”

Craig raises an eyebrow, surprised at Tweek’s enthusiasm. He probably shouldn’t be, though. Craig knows how obsessed this kid is. Of course, he isn’t supposed to know that. “You seem really obsessed with this Spider-Man guy. You gay for him or something?”

Tweek freezes. His face goes pink, and Craig stares at him, realization dawning. So Clyde wasn’t lying. “Holy shit. You really are gay for him.”

“Okay! End of discussion!” Tweek yells, jumping to his feet. “Let’s talk about something else. Do you want coffee?”

Craig sort of laughs, but it ends up sounding kind of like a grumble. Craig isn’t good at looking happy. “Sure.”

“What kind?”

“There’s more than one kind?” Craig asks, his deadpan delivery getting a rise out of Tweek.

Tweek glares, though it’s half-hearted. “Don’t start with me, Craig ‘I don’t know anything about coffee’ Tucker.”

While Tweek busies himself with the coffee machine, Craig spots a cup with a small furry animal printed on it.

“Is that a guinea pig?”

“No. Good guess, though,” Tweek replies, smirking.

Craig’s eyes light up. “Too bad. I love guinea pigs. Wanna see pictures of my guinea pig, Stripe?”

Tweek doesn’t have time to answer before Craig is standing beside him, scrolling through his phone. Each photo earns a quiet chuckle from Tweek, who leans closer, their shoulders brushing.

“They’re happiest in pairs, but my parents won’t let me get another until my grades get better,” Craig says. “Oh shit, speaking of grades, I forgot! We have a history test tomorrow. I haven’t studied at all!”

Tweek blinks, then grins. “I can help you study.”

“Uh, we don’t have the material here.”

“We don’t need it. I have it all memorized, it’s my favorite subject.”

Craig stares at him. “Who memorizes history? That’s the most boring subject ever. It’s like.. not bad, it’s just not good. So.. basic.”

Tweek rolls his eyes, shoving Craig with his hip. “Is not! Studying history helps me avoid repeating mistakes others have made in the past! Eases my anxiety.” Craig rolls his eyes, and the two move to his room to begin studying.

They study late into the night, and both Craig and Tweek begin to drift off, the day’s events particularly exhausting.

The sound of the front door jolts them both awake.

“My parents!” Tweek suddenly shrieks, “They’ll kill me if they see you, Man!” Tweek hisses, shoving Craig toward the fire escape outside his window.

Craig hesitates at the window, glancing back. Tweek looks frazzled, yet strangely beautiful under the dim light.

“Thanks, man,” Craig says, softly. Which is unusual.

Tweek doesn’t respond, just gives him a shy, fleeting smile before shooing him out. Craig barely fits through the window, but he manages.

Craig arrives home, battered but oddly… lighter. As he collapses into bed, his thoughts drift to Tweek. For the first time in a long while, Craig feels something unfamiliar: a longing he can’t quite place. For the first time in years, his dreams aren’t plagued by nightmares—they’re filled with blue eyes and a warmth he can’t quite name.

The first bell rings. Craig slouches into first period, doing his usual routine of picking a seat at the back corner where he can quietly ignore most of class. He doesn’t even bother pulling out his notebook right away; Garrison’s lectures don’t deserve the dignity of notes.

Still, it’s hard to ignore the one person he notices.

Tweek Tweak, vibrating in his chair near the window, scrawls nervously in his notebook like the ghost of a quiz looms in the air. His hand darts in quick, frantic motions, and Craig thinks, How does he still have pencil lead left with the way he presses so hard?

Craig isn’t looking on purpose. He just… notices stuff sometimes. That’s normal, right?

But his eyes keep drifting back. Tweek’s knee is bouncing under his desk, like it always is, and Craig finds himself counting the rhythm: one-two-one-two. He feels himself zoning out, focused on the way Tweek’s hair catches in the sunlight streaking through the blinds. It’s soft-looking for someone who lives on coffee and chaos.

Craig blinks and yanks his gaze away. His pulse kicks up, and he curses under his breath.

You’re staring like a weirdo. Stop.

By the time class ends, Craig has absorbed exactly none of the material but could write a whole essay on the weird way Tweek’s pencil tapping syncs with his nervous muttering. He grabs his bag and bolts for the hallway before he can catch himself looking again.

By lunch, Craig has convinced himself no one’s noticed his odd behavior.

He’s wrong.

Craig sits with Token and Clyde, like always, but the conversation feels distant—muted, like he’s hearing it through water. Clyde’s rambling about some girl he has a crush on, and Token’s pretending to care, but Craig can’t focus. He’s too aware of the table across the room.

Tolkien eventually picks up on Craig’s ogling of the girls table— except he’s not staring at one of the girls there, he’s staring at Tweek. He isn’t sure why he is.

Tolkien catches on first. “Hey,” he says, nudging Craig with his elbow. “What’s up with you? You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m fine,” Craig mutters, stabbing at his fries with unnecessary force.

“Yeah, okay,” Token says, not buying it for a second. “You’ve barely said anything. And you keep looking over there.” He nods toward Tweek’s table, and Craig feels his stomach drop.

“I’m not looking anywhere,” Craig replies, his voice sharper than he intended.

Clyde, ever the master of tact, leans in with a grin. “Ohhh, I see what’s going on. You’re staring at Wendy. Dude, just ask her out. She’s single now, right?”

Craig groans, his grip tightening on his fork. “I’m not,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Uh-huh.” Clyde smirks. “So you just happen to stare at her table? Right next to where she’s sitting? Makes total sense.”

Craig glares at him. “Drop it.”

Clyde shrugs, but the knowing look doesn’t leave his face. Tolkien picks up on the conversation and glances at Craig knowingly.

“Dude,” Tolkien says as Craig spears a limp fry. “What’s going on with you today?”

Craig shrugs, hoping the question will pass. It doesn’t. Tolkien keeps staring at him with that eyebrow-arched, know-it-all expression that makes Craig wish he’d sat somewhere else.

“You’ve been out of it all day,” Tolkien presses. “Is it about Tweek? Is that who you’re staring at?”

Craig nearly chokes on his soda. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Tolkien rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man. You’ve been weird lately and you’re constantly staring at him. Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened,” Craig lies, even though his stomach twists at the memory of last night, and their many other unfortunate interactions.

“Okay,” Token says, his tone dripping with disbelief. “Whatever you say. But if you’re into him or whatever, you should just—”

“I’m not gay.” Craig snaps, interrupting.

Token smirks. “Right.”

Craig stabs his fry again, wishing the lunch period would end already.

After lunch, Craig heads to history, praying to any deity that might exist for a boring, uneventful class.

Instead, he gets seated next to Tweek.

It’s not his fault. Someone took Craig’s usual desk, and the only open spot is the one to Tweek’s left. Craig sits down stiffly, pretending not to notice the way Tweek glances at him, his hands twitching nervously around his notebook.

“Hey,” Tweek mutters, barely audible.

Craig nods, hoping it looks casual and not like his pulse just doubled. “Hey.”

Garrison starts passing out tests, but Craig can’t focus. Tweek keeps fidgeting beside him, the edge of his sleeve brushing against Craig’s arm every time he adjusts his posture. It shouldn’t matter. It’s just a stupid little thing. But Craig feels like every nerve in his body is tuned to that tiny, fleeting contact.

At one point, Tweek drops his pencil, and they both reach for it at the same time. Their hands bump, and Craig pulls back like he’s been burned.

“Sorry,” Tweek says quickly, his voice high and jittery.

“It’s fine,” Craig says, a little too fast. He looks away, trying to focus on the whiteboard, but he’s suddenly, uncomfortably aware of how close they’re sitting.

After history, Craig bolts for the hallway, desperate to shake off the strange energy that’s been following him all day. He rounds a corner and—of course—nearly crashes straight into Tweek.

“Whoa,” Tweek yelps, stumbling back a step. His hand brushes Craig’s arm as he steadies himself, and Craig freezes.

“Sorry,” Craig mutters, stepping back.

“It’s fine,” Tweek says quickly, though his voice is tight and uncertain. His eyes dart to Craig’s face for a split second before looking away, his hand already fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

For a moment, neither of them moves. The hallway noise seems to fade, the crowd around them blurring into a meaningless backdrop. Craig doesn’t know why he feels so… off-balance, like he’s standing on a tightrope.

Then Cartman barrels past, shoving Craig in the shoulder, Kyle, Stan, and Kenny in tow. “Move it, Tucker.” Cartman spits.

Craig glares after him, muttering, “Assholes,” under his breath. Craig hates those guys.

Tweek laughs nervously, the sound light and jittery. “Yeah. Um… I should go with uh, with them. They’re my friends.” Craig cringes. What? Friends with those assholes?

“Yeah,” Craig says, stepping aside to let him pass. But his eyes follow Tweek as he walks away with the group, lingering on the way his hair bounces with every hurried step.

Craig doesn’t realize he’s still standing there until Jimmy and Tolkien appear behind him,

“Smooth,” Jimmy says, his tone dry as sandpaper.

Craig glares at him. “Shut up.”

That night, Craig lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He tells himself he’s just tired, just stressed, but the truth is harder to ignore.

Tweek keeps creeping into his thoughts, uninvited. The way he fidgets with his shirt sleeves, the way his hair sticks out in impossible directions, the way his hand had brushed Craig’s in history… it’s all stuck on a loop in Craig’s mind, replaying itself over and over.

He groans, dragging a hand over his face. “This is so dumb.”

But even as he says it, he knows he won’t stop thinking about it anytime soon.

Tweek has had enough. By the time the final bell rings, he’s a nervous wreck, and there’s only one person he trusts to help him figure out what’s going on— his best friend.

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” he says as he and Wendy walk toward the parking lot. “Craig’s been… weird.”

“Weird how?” Wendy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“He keeps—ack—looking at me,” Tweek says, his hands flailing for emphasis. “Like, all day! And not just today because I patched him up or whatever. It’s been happening for weeks! What does it mean? Why would he do that?”

Wendy smirks. “Maybe he likes you.”

“What? No! That’s—ack—that’s ridiculous. Craig doesn’t like anyone, and he’s not gay! ‘M the only gay kid at this school!”

“Maybe he doesn’t hate you, then,” Wendy says casually.

Tweek stops walking, his stomach flipping. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wendy shrugs. “It means maybe you should stop overthinking and just talk to him. He probably wants to be your friend, especially after last night.”

Tweek groans, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t just—ack—talk to him. What if he’s—what if he’s just messing with me?”

Wendy smiles softly, looping her arm through his. “Tweek, you’re a lot of things, but you’re not invisible. Maybe Craig’s just starting to see that.”

Tweek doesn’t know what to say to that. As they walk to Wendy’s car, his mind races, filled with more questions than answers.

Chapter Text

Craig was sweating an embarrassing amount, especially considering they were only doing warmups. His shirt clung to his back, and his face felt sticky and damp as he ran laps around the orange cones, ducking his head to avoid eye contact with anyone. Grinding his teeth, he tried to suppress the overwhelming urge to flip off the teacher, who barked orders like a drill sergeant. Just one more lap, Craig told himself, though he wasn’t fooling anyone. He wasn’t drenched from exertion—well, not entirely. The real reason for his flushed cheeks and dripping sweat was the boy running just a few paces behind him: Tweek Tweak.

For some inexplicable reason, Craig had been pushing himself harder in school ever since his.. run in with Tweek. Particularly in P.E. It was a phenomenon Tolkien noticed almost immediately. After class one day, Tolkien cornered Craig by the lockers.

“Dude, you’re killing yourself in P.E. What gives?”

Craig scowled and crossed his arms. “I just feel like it,” he muttered.

“Bullshit,” Tolkien replied, raising an eyebrow.

Craig rolled his eyes and stormed off before Tolkien could keep prying. Any mention of Tweek—whether it was about the boy’s twitchy behavior or his odd interactions with him recently, was always enough to make Craig’s breathing pick up uncomfortably. He didn’t want to think about why.

The teacher’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Another lap! Let’s go!”

A collective groan rose from the students. Craig inhaled sharply, squinting in irritation as he steeled himself to maintain his sprinting pace. While the rest of the class jogged at a steady, manageable speed, Craig practically launched himself forward, his legs pounding the track with the force of a freight train. His chest burned, his breath came in shallow gasps, and his shirt clung to him like a second skin.

As he rounded the next cone, he couldn’t help but steal a glance at Tweek. The boy was running at a reasonable pace with everyone else. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Craig immediately regretted it. His lungs tightened as though they’d been crushed in a vice, and he sputtered and coughed, his oxygen stripped from him. He whipped his head forward, trying to shake off the sensation, but it was no use, as he continued to drag in heavy breaths of air.

When the lap ended, Craig doubled over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air like he’d just climbed a mountain. He ignored the amused look Jimmy was giving him from the sidelines.

“Shut the fuck up, you cripple!” Craig barked, glaring at his friend. “It’s not fair you don’t have to do P.E.!”

Jimmy, unphased, smirked. “How am I supposed to do it with my crutches?” He queries with mock offensive. “Honestly, watching you nearly die out there is better than watching TV, Craig. Keep it up!”

Before Craig could respond, Tolkien rounded the corner, his arms crossed as he approached. The look he gave Craig was smug, bordering on irritating.

“Don’t start,” Craig said, flipping his friend off for good measure.

Tolkien only shrugged, clearly not buying Craig’s nonchalant attitude. Meanwhile, Clyde struggled across the finish line, his face bright red and his chest heaving. He was on the heavier side, and subsequently, had a hard time in P.E.

“Man, running is a bitch,” Clyde wheezed, leaning forward to catch his breath.

Jimmy, ever the opportunist, chimed in with a perfectly timed quip that sent their group into a fit of laughter. “Clyde, I’d offer to switch places with you, but I’m afraid I’d outrun your excuses.” Even stoic Craig Tucker let out a quiet snort before straightening up and brushing off his damp shirt.

“Alright everyone, listen up!” their teacher barked, his voice booming across the field and instantly drawing the attention of the four boys who had been half-heartedly stretching in the grass. “We’re splitting into groups of four for today’s relay races! Put your fastest runners in the front and back of the group. Let me repeat—”

The teacher’s voice faded into the background for Craig, who was already feeling his stomach knot in dread. He barely registered the rest of the instructions because Tolkien, his supposed best friend, was grinning like a Cheshire cat and staring him down.

Craig knew that look. He hated that look.

“Well, fuck!” Clyde whined, immediately confirming Craig’s worst suspicions. “Jimmy can’t run, so we’re already a man short! We need to find someone else who hasn’t paired up yet.”

Craig opened his mouth to shut Clyde up or at least hurl an insult to keep things from spiraling further. But before he could get a word out, Tolkien clapped a hand on Clyde’s shoulder, all too calm.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got someone in mind,” Tolkien said, his voice so cool and calculated that Craig’s blood ran cold. He could already see where this was going.

Tolkien turned, locking eyes with Craig, whose expression twisted into one of pure horror. “No. Stop,” Craig growled, his voice dropping an octave. Unfortunately, Tolkien also happened to be one of the only people Craig shared things with. This included the recent incident that involved him being patched up by Tweek.

But Tolkien ignored him, strolling across the field with purpose. Recently, the boy had suspicions about Craig and Tweek. He wasn’t sure, though. Making those sort of assumptions about people could end badly, so he decided he would try and get them to be friends, just to see.

“Tolkien, you black asshole!” Craig yelled, stomping forward to stop him, but Tolkien was already out of reach. “Get back here!”

It was too late. Craig’s stomach sank as Tolkien approached a certain twitchy blonde boy standing near the edge of the field. Tweek Tweak, jittering like a live wire, looked up in confusion as Tolkien gestured toward their team. Craig could see it happening in slow motion—the moment Tweek nodded, the wheels of his worst nightmare officially set in motion.

Within minutes, the four boys sat cross-legged in a circle on the grass, an awkward silence settling over them like a suffocating blanket. Tweek was visibly trembling, his knees bouncing uncontrollably as his eyes darted everywhere but Craig. Craig wanted to blame the caffeine, but he knew better. Tweek looked like a cornered animal, and it was Tolkien’s fault. The two hadn’t exactly spoken properly since that night, and it was extremely awkward between them.

“So… want to play concentration while we wait?” Clyde offered cheerfully, trying to break the tension.

Craig rolled his eyes, his tone dripping with disdain. “No way, dude. That game is gay.”

The words left his mouth automatically, an instinctive retort he’d used a million times before. But the second they hung in the air, Craig noticed the way Tweek flinched. The boy hunched in on himself, staring down at the grass as if he wanted to disappear. Tolkien sharply glares at him.

Oh.

Craig’s heart twisted in a way that felt alien and uncomfortable. His gaze darted back to Tweek, who was shrinking further into himself with each passing second. It was one thing to tease Clyde or throw barbs at Tolkien—those guys could take it. But Tweek? He looked like he’d just been kicked in the ribs. It didn’t help the boy was also the only openly gay kid at their school.

“Er… I mean, nothing against gay people,” Craig stammered, his usual monotone cracking just slightly. “Sorry. Just, I’m not playing that game.”

The apology felt clumsy and awkward, but it was out there. Craig’s friends stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

Tolkien raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Since when do you care if you hurt someone’s feelings?”

Clyde nodded slowly, his expression equal parts confusion and intrigue. “Yeah, dude. You never apologize. Like, ever.”

Craig’s cheeks burned under their scrutiny. “Shut up,” he muttered, crossing his arms and scowling at the ground. He was not about to explain himself.

Tweek shifted, glancing up briefly before returning his gaze to the ground. “It’s fine,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Craig’s scowl deepened. He didn’t know why, but hearing Tweek brush it off so easily made him feel even worse.

“Anyway,” Tolkien said, smoothly steering the conversation back on track, “let’s figure out our running order. I’m taking the middle leg since I’m consistent. Craig, you’re up first.”

Craig groaned. “Why me?”

“Because you’re fast, and Clyde’s… well, Clyde.” Tolkien replied, gesturing to their friend, who was sprawled on the grass and picking at his shoelace.

“Hey!” Clyde protested. “I’m saving my energy for the actual race, thank you very much.”

“And Tweek?” Tolkien continued, ignoring Clyde’s outburst.

Tweek’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “W-what?”

“You’ll take the anchor leg,” Tolkien said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Tweek looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “I—I can’t do that! No way, man! I’ll screw it up! I’m not fast—I’m not even average!”

Craig watched as Tweek spiraled into a full-blown panic, his hands flailing as he tugged at his hair. He sighed, exasperated. “You’ll be fine, Tweek. Just run, okay? It’s not that deep. We don’t even need to get a good score. It’s just participation points.”

Tweek froze, staring at Craig like he’d just sprouted wings. “O-okay…” he said, his voice small but steady enough.

For a brief moment, Craig felt a flicker of something—relief(?)—that Tweek had calmed down. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, since his emotion was quickly replaced by dread as the teacher called for the teams to line up.

“Alright, guys! First runners, get ready!”

Craig took his place at the starting line, shaking out his arms and legs. He could feel Tweek’s eyes on him from the sidelines, and it was making his skin crawl. Why did that stupid blonde always have to be so… noticeable? Craig clenched his fists, determined to focus on the race and not on the boy who was watching him like he was the only person on the field. Normally he wouldn’t care so much about school, and especially not a dumb race. But now, he felt obligated to show off with Tweek staring at him unabashedly.

The whistle blew, and Craig took off like a bullet. His feet pounded the track as he pushed himself to maintain his lead, his lungs burning with every breath. He could hear the cheers and shouts from the sidelines, but they all blurred together. All he could think about was passing the baton to Tolkien and collapsing into the grass. Running wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Not with his powers, anyway. Why did he feel like he was.. dying?

When he finally handed off the baton, Craig stumbled to the edge of the field, sitting down smoothly. He looked up just in time to see Tolkien sprinting down the track, smooth and efficient. Behind him, Tweek was pacing nervously, his hands twitching as he muttered under his breath.

Craig flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky. “This is the worst day of my life,” he muttered to himself, wanting this day to end already.

But when he glanced over at Tweek again, he wasn’t so sure about that sentiment. There was something about watching the nervous boy fidget on the sidelines, waiting for his turn, that drew Craig’s attention. It wasn’t pity or amusement—Craig just wanted to see how Tweek would handle the race. He couldn’t explain it, but he was invested now.

As the race progressed, Clyde finally took the baton, his exaggerated efforts eliciting a mix of cheers and laughter from their team. Clyde’s run was a spectacle—arms flailing, legs pumping wildly—and yet it somehow got the job done. When he reached the end of his leg, gasping for breath, he passed the baton to Tweek with a grin and an encouraging, “Go get ‘em!”

Craig’s eyes locked onto Tweek. He stood frozen for a split second, his hands trembling as he grabbed the baton. Then, as if someone flipped a switch, Tweek bolted.

Craig’s jaw nearly dropped.

Tweek wasn’t just running—he was flying. His form wasn’t perfect, but there was a raw, unpolished efficiency to the way his legs moved, propelling him down the track with surprising speed. His shoulders, usually hunched in perpetual anxiety, were relaxed. His face, often contorted in worry, was calm and focused.

For the first time, Tweek wasn’t jittery or fidgety. He wasn’t muttering to himself or flailing his hands. He was simply… running. And he was good at it.

Craig felt something stir in his chest. Was it admiration? Envy? Whatever it was, it was unsettling. Unlike Tweek, Craig’s own athletic ability hadn’t come with skill or practice, they came from luck. Luck that the spider decided to bite him. But watching Tweek, it was clear the blonde was giving everything he had, pouring all his energy into each stride. It wasn’t luck or natural talent. It was pure determination.

Craig’s gaze stayed fixed on Tweek as he rounded the curve of the track, his speed unwavering. The boy looked like he belonged out there, like the nervous wreck Craig usually saw had disappeared. Craig’s stomach twisted. Was he… jealous? Of Tweek?

Before he could figure it out, Tweek crossed the finish line and handed off the baton with a triumphant flourish. His chest heaved as he bent over, catching his breath. Craig quickly tore his gaze away, staring at the ground as if it held the answers to his dilemma.

“Great work, guys!” Tolkien called, clapping his hands as he jogged back toward the locker room. He gave Tweek a thumbs-up and turned to Clyde, who was busy recounting his own “heroic” run in dramatic detail.

Craig lingered, unsure of what to say or do. His usual sarcastic remarks felt… wrong. Instead, he found himself shuffling his feet awkwardly, stealing glances at Tweek, who was still catching his breath.

“Uh… good job, Tweek,” Craig muttered, the words coming out awkward.

Tweek’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with surprise. But before he could respond, Craig turned on his heel and sped off toward the locker room.

What the hell was wrong with him? Craig inhaled as he practically sprinted away, leaving Tweek behind without a second glance. He wasn’t like this—he wasn’t the type to get flustered or tongue-tied. But something about Tweek’s unexpected talent and determination had thrown him completely off balance.

Craig shook his head, trying to shake the weird feeling gnawing at him. “Get a grip,” he muttered to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Unfortunately for Craig, his misery was far from over. After gym class, the boys shuffled out of the locker room, headed for lunch, but Tolkien seemed to have a plan in mind. Determined, he took it upon himself to invite Tweek to sit with them at their lunch table.

“Hey, Tweek!” Tolkien called, his voice carrying over the noisy hallway. “Want to join us at lunch today?”

Tweek’s reaction was immediate and dramatic. He jerked around, eyes wide, and his entire body stiffened as if bracing for an ambush. “Wh-why?! Are you making fun of me? Stop! I’ll fight you!” His words were loud and frantic, paired with jittery hand gestures that had Tolkien momentarily taken aback.

“No, dude. I’m not making fun of you,” Tolkien said quickly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You just seem like a cool guy. Plus, I think Cr—”

Before he could finish, Craig lunged forward and slapped a hand onto Tolkien’s shoulder, silencing him mid-sentence. “It’s fine, Tweek,” Craig said, his voice tight and strained as he glared daggers at Tolkien. “You don’t have to sit with us if you don’t want to.”

Tweek’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, though he was still busy biting at his nails. “Ngh! It’s fine, I’ll sit with you guys if you really want,” he muttered, his voice quieter but still carrying that nervous edge.

And just like that, the deal was sealed. Craig barely managed to suppress agroan as the five of them made their way into the cafeteria together.

As they entered, Craig noticed Tweek glance toward Wendy, who, for some reason, visibly brightened at the sight of the blonde boy and even winked at him. Tweek groaned audibly, deliberately ignoring the lunch line and heading straight for the table. Craig followed, silently wondering what the hell that was all about.

When the boys finally settled down, everyone had a tray of cafeteria food—Clyde had snagged the pepperoni pizza, Tolkien and Craig opted for some sad-looking chicken salad, and Jimmy went straight for the chocolate pudding. Tweek, on the other hand, sat down with nothing but a thermos, presumably of coffee.

“Why aren’t you eating anything, bro?” Clyde asked, his mouth half-full of pizza. His voice was loud enough to make a few nearby tables glance over, but Clyde didn’t seem to care.

Tweek twitched but answered nonetheless. “Ngh—I’m vegetarian! So, they don’t have any good options for me. I just eat at home.”

Craig blinked, tilting his head slightly as curiosity got the better of him. “Why’re you vegetarian?” he asked, his tone flat and unreadable.

Tweek hesitated, unsure if Craig was genuinely interested or just teasing him because of his tone. Deciding to take it at face value, he responded honestly. “I’m Buddhist.”

Tolkien nodded in understanding. “That’s really cool. Wh—”

Before Tolkien could finish, Jimmy cut in with his signature sly grin. “Man, Buddhist? You are never reaching nirvana, Tweek! Imagine this kid having inner peace for a full ten minutes.”

The table fell silent, the air thick with tension. They all knew their humor wasn’t always kind, and they weren’t sure if Tweek, being the newest addition to their group, could handle it, or understand it was all in a playful manor. Tolkien opened his mouth to scold Jimmy, but before he could get a word out, something unexpected happened.

Tweek laughed.

Not just a polite chuckle or a nervous giggle—he laughed, genuinely and wholeheartedly. The sound filled the space between them, his face lighting up as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. His laughter was infectious, and soon Clyde joined in, followed by Jimmy. Even Tolkien chortled, and, much to his own surprise, Craig found himself grinning.

“Yeah, man!” Tweek managed to say between bursts of laughter. “No way I’m ever calming down in this life. Maybe when I reincarnate as a tree, I’ll have a chance.”

The group erupted again, their collective laughter drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. For the first time that day, the awkwardness that had been hovering over them melted away, replaced by something lighter—something that felt a lot like friendship.

As the laughter faded, the conversation shifted to other topics. Clyde regaled them with another wildly exaggerated story about his “heroic” gym class performance, while Jimmy tried (and failed) to come up with more one-liners to top his earlier joke. Tolkien asked Tweek a few questions about Buddhism, and Tweek, surprisingly, answered without his usual jittery edge.

Craig, meanwhile, found himself quiet. He wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, but now he was content to sit back and observe. He watched the way Tweek seemed to ease into their group, his nervous tics gradually subsiding as the conversation flowed. He watched the way Tolkien subtly steered the discussion whenever it veered into potentially uncomfortable territory. He watched the way Clyde and Jimmy kept things light and fun, their antics keeping everyone entertained.

And then there was Tweek.

Craig didn’t know what it was about the blonde boy that had him so fascinated. Maybe it was the way Tweek had surprised him on the track earlier, running with a confidence Craig hadn’t thought him capable of. Maybe it was the way he’d handled Jimmy’s joke, turning what could’ve been an awkward moment into something genuinely funny. Or maybe it was just that Tweek, despite all his quirks, seemed to fit with their group in a way Craig hadn’t expected.

Whatever it was, Craig found himself glancing at Tweek more often than he meant to.

By the time lunch ended, Craig felt more at ease with his friends than he had in a long time. As they gathered their trays and started to head out, he cast a quick glance at Tolkien.

“Hey,” Craig muttered, his voice low so only Tolkien could hear. “Thanks for, uh… you know. Bringing him over.”

Tolkien smirked knowingly but didn’t say anything, just gave Craig a small nod.

Tweek was proving to be pretty cool, Craig thought. And for the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely glad to have made a new friend.

Later that day, Craig sat in history class, his mind at ease as he breezed through most of the test questions, thanks to Tweek. He wasn’t the most studious student, but today, he felt confident. Still, that didn’t stop him from mouthing a few questions to the person sitting across from him—Tweek, his new friend.

Craig glanced over, mouthing silently, What is the answer to question three? He held up three fingers just to make it clear, trying not to draw too much attention.

Tweek stiffened at first, startled by the subtle question, but after a moment of hesitation, he scribbled something on a small post-it note and held it up discreetly, his handwriting large and unmistakable: “A.”

Craig nodded in silent thanks and circled the answer on his own paper. He felt a sense of warmth, a connection of sorts, even if it was just a small, quiet interaction.

Before the test had started, Craig had found himself asking Tweek for a pen. It wasn’t like he needed one—he had plenty in his bag—but for some reason, he wanted an excuse to talk to the other boy. The simple exchange, though awkward, had left Craig feeling strangely at ease.

Tweek had retrieved a pen for him, a somewhat mangled one with bite marks on the cap. Craig had noticed the damage, but it wasn’t until later, when he observed Tweek chewing on the top of his own pen during the test, that he found it… endearing.

It was these little things, these tiny details about Tweek, that made Craig realize just how much he appreciated the boy’s quirks. Tweek wasn’t perfect, but that was what made him so real. Craig couldn’t help but smile, even if just a little, as he scribbled down his answers. Tweek and Craig were wildly different, but at the same time, had quite a bit in common.

As the group gathered near the bus stop, Craig couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. It was Clyde who had invited Tweek this time, a move that made Craig feel like they were pushing Tweek into another situation he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Clyde had thrown his arm around Tweek’s shoulders with his usual, carefree enthusiasm and blurted, “Dudeee! We were gonna go watch a movie tonight, you should come with!”
To Craig’s surprise, Tweek had agreed without hesitation, his voice tinged with a surprising enthusiasm. “Yeah, sounds fun! I’ll ask my parents if I can take the time off work.” The rest of the group exchanged knowing looks, pleased with the outcome, but Craig couldn’t shake off the feeling that maybe they were smothering Tweek a little too much. Tweek walked off causally to meet up with Butters and Wendy, the three of them chatting animatedly im the distance.

Later that night, Craig found himself texting away in the group chat, making plans for their meetup at the movies. Tweek had confirmed he was going, and for some reason, Craig couldn’t shake off the unusal feeling of excitement. It was just a movie night with friends, but Craig was extra excited to hang out with his buddies. He’s been sort of detached from reality lately, but today's antics, and Tweek, roped him back in. After all, he wasn’t only Spider-Man. He was also a kid. His parents, as observant as always, caught on quickly.

“What’s up with you, Craig?” his mom, Laura, asked with a warm smile, raising an eyebrow as she set down the laundry she was folding. “You’re never this… animated.”

Craig’s face flushed a little at the attention. Since the whole Spider-Man ordeal, he’d been a bit more open with his family—especially with Tricia gone. The weight of everything had shifted, and though he wasn’t exactly a bundle of joy, he had at least started to express himself more. He shrugged, trying to brush off the comment, but his mother’s encouraging gaze made him feel like he could be honest for once.

“I made a new friend,” Craig said, his voice relaxed and monotone as usual. “And we’re all going to the movies tonight. It’ll be cool.”

Laura’s smile widened, her eyes softening with warmth. “That sounds nice, honey. I’m glad to see you getting out more. Have fun, alright?”

Craig nodded. He grabbed his jacket and left, making his way to the movie theater.

Once he arrived, the familiar group of friends were gathered in the lobby, laughing and joking around. They had arrived a little early, and the anticipation of the evening ahead was clear in their excited chatter.

“So, Tweek!” Clyde suddenly piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “How’d you bag Wendy?”

The group turned their attention to Clyde, all of them looking at him as if he’d just said the most ridiculous thing ever. He did say the most ridiculous thing ever. Craig raised an eyebrow, his confusion mirrored by everyone else’s. Was Clyde… joking?

Tweek, however, just laughed it off, brushing off the comment as though it was nothing. He was so cool about it, Craig thought, seeing Tweek as someone more relatable every moment. But Clyde wasn’t finished. He looked at Tweek with a strange intensity, his expression serious.

“Wait, Clyde,” Tweek said, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know I’m gay, right?”

Clyde blinked, then his eyes widened in realization. “Oh, shit, dude! I didn’t know that. Wait, did you guys know that?” The group nods unanimously.

There was a pause as everyone looked around, a few awkward glances exchanged. Craig blinked. How had Clyde not known? Was he really that oblivious? Tweek seemed so comfortable with who he was, so open about it. Craig wondered if being gay was something people just… figured out after a while?

Tweek wrinkled his nose, brushing off the question lightly. “Yeah, man! I’m the only gay kid at school. I thought everyone knew by now.”

Tolkien laughed at the awkwardness of the moment, clearly amused by the ongoing confusion. But Clyde didn’t seem satisfied. He leaned forward, genuinely intrigued now.

“Wait,” he pressed, his curiosity getting the best of him. “So why do you hold hands with Wendy, then?”

Tweek paused for a moment, as if considering the question, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Cause she’s one of my best friends, and that’s just kind of what we do. I guess.” Craig appreciated how cool he was about it.

As the group made their way through the snack line and into the theater, they joked around as they took their places in line. When Tolkien scanned their tickets, the attendant barked out the name of the movie and the theater it would be in. But the moment the words left the attendant’s mouth, Tweek’s whole body stiffened, and Craig’s stomach dropped.

“WHAT?!” Tweek shrieked, his voice rising in panic as his hands shot up to his hair, tugging at it like he was about to unravel.

The rest of the group paused, exchanging awkward glances. Craig felt his heart skip a beat as he caught on immediately. Horror movie. The one thing they failed to mention.

“Hey, uh. Tweek, it’s fine if you don’t want to watch it. I know how your anxiety is,” Tolkien said quickly, his voice kind and reassuring.

“Yeah, man!” Clyde added, his usual bravado gone for a moment. “I’m a big wuss when it comes to horror movies too, so we can bail and go somewhere else if you want.”

Craig smiled internally, relieved to see how genuinely considerate his friends were. They had Tweek’s back, and it was clear they weren’t going to make him feel pressured.

Tweek took a deep breath, his eyes still wide with worry, but his shoulders slowly relaxed. He gave them a shy smile, a small but genuine gesture. “Thanks, you guys. But… I’ll be okay, I think.” He murmured, nervously picking at his thumbs. Craig could see the struggle behind the words, but he appreciated Tweek’s effort to push through.

With some reassurance from Tweek, the group filed into the theater and took their seats. Craig ended up sitting next to Tweek, who was fidgeting nervously beside him, his fingers tapping against the armrest, but otherwise keeping quiet.

The movie began. The horror scenes started, and even Craig felt himself on edge, even if he’d literally been through this sort of thing before, with his crime fighting and all. He could see Tweek reacting more visibly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his face twisting in fear.

It wasn’t long before one particularly gruesome scene made the entire theater jump, and Tweek’s reaction was instant. With a stifled squeal, he suddenly grabbed at Craig, latching onto Craig’s arm. The moment seemed to stretch in time—Tweek awkwardly clinging to him for a split second before quickly pulling away, his face turning beet red with embarrassment.

“S— I’m sorry,” Tweek stammered, “That scene freaked me out.” His voice was low, apologetic, and Craig was frozen in place, trying to process what had just happened. His brain short-circuited for a moment before slowly rebooting. Wait, what?

It took Craig a moment to come back to his senses. He glanced at Tweek, still not entirely sure how to react, before he realized Tweek had just apologized. After a few seconds, he managed to whisper back, “It’s fine, don’t worry. It freaks me out too.”

The tension eased a little, and Craig sat back in his seat, though he was still feeling a little stunned. He didn’t know why Tweek’s touch had made his chest tighten uncomfortably, or why the proximity felt… suffocating. Craig also failed to realize something else.

Tolkien was watching them, his eyes sharp and observant, like a hawk zeroing in on prey. Before anyone noticed, Tolkien looked away, smirking. He knew exactly what was going on with Craig. He would let his friend figure it out on his own, though.

As they made their way through the subway, the group was still energetic. Apparently, Clyde started uncontrollably sobbing during the movie, so all of the playful banter was directed towards him, not Tweek. Craig was glad, since Tweek was clearly ashamed of his fears, for seemingly no reason.

Craig couldn’t help but notice Tweek’s lingering nervousness, even after the film. Craig found himself feeling unexpectedly protective. It wasn’t something he was used to feeling for anyone, let alone a friend, but there was something about the way Tweek held himself, as if carrying the weight of his anxiety on his shoulders, that made Craig want to look out for him.

When the train pulled into Tweek’s stop, Craig instinctively followed him off the train to walk him home. It was dark out, after all, and it might make Tweek feel better. They walked in comfortable silence for a while. Every now and then, Craig would glance over at Tweek, who was fidgeting with his hands, clearly still on edge from the events of the evening.

“So, did you like the movie?” Tweek asked, breaking the silence.

Craig gave a nonchalant nod, keeping his usual cool demeanor. “It was cool. Didn’t scare you too bad, did it?”

Tweek shook his head, looking almost relieved. “Nah, not really. The jump scares were a lot, though.” He hesitated, then added, “I’ll be okay. I’m really thankful for you guys, though. You’re all so nice to me. I sort of thought…” He trailed off, biting his lip.

Craig raised an eyebrow. “You thought what?”

Tweek took a deep breath, clearly trying to find the right words. “I thought… you’d be sort of mean. Ack! I mean, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but you’re sort of… intimidating.”

Craig wasn’t offended at all. “Yeah, I get it.” He smiled softly, his voice lowering. “I hope you don’t think that anymore, though.”

Tweek quickly reassured him, his voice earnest. “No way, man! You’re so nice to me. And you helped save that lady from those guys a few nights ago… Sorry for, uh… Sorry for getting mad at you, by the way. That was really cool of you. How are your uh, injuries?”

Craig’s face flushed just slightly, but he kept his usual cool, shrugging it off. “Thanks. And they’re fine. Thanks for, uh, helping me that night. And helping me with the test.”

The exchange of gratitude was awkward, but Craig found himself surprised at how comfortable he felt with Tweek. He was really cool, and he was glad to have made friends with him.

As they approached Tweek’s house, Craig felt both dread and excitement. He was eager for a moment of solitude after a long day, but at the same time, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye. The thought of parting from Tweek made him feel a little empty. He likes spending time with him.

They stopped in front of Tweek’s doorstep, the awkward silence thick between them. Both of them offered small smiles and waves, their faces flushed from the evening’s events, easily excused by New York’s cold weather.

Craig turned to leave, but before he could walk away, he glanced back over his shoulder. He caught Tweek doing the same. Craig quickly looked away, a deeper flush spreading across his cheeks.

For once, Craig knew one thing for sure—today had been one of the best days he’d had in a long time.

Chapter Text

Craig sat, exasperation etched deeply into his features as Clyde clumsily maneuvered to sit down beside him. This was not how he wanted to spend his Monday. The metallic clatter of Clyde’s lunch tray echoed sharply off the cafeteria walls, the sound jarring in the relative quiet of their secluded table. The noise drew a few curious glances from nearby students, though Clyde seemed blissfully unaware—or simply indifferent—to the attention he’d garnered.

“So,” Clyde began, his voice casual as he spoke through a mouthful of food, crumbs falling onto the table, “what’s up, Craig? Why’d you want to sit with me privately?” He raised an eyebrow, his tone characteristically curious, though still distinctly Clyde-like in its lack of subtlety.

Craig shot him a sharp look, the kind that could silence most people. “Keep your voice down, okay?” he hissed, leaning forward slightly to make his point. His tone was firm but quiet, his expression furrowed in frustration. “It’s about Spider-Man stuff.”

Clyde’s eyes immediately widened, his face lighting up with an exaggerated mix of intrigue and excitement. His reaction was so over-the-top that it bordered on comical. He nodded quickly, leaning in as if Craig had just revealed the biggest and best gossip of the school year—which, in Clyde’s defense, it kind of was. “Gotcha,” he said with an exaggerated whisper, clearly not understanding the concept of subtlety. “Say no more.”

Craig sighed, a flicker of regret crossing his face. Clyde wasn’t exactly his first choice of confidant—he wasn’t even his fifth. Their current arrangement was the result of sheer dumb luck. Months ago, Clyde had walked in on Craig mid-costume change, his head unmasked but the rest of his body very much still Spider-Man. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Clyde had stumbled onto Craig’s secret life completely by accident, and while the guy was a walking gossip, he’d somehow managed to keep his discovery to himself. Craig wasn’t sure if it was out of loyalty or self-preservation, but either way, it was a small relief. Out of all the people who could have uncovered the truth, at least it was someone he trusted—well, trusted enough.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Craig began recounting the events of the previous night. “Last night, there was this whole thing at the arcade—”

“The arcade?!”

The sudden exclamation cut him off mid-sentence. Craig turned sharply, his expression immediately darkening as his eyes landed on Tweek Tweak, who stood a few feet away. Tweek’s hair was its usual mess, sticking up in every direction, and his wide eyes darted nervously around the cafeteria. He looked as jittery as ever, his entire body practically vibrating with barely-contained energy.

Craig’s irritation and embarrassment flared as Tweek approached their table uninvited, his enthusiasm untempered. He was not ready to have this kid after last night. “Did you hear about what happened there on the news?” Tweek asked, his words coming out in a rush. “Dude, I was there! And Spider-Man—he saved me! Like, personally!”

Clyde’s eyes flicked to Craig, the recognition in them almost immediate. Craig’s jaw tightened, not even attempting to conceal his frustration. “Tweek,” he said flatly, his voice monotone but sharp, “what are you doing here?” He snaps at the other boy.

Tweek visibly faltered, hesitating before speaking.

“I was just heading to the bathroom to take my meds,” he mumbled, his voice much quieter now. “I overheard you guys talking about the arcade, and—well—I was at the arcade, so…” He trailed off, looking sheepish as his gaze dropped to the floor.

Before Craig could respond, Clyde, ever the social butterfly, clapped a hand on Tweek’s shoulder. “Man, that’s so cool! You’ve gotta tell us everything that happened. Like, the real story—not just the news version,” he said, his grin wide and genuine. He shot a quick glance at Craig, a subtle reassurance that he wasn’t about to let anything slip.

Craig gave Clyde a small tilt of his lip in what looked to be a sad attempt at a smile. While he appreciated Clyde’s effort to cover for him, he wasn’t thrilled about the direction the conversation was heading. The last thing he wanted was for Tweek to relive last night’s events in vivid detail. It was bad enough that the news had gotten ahold of the story; now he had to hear it straight from the source? Great. Embarrassment all over again from his actions that day.

Tweek, meanwhile, seemed torn between his natural anxiety and his eagerness to share what had happened. “Ngh! No way, man!” he stammered, shaking his head so quickly it was almost a blur. “I don’t want to bother you guys more than I already have.” His hands fidgeted at his sides, trembling slightly. Craig noticed the telltale signs of his nervous habits—chewing his nails, tugging at his shirt sleeves.

For a brief moment, Craig felt a twinge of guilt. He wasn’t exactly known for his compassion, but something about Tweek’s jittery demeanor made him pause. Maybe it was the fact they were friends, or maybe it was just the fact that he didn’t have the heart to shut him down completely. Either way, Craig sighed and gestured for Tweek to continue.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, his voice calmer but still tinged with impatience. “Go ahead.”

Tweek blinked in surprise, his wide eyes meeting Craig’s. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hesitant. “I mean—I don’t want to—”

“Just tell us what happened,” Craig interrupted, his tone firm and final. It wasn’t a request—it was an order.

Tweek hesitated for another moment, his fidgeting slowing as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he nodded, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “Okay, so…”

—

On Sunday night, Tweek had somehow managed to carve out a rare evening off, determined to spend some much-needed quality time with his best friend, Butters. Lately, the other blonde had been in low spirits, and he figured some time with his friend might be just what they both needed. To brighten the mood, Tweek had suggested meeting at a nearby arcade—a bold choice considering his own deep-seated dislike of the place. The flashing lights, the loud blaring music, overlapping sounds of voices, and the sheer density of people made the atmosphere feel suffocating. But he figured Butters would enjoy it, so he set aside his discomfort.

As they began closing up Tweak Bros where they both work part time, Butters was chatting cheerfully while helping Tweek stow away the last of their equipment.

“So, where’ve you been hiding lately? We haven’t seen you around Eric’s table in ages,” Butters remarked softly, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and concern. He genuinely missed Tweek’s presence at lunch.

Tweek, busy stacking cups and wiping down counters, glanced briefly in Butters’ direction before focusing back on the task at hand. Conversations with Butters rarely made him nervous; his friend’s gentle and forgiving nature had always been a balm to Tweek’s ever-present jitters. With a slight shrug, he responded vaguely, “Ngh, I’ve been sitting with Craig and his friends.”

At this, Butters’ eyebrows shot up so high they almost disappeared into his hairline. Even his blind eye seemed to widen in exaggerated surprise. “Craig?! Like, emotionless, totally-your-type Craig?” Butters blurted, unable to suppress his excitement.

Tweek froze for a split second, heat rushing to his cheeks before he shot Butters a dangerous glare. “Ngh! Shut up! He’s actually nice,” he muttered defensively, his voice coming out louder than he intended.

Butters, however, wasn’t the least bit deterred. If anything, he seemed even more encouraged. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his grin growing wider by the second. “Oh, come on, Butters. Don’t give me that. Craig is straight! Sure, I’ll admit he’s nice to look at, but you’ve gotta quit deluding yourself.”

Butters tilted his head. “Are you sureee?” Tweek scowled, trying his best to maintain his composure, though the blush on his face betrayed him. “Ugh, don’t be stupid! We’re just friends. That’s all,” he insisted.

In truth, Tweek admired Craig—he thought he was cool, in that detached, unbothered kind of way. And objectively, yes, Craig was very attractive. But admiration was one thing; having an actual relationship with him? That was something else entirely. They hardly knew each other, and he didn’t really have feelings for Craig beyond that. “Besides,” Tweek added after a pause, his voice softer now, “I’ve got… other things to think about.”

At this, Butters groaned loudly, throwing his hands into the air. “Ugh, Tweek, please. If you’re talking about Spider-Man again, I swear—”

“Ngh, shut up and let me be hopeful!” Tweek interrupted, crossing his arms and turning away defensively. “We’ve interacted before. Multiple times, even! I’m just saying… maybe he’s gay.” His voice faltered a little toward the end, but the wistful hope in his tone was undeniable.

Butters dropped his head into his hands, shaking it dramatically. “Tweek, he’s a superhero. A literal superhero. You need to stop living in some kind of comic book fantasy, dude. You don’t have a chance with Spider-Man!”

Tweek huffed, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t know that! Just let me dream, okay?”

Butters groaned again, but there was no real malice behind it—just the exasperation of a friend who had long since accepted Tweek’s hopeless crush. “Fine, fine. Whatever floats your boat. But you can fantasize about your webbed boyfriend after we get to the arcade.”

Glancing at the clock, Tweek noticed it was already time to leave. He untied his apron, tossing it onto a hook near the register, and followed Butters as they flipped the café’s sign to CLOSED. Locking the doors behind them, they stepped out into the cool night air, the faint hum of the city buzzing around them as they made their way to the subway station.

As they walked, Tweek’s earlier confidence began to waver, replaced by a growing unease. His stomach churned, and a faint sense of dread crept in, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. It wasn’t just the idea of the arcade—he’d already mentally prepared himself for that. No, this feeling was different, deeper. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought as irrational. But as they descended the steps to the station, the unease lingered, stubbornly refusing to be ignored. Something about tonight didn’t sit right with him.

The two friends made their way through various stations at the arcade, each more chaotic than the last. They started with skeeball, where Butters excelled while Tweek struggled to get the balls into the right slots, growing increasingly frustrated. Next, they found themselves at a zombie apocalypse shooter game, the flashing lights and sudden jump scares causing Tweek to yelp in fright multiple times, much to Butters’ amusement. Eventually, they wandered over to the claw machine, where Tweek’s attention was immediately drawn to a small, adorable green dinosaur plushie nestled among an assortment of ugly, mismatched toys. It was the only one that didn’t look like a Frankenstein creation, and Tweek became determined to win it.

He tried again and again, each failed attempt only fueling his resolve. But the claw seemed to have a mind of its own, dropping the dinosaur just as it neared the chute every single time. Before long, Tweek had burned through a frustrating amount of money, his hands trembling as he prepared to give it one last shot. Butters, seeing his friend’s exasperation, stepped in with a sheepish grin. “Let me try,” he offered. Taking control of the machine, Butters carefully positioned the claw, and on his second attempt, he successfully snagged the dinosaur plush.

Overwhelmed with excitement, Tweek threw his arms around Butters, nearly knocking the plush out of his hands. “Thank you! Thank you!” Tweek beamed, holding on tightly as Butters stiffened, his face turning a shade of pink. Butters quickly averted his gaze, mumbling something about it being no big deal, though his bashful expression betrayed him. Tweek, oblivious to his friend’s reaction, released him and instead focused all his attention on the plush, his wide, sparkling eyes lighting up as he admired it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Butters chuckled softly, shaking his head as he watched Tweek cradle the small toy. “I guess it was worth the effort,” he muttered under his breath. Tweek didn’t respond—he was too busy fawning over the plush, chattering about where he might display it in his room. For a moment, Butters simply stood there, silently basking in the joy radiating from his friend.

Suddenly, a chime echoed from Butters’ phone, tucked into the back pocket of his jeans. He retrieved it quickly, glancing at the screen before answering. Pressing it to his ear, he loudly murmured a few words, struggling to hear over the cacophony of the arcade. Somewhere in the distance, a loud crash reverberated through the building. Tweek dismissed it as part of a nearby game. Butters, however, cupped a hand over his free ear and shouted over the noise, informing Tweek that he was stepping outside to take the call. Tweek barely acknowledged him, too engrossed in the sights and sounds of the arcade, until an even louder, more violent crash echoed throughout the space. This time, it was unmistakably real.

For a moment, the room was eerily still, the sound of the crash lingering in the air. Then, chaos erupted. Screams and panicked shouts filled the building as people began frantically pushing toward the exits, desperate to escape. Tweek froze, wide-eyed and trembling as his gaze darted around in a frenzy. “Butters!” he called out, but his voice was swallowed by the commotion. He searched desperately, scanning the sea of fleeing bodies, but Butters was already gone, swept up in the frantic crowd.

Before he could process what was happening, Tweek felt himself being jostled and shoved by the stampede. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew it was bad. His heart pounded wildly, and his breaths came in short, shallow gasps. He ducked under the nearest arcade cabinet, gripping the edge tightly as he tried to shield himself from the surging masses. His chest heaved, and a stream of panicked prayers tumbled from his lips as the beginnings of a full-blown anxiety attack overtook him. The deafening noise, the chaos, the uncertainty—it was all too much. His hands trembled violently as he clung to the machine, his knuckles white with tension. He felt an overwhelming sense of doom. He wasn’t going to survive tonight, and nobody was here to save him.. nobody..

A sudden explosion and unmistakable crack above him drew his attention, and Tweek’s stomach dropped as pieces of the ceiling began to fall. He flinched, narrowly avoiding a chunk of debris as it crashed beside him. His instincts took over, and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling blindly through the chaos. His vision blurred with tears, and the cacophony of noise around him turned into an indistinguishable roar. Voices shouted, though he couldn’t understand a single word, and the flashes of movement around him only heightened his disorientation. All Tweek knew was that he had to keep moving, even if his body felt like it might give out at any second.

Tweek’s legs were moving faster than his brain could process, but that was fine—he didn’t really care about the details right now. He just had to keep moving, away from the noise, away from the explosions, away from whatever was going down. His heart was hammering in his chest, the air thick with smoke and dust, and the sound of screaming—so much screaming—was getting to him. He could barely breathe with all the chaos. His eyes darted around the arcade, and he could see people running past him, panicked and frantically pushing toward the exit. The arcade was never fun for Tweek, but now it was a warzone. Everything was a blur of flashing lights and heavy footsteps.

Tweek’s hand gripped his stuffed dinosaur tightly, the small, plush creature the only thing grounding him in a reality that was falling apart. It felt like he was moving in slow motion, dodging falling debris as he stumbled through the room. He could hardly think straight, his brain wrapped in a fog of fear and confusion. Where’s Butters? Is he okay? Tweek’s legs were shaky, and the sound of a nearby explosion rattled his bones, knocking him off balance for a second. He barely caught himself, his breath catching in his throat as panic rose up his chest like a tidal wave. I’m not gonna make it, he thought, choking on his own thoughts. This is it. I’m gonna die here, alone, in an arcade.

And then, like a punch to the gut, a crash echoed from somewhere off in the distance. A loud BOOM followed by a crash that sounded like the world itself was breaking. Tweek’s breath hitched. Butters… where the hell was Butters? He had to find him. But before he could make any real progress, a voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts—no, two voices. One of them was barely audible over the explosions, but the other one—Tweek’s eyes widened as he turned to look, his jaw almost dropping. It couldn’t be. But it was.

Spider-Man was here. The one and only. Spider-Man, swinging into the chaos like it was no big deal. He flew through the air, the blur of his blue costume unmistakable as he fought the perpetrators, somehow making it look effortless despite the destruction surrounding him. He shouted something Tweek couldn’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears, some snarky comment that, under normal circumstances, probably would’ve made Tweek laugh. But right now, all he could focus on was the dizzying sight of Spider-Man in action. He was saving people, evading attacks, and somehow still cracking jokes through all of it. How is he so calm right now? Tweek wondered, still clutching his stuffed dinosaur like it was the key to his survival.

Then, disaster struck. Another huge boom and suddenly, Tweek felt his stuffed dinosaur ripped out of his hands, as if the world itself was trying to tear him apart. His fingers grasped at air, panic rising in his chest like wildfire. No, no, no, no, he thought frantically, but the plush toy was gone, carried off by some gust of wind or explosion—Tweek wasn’t sure anymore. Another explosion. He stumbled to his knees, the seering pain of his wounds catching up to him, blinking through a veil of tears as his vision swam. Everything felt wrong. The floor shook beneath him, and the ceiling above seemed to threaten collapse. He couldn’t stay here. He had to get out. I can’t breathe, he thought, hands shaking as he pressed them to his face, feeling the panic grip him.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Spider-Man was there, evading the action and landing with a thud that sent a shockwave of air in Tweek’s direction. It was almost like he appeared out of thin air, and just like that, everything else faded into the background. The sound of explosions and chaos seemed distant now, muffled by the presence of this larger-than-life figure. Spider-Man crouched in front of Tweek, his movements quick but calculated, like he knew exactly what to do. Tweek’s blurry eyes met his through the mask, and something inside him snapped. He was terrified, yes, but there was something else—something warm—growing in his chest. A tiny spark of hope, no matter how small.

“You okay, kid?” Spider-Man’s voice rang out, though it was softer than the situation probably called for. His words were muffled slightly by his mask, but his concern was clear. Tweek could barely form a response, too overwhelmed by the situation. But Spider-Man wasn’t giving up on him. The masked hero looked down and saw the stuffed dinosaur lying forgotten on the ground. He reached for it, his gloved hands scooping it up with ease. “This yours?” Spider-Man asked, offering it back to Tweek like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Tweek just nodded, his trembling hands reaching out for the stuffed toy as if it were the most important thing in the world. It didn’t make sense. How was he calm? Why is he helping Tweek instead of fighting those villains? How was he so… normal about this? But Spider-Man didn’t wait for Tweek to gather his bearings. Without another word, he scooped the blonde boy into his arms with surprising gentleness, holding him close to his chest. Tweek gasped, caught completely off-guard. “I’ve got you,” Spider-Man murmured, his voice slightly strained (like he was faking an accent—) but still comforting. Tweek could feel the hero’s strong arms around him, his body warm even in the chaos.

And then—whoosh—they were flying. Tweek barely had time to register what was happening before he was soaring through the air, the city skyline blurring beneath him. His stomach lurched as they ascended higher and higher, the ground falling away like an afterthought. Tweek clutched Spider-Man tightly, his face buried in the hero’s shoulder as the wind whipped around them. His heart was pounding, not from fear, atleast, not entirely— but from the overwhelming rush of it all. This wasn’t real. This can’t be real. But here he was, flying—flying with Spider-Man of all people.

After what felt like forever, Spider-Man finally touched down on the rooftop of a nearby building, setting Tweek down gently. The world below them seemed so small now, distant and muted. Spider-Man took a step back and studied him carefully, his posture relaxed despite everything. “You good?” he asked, his voice carrying that same reassuring tone.

Tweek wasn’t sure if he was good. He was still trying to process everything that had happened—was happening. But for now, he nodded. He didn’t know how long it would take for him to really come down from the whirlwind of events, but he knew one thing: He was safe.

“Yeah… I’m good,” Tweek muttered, still clutching the stuffed dinosaur to his chest like it might disappear if he let go. Spider-Man gave him a nod, his masked face softening for a brief moment.

“Good. Stay here. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

Tweek couldn’t help but smile a little, despite everything. He was okay. He was going to be okay.

Suddenly, an unmistakable siren wailed from behind them— Police. Spider-Man’s head snapped around, his posture freezing mid-swing. His eyes widened beneath the mask, his muscles tensing as he registered the sound of the approaching police. “Shit,” he muttered, low but sharp. Tweek couldn’t help but flinch at the rawness of it. The villains—those creepy, shady figures who had been terrorizing the arcade—were already turning tail and running. With a collective whoosh, they fled the scene, their shadows vanishing into the night, leaving Tweek standing there, still clutching his stuffed dinosaur like it could somehow shield him from the mess unfolding.

Tweek’s stomach lurched uncomfortably, that nagging feeling creeping in like a bad taste he couldn’t get rid of. He watched Spider-Man’s shoulders drop slightly, his gaze hardening as he processed what was happening. The villains—those scumbags—had gotten away, and Spider-Man had let them. To save him. Tweek’s gut twisted painfully at the realization, and his hands shook around the plush dinosaur, but he didn’t know what to do. He should be grateful—he was alive, wasn’t he? Spider-Man had saved him, sure. But had he sacrificed everything else just for him? He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or guilty.

The realization hit Spider-Man too, because he suddenly went stiff, a flurry of motion as he shifted his weight, preparing to swing away. But then Tweek cried out, his voice shaky but desperate, and before he even had time to think, the words spilled out.

“Wait! Please, find my friend for me!” His chest constricted at the thought of Butters, and he could feel his heart racing like a jackhammer in his ribcage. “His name is Butters—he, he looks like me but with lighter hair and an eye missing. Please!” Tweek’s voice cracked on the last word, a lump rising in his throat.

Spider-Man paused, his body halfway turned as if preparing to disappear into the skyline. He turned back to Tweek with a sharp look in his eyes, something unreadable in that masked face. Then, to Tweek’s surprise, after a moment of consideration, the superhero nodded. “I.. I’ll find him.” he said, his voice a bit different than before. Tweek didn’t have time to dwell on it. With a swift leap, Spider-Man pushed off the edge of the building, catching himself with a web before he plummeted down into the streets below.

Tweek was left standing there, feeling his pulse pounding in his ears. His eyes burned with unshed tears, his hand still clutching the stuffed toy like a lifeline. He didn’t even notice how much time was passing. It felt like the minutes were stretching into hours, the cityscape still crackling with the remnants of explosions and chaos. He kept his eyes trained on the skyline, watching for any sign of Spider-Man’s return. The fear kept gnawing at him—what if Spider-Man couldn’t find Butters? What if something went wrong?

And then, as if on cue, Tweek saw a familiar figure in the distance. Spider-Man swung back into view, but this time, there was something else—something Tweek had almost given up hope on. It was Butters. Tweek’s heart skipped a beat as he saw the blonde boy, looking disoriented but alive. Spider-Man was bringing him back, and Tweek couldn’t contain himself.

Before Spider-Man had even landed, Tweek was already jumping to his feet, ignoring the dizziness from all the adrenaline, and sprinting towards the hero. When Spider-Man set Butters down beside him, Tweek didn’t hesitate—he just wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling him close, the relief flooding his chest. The stuffed dinosaur, now squeezed between them, seemed like a silly thing to hold onto, but Tweek didn’t care. He wasn’t alone anymore. Butters was safe. They were both safe.

“Thank you,” Tweek murmured, his voice thick with gratitude and emotion. It was all he could say, but it was enough. His arms tightened around Spider-Man, holding onto the superhero— Tweek was internally screaming. Spider-Man seemed a bit jarred at first, awkwardly patting Tweek on the back before giving him a quick nod.

“Anytime, kid,” Spider-Man replied, his voice muffled under the mask but still kind. And then, before Tweek could say another word, Spider-Man pulled back, giving him a friendly salute. With a quick flick of his wrist, the superhero shot a web to the nearest building and swung off into the night, disappearing into the city like a shadow.

Tweek stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, still trying to absorb what had just happened. Butters was alive, safe, and Spider-Man… well, Spider-Man had done more than anyone could’ve asked for. But just as the weight of the situation began to settle, Tweek could hear voices from below. They were far enough away that they sounded like muffled whispers, but the words were unmistakable.

“Did we catch the people who did all that to the arcade? Usually Spider-Man wraps things up,” one of the officers muttered. Tweek’s heart dropped a little at the thought.

Officer Tucker piped up, who Tweek vaguely recognized as his friend Craig’s dad. The man’s gruff voice cut through the night air. “Yeah, well not this time. I’m not sure what distracted him, but I think it was those kids over there.” The officer’s voice was rough, but he didn’t sound angry—just tired. Tweek’s stomach churned, and he instinctively looked down, his eyes meeting Butters’ for a moment. They both understood what had just happened.

Tweek and Butters exchanged a glance, but before either of them could say anything, a firefighter appeared, gently guiding them to the escape ladder. Tweek’s legs were still a bit wobbly, but with Butters’ hand in his, he climbed down the ladder, the cool night air brushing against his face as they made their way to safety. The chaos was still swirling below, but up here, everything seemed quieter. Less chaotic.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Tweek whispered to Butters as they reached the ground. Butters gave him a weak but grateful smile, the two of them silently acknowledging the strange, surreal night they’d just survived. They were safe. Spider-Man had saved them, even if not everything had gone as planned.

—

“And then— and then, you realize!” Tweek exclaims, his eyes wide with excitement, his hands gesturing wildly. “My celebrity crush literally saved me from super-villains! Like, actual super-villains! And the best part? He didn’t even care about beating them! He cared about me! My safety, my happiness, dude!” Tweek’s voice practically bursts with enthusiasm.

Clyde stares at him, slack-jawed, blinking rapidly. He slowly shifts his gaze to Craig, who’s slumped in his chair, face flushed with embarrassment.

Craig feels the heat rush to his cheeks, and he wishes he could sink into the chair and disappear. Why did he do it? Why didn’t he just let Tweek figure things out on his own? He let the villains escape, which only made the police hate him more. The guilt eats at him. How was he ever going to reveal his identity to his dad now?

Clyde, still in shock, turns back to Tweek. “Dude, that’s crazy! You got saved by Spider-Man, and then hugged him? Not everyone gets to do that!”

Tweek nods eagerly. “Uh huh! And get this—he even saved my dinosaur plush. I’m never washing it again. His hands were on it, and on me!” Tweek laughs, practically bouncing in his seat.

Craig groans softly, zoning out of the conversation. He can’t focus on Tweek’s gushing anymore. His mind is still stuck on the villains getting away and the mess he’s made. He had chosen to save Tweek—no question about it—but now, he wasn’t so sure it was the right decision.

Tweek, oblivious, keeps talking. “And then, Spider-Man pulled me close, like, really close. I thought I was gonna pass out. His suit? It felt so soft! But in a weird way, you know?”

Clyde grins, “Dude, you’re whipped for this guy. I wonder why Spider-Man did that.” Clyde eyes Craig obviously.

Tweek grins back. “Exactly! It was so awesome! And I even got to say thank you! He was so nice, and, man, it felt right.” He leans in a little closer, voice lowering. “And, dude, I’m telling you, his suit was weirdly soft—in the best way.”

Craig sinks even lower in his chair, feeling the weight of everything pressing on him. He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. The villains were still out there, and now he had to deal with the fallout. The police weren’t going to let this slide. And his dad—he couldn’t even think about what would happen if his father found out the truth.

Clyde notices Craig’s quietness and raises an eyebrow. “Hey, Craig, you good? You’re super quiet all of a sudden.”

Craig blinks, startled, then shrugs it off. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mutters, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just thinking.”

Tweek tilts his head, concerned. “You sure? I mean, I get it—Spider-Man didn’t save you, but you look kinda… off.”

“I’m fine,” Craig repeats, more firm and upset, standing up quickly. “I’m just gonna grab a drink. You guys want anything?” He says tightly. The other boys exchange looks before shaking their heads.

As Craig walks away, his mind is still racing. He couldn’t stop thinking about the consequences of his actions—about the villains getting away, about the secret he was hiding from his dad, about everything he could lose if things went wrong. Whatever the fallout was, he’d have to face it. But right now, all he could do was keep moving forward.

Chapter Text

Craig sat hunched over his desk, his pencil tapping rhythmically against the paper as he stared at the sort-of-lumpy doodle in front of him. It wasn’t bad, necessarily, but it wasn’t good either. Recently, he’d decided that if he was going to be a superhero, he might as well look the part. His current suit worked fine, but it was starting to feel a little… uninspired. A little basic. So, he dedicated some time—between crime-fighting, homework, and begrudgingly dealing with Clyde’s nonsense—to designing something new.

Unfortunately, drawing up an entirely new suit was a lot easier said than done. He had a vague idea of what he wanted: something sleek, something fresh, something that screamed Spider-Man but also Craig Tucker. But executing that idea? A whole different battle. Every time he thought he had something decent, he’d look at it again and immediately hate it. He’d gone through at least five crumpled-up papers before settling on his current attempt.

The design itself was simple: a tight-fitting blue base stretching from his mask all the way down to his feet, adorned with intricate webbing details and accented by yellow highlights. He liked the color combination—it was different from his usual plain blue, a little more unique. To add a little flair, he decided to pair the suit with a sleeveless, cropped blue hoodie. Stylish, practical, maybe a little intimidating? He wasn’t sure, but it looked cool in his head.

One of the biggest issues he faced, though, was functionality. His current suit worked because it allowed for complete flexibility and didn’t interfere with his abilities. But this new one? He realized almost immediately that the fabric covering his hands and feet would make wall-crawling significantly harder. If he couldn’t grip surfaces properly, then what was the point? He tapped his pencil against the desk, deep in thought, before jotting down a possible solution—mesh fabric. It would allow him to maintain grip while still keeping the aesthetic of the suit intact. The problem? That would require way more stitching and sewing than he had the patience for. He would also need holes for his webshooter— more planning. Ugh.

Craig groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Designing a superhero suit was way harder than he expected. He gnawed at the corner of his lip, staring at his half-finished sketch. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe he should just stick with what he had. But then he thought about all the times his suit had torn in battle, all the moments he’d wished for something more durable, more personalized. No, he was doing this. It would just take time.

With a sigh, Craig straightened up and reached for his eraser, rubbing out a few awkwardly placed lines before sketching again. He could do this. He was Spider-Man, for crying out loud. If he could fight off supervillains and swing through the city at breakneck speeds, he could figure out how to sew a damn suit.

Craig eventually came to the conclusion that if he wanted to do this right, he needed to learn from the best: his mom. As much as he hated asking for help, especially for something like sewing, he knew there was no way he was going to figure this out on his own. Begrudgingly, he got up from his desk and made his way toward the living room, dragging his feet like he was heading toward his execution.

Halfway there, a sudden realization stopped him in his tracks—he couldn’t just waltz in and tell his mom he needed help making a superhero suit. That would be a disaster. She’d ask way too many questions, and Craig wasn’t exactly known for his ability to lie convincingly. He needed an excuse. Something believable. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on an old T-shirt he didn’t particularly care about. Without hesitation, he grabbed it and tore a hole in the fabric. Perfect. Now he had a cover story.

With his totally legitimate problem in hand, he marched into the living room and thrust the ripped shirt into Laura’s face. “I ripped this earlier… how do I fix it?” he asked, his voice as flat and uninterested as ever, despite the fact that he was internally praying she wouldn’t ask any follow-up questions.

Laura took the shirt gingerly, examining the tear with practiced eyes. Instead of questioning him, she simply smiled. “Well, you have to sew it, of course! That’s a very good skill to learn.”

Craig nodded quickly, trying to play it cool. “Uh… yeah. Can you teach me?”

His mother beamed at him, looking genuinely pleased by the request. Craig wasn’t exactly the type to ask to learn new things—especially not something that could be considered girly. This was probably the most enthusiasm he’d ever shown for a household skill.

“Well, of course! It’s a very valuable life skill, not just for women, you know,” she said, shooting a pointed look at her husband, who was lounging on the couch watching TV.

Thomas Tucker snorted and, without missing a beat, turned the volume up.

Laura rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to Craig, who had been standing there awkwardly the entire time, arms crossed, clearly impatient.

“So,” he said flatly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Can we hurry this up, or are we just gonna talk about it?”

Craig quickly learned that sewing was both easier and harder than he expected. The actual stitching part? Not too bad. Threading the stupid needle? Absolute nightmare. He stabbed himself more times than he cared to count, and his mom had to remind him—multiple times—that cursing at the sewing kit wasn’t going to make it cooperate. After way too many failed attempts, he finally got it threaded, and the feeling of accomplishment was almost enough to make up for the frustration. Almost.

Once he got the hang of it, though, sewing wasn’t that terrible. He even started to feel a little proud of himself as he made neat, even stitches along the fabric. Sure, he wasn’t about to start making handmade sweaters or anything, but for a first-timer, he was doing pretty well. And most importantly, he was one step closer to finishing his suit.

Now comes the real work—actually putting the pieces together. He already had a base for the costume: an old, skin-tight blue suit from a long-forgotten Halloween costume that he never even wore. It was a little embarrassing to admit that he had just owned a full-body spandex suit for no reason, but hey, at least it was coming in handy now. He took a pair of scissors and started cutting away parts of the suit, making holes where he planned to replace the fabric.

That’s where things got tricky.

Craig, in his infinite wisdom, hadn’t considered that different fabrics behaved differently. The mesh he was trying to sew onto the suit refused to stay in place. Every time he tried to stitch it down, it stretched in ways he hadn’t accounted for, making the whole thing lumpy and uneven. At one point, he considered just stapling the damn thing together, but even he knew that was a terrible idea.

Frustrated, he turned to the only reliable source of knowledge he trusted—YouTube.

What followed was an exhausting deep dive into the world of DIY costume-making. He watched tutorial after tutorial, pausing and rewinding constantly, trying to make sense of techniques that seemed way too advanced for what he was attempting. It took hours, but eventually, he managed to wrestle the mesh into something that actually resembled what he had envisioned. It wasn’t perfect—far from it, actually—but it was good enough.

Once the structural part was done, he moved on to the design. He didn’t have any fancy fabric paint or professional tools, so he improvised. Using a combination of black and yellow Sharpie, he carefully drew the web patterns and detailing directly onto the suit. It wasn’t as crisp as he wanted it to be, but it got the job done. After that, he paired it with the same blue ski mask he’d been using before, along with an old blue hoodie that he’d cut the sleeves off of.

When he stepped back to take a look, he had to admit—it actually looked cool. The colors worked together, the web designs stood out, and the hoodie added a unique touch that made it his. But something still felt off.

The mask.

He needed something for the eyes.

Craig ran through a bunch of ideas in his head—sunglasses, ski goggles, even just cutting different eye holes in the fabric—but none of them felt right. He needed something sleek, something that would actually look like part of the suit instead of just a random accessory. After some more YouTube searching (seriously, how did people even learn things before YouTube?), he came across a tutorial for making DIY superhero masks. The guy in the video used a combination of black fabric and some kind of mesh detailing to create sharp, angular eye shapes that looked straight out of a comic book.

It was perfect.

Craig followed the tutorial as best as he could, cutting out pieces of fabric and carefully stitching them into place. It took some trial and error (mostly error), but after a few frustrating hours, he finally had something that worked. When he put the mask on and looked at himself in the mirror, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Now this was Spider-Man.

His Spider-Man.

The suit wasn’t flawless—if you looked too closely, you could see uneven stitches and a few spots where the marker had bled a little too much—but it was his creation, and that made it feel right. For the first time since he started this whole thing, Craig actually felt like he looked the part.

Now, all he had to do was test it out.

Craig wasted no time shoving it into a backpack and flinging himself out of his room. His mind was already running through all the possibilities—swinging between buildings, testing out the flexibility, seeing if the mesh actually worked the way it was supposed to. Craig wondered if he should revise his webs. He was so lost in thought that he barely registered his mother’s voice from the couch.

“Eager to go see your friend?”

Craig froze. His entire body tensed as the words processed in his brain. Friend? What friend? He didn’t have—oh.

Tweek.

Oh, shit.

His stomach immediately twisted into knots. He had completely, completely forgotten about their plans. It was supposed to be him, Clyde, and Tweek hanging out today, but Clyde had bailed last minute to try and flirt with Bebe at some event, leaving just the two of them. Craig had agreed, mostly because there was no logical way to say no without sounding like a jerk. And now, thanks to his genius ability to plan, he had double-booked himself—with superhero activities and Tweek.

His palms were suddenly clammy. His entire body felt stiff. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but Tweek always had this weird effect on him that felt like fear. Being around him made Craig feel… off. His face would get warm, his stomach would twist and turn, and he’d start sweating way more than what was normal. It was infuriating. He must hate the kid or something. The hard part was, Tweek wasn’t even doing anything wrong—if anything, he was annoyingly nice and fun to be around. Like he was legitimately a good guy. Craig had no actual reason to avoid him.

And yet, every time they were alone together, Craig felt like he was about to die. He avoided that kid at all costs.

He swallowed hard, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His mom was still watching him expectantly.

“Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, not trusting himself to say anything else.

Then, before she could ask any more questions, he turned on his heel, marched straight back into his room, and yanked the suit out of his bag.

There was no way he could do both tonight. Which meant—whether he liked it or not—Spider-Man was just going to have to wait.

Craig begrudgingly accepted his fate and started packing his things for the evening. There was no getting out of it now—he had already agreed, and Tweek was probably expecting him. Still, the idea of walking all the way to Tweek’s apartment made his stomach churn with something he refused to identify as nerves. He hated that he knew the address by heart. It wasn’t like he went there often.

With a sigh, he yanked off his current outfit, which he suddenly decided was disgusting, and changed into something slightly more put-together. He had no idea why. It wasn’t like Tweek cared what he wore—he had worn way worse to school before. Maybe he just felt like being… courteous. Or something. Whatever. It didn’t matter.

Once dressed, Craig all but bolted out of the apartment, careful to avoid giving his mom any opportunity to question him further. He could not handle that conversation right now. His head was already swarming with too much, and he didn’t need her knowing that one single person had the ability to turn him into an anxious mess.

As he speed-walked toward Tweek’s place, an irrational wave of irritation surged through him. Why did Tweek have to be so… Tweek? Why did Craig have to be such an idiot and agree to hang out when he clearly couldn’t handle it? Why couldn’t he just—unfriend Tweek and move on? That would be the logical, smart, Craig-like thing to do.

Except, he didn’t want to.

And that was the worst part.

Because no matter how suffocated he felt when they were together, the second they were apart, his mind always wandered back to Tweek. The way he talked too fast, the way he tugged at the hem of his shirt, the way he scrunched his nose when he was thinking too hard about something. (he noticed all of these things, for some reason)— Craig liked hanging out with him—he just didn’t understand why it made him feel like his impending doom was thrust upon him.

And now, he was walking straight toward him, knowing full well that by the end of the night, he’d probably be an absolute wreck.

Craig groaned, rubbing his temples as a headache began forming. He was already in a terrible mood.

Craig turned the corner and nearly stopped in his tracks.

Tweek was already outside, standing in the cold, waiting for him.

Craig frowned. That was not normal. And the longer he looked, the worse it got—Tweek was in his pajamas, his hair a complete mess, his face flushed pink from the freezing air. He sniffled before offering a small, jittery wave. “H-hey.”

Craig narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “What the hell are you doing outside?”

Tweek huffed, rubbing his arms for warmth. “My parents don’t know you’re here,” he said quickly. “So we have to sneak in from the side. I didn’t want you knocking on the door and having them see you.”

Craig considered this for about half a second before nodding. Yeah. That made sense. He wasn’t about to question Tweek’s logic when it came to his own parents. Instead, he just wordlessly followed him toward the fire escape, letting the cold settle deep in his bones as he climbed up after him.

As soon as they were inside Tweek’s room, a thick, awkward silence settled between them.

Craig stood stiffly, unsure where to place himself in the cluttered space. It wasn’t messy, per se, just… full. Tweek had a lot of stuff. Posters, books, little origami cranes littering his desk, some weird car models that Craig immediately respected, an overflowing laundry basket, and—oh no.

Craig’s stomach flipped when his eyes landed on it.

The dinosaur plush sat right there on Tweek’s bed, positioned carefully against the pillows like some kind of sacred artifact. The dinosaur plush. The one Craig—Spider-Man—had saved for him.

He stared at it too long.

Tweek must’ve noticed, because he shifted awkwardly and blurted out, “So, uh—do you wanna play Mario Kart or something?” Craig almost forgot about the plush when Tweek mentioned video-games.

Craig nearly sighed in relief. Finally, something normal. “Sure,” he said, forcing himself to sound disinterested despite the way his heart leapt at the idea. He loved Mario Kart.

He moved toward the small, slightly outdated console set up on the floor, plopping down and picking up a controller easily. Tweek hesitated for a moment, then followed, settling beside him as the laggy menu screen flickered to life.

As the countdown began, the room was awkwardly quiet, except for the clicking of buttons and the faint hum of the TV. Craig sat stiffly on the floor, controller gripped loosely in his hands, while Tweek perched anxiously on the edge of his bed, one knee bouncing up and down like he was ready to spring off at any second. They had played Mario Kart before, sure—but always with Clyde, or Jimmy, or anyone else there to absorb the tension. This was their first time actually hanging out alone, and neither of them really knew how to act.

Both of them slammed down on the acceleration button at the exact same time, pulling off a perfect boost start. For a moment, the awkwardness disappeared as they focused in on the game, their karts zooming forward side by side, bumping into each other aggressively.

“D-dude, move over!” Tweek stammered, his voice high with stress as Craig’s Dry Bones nudged his Yoshi dangerously close to the edge of the track.

Craig barely spared him a glance. “Why?”

“B-because I said so!”

Craig scoffed, keeping his eyes locked on the screen. “That’s not how racing works, dude.”

Tweek let out a dramatic groan, gripping his controller tighter as he swerved back into position. Craig smirked slightly. It was kind of funny how easy it was to get a reaction out of him.

The game carried on in relative silence, but it wasn’t the same tense quiet from before. It was competitive now—focused, determined. They both played like their lives depended on it, eyes narrowed, fingers twitching over the buttons with razor-sharp precision.

Then, Tweek grabbed a red shell. His whole face lit up in manic excitement. “Ohhh, Craig.. you’re going DOWN!”

Craig didn’t even have to look. His instincts kicked in immediately, and he started weaving side to side. “No. Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

The red shell launched forward, and Craig slammed on the brakes at the last possible second, watching with satisfaction as another player took the hit instead.

Tweek let out an inhuman screech that made Craig wince. “DUDE! THAT WAS SO CHEAP!”

Craig snorted. “Not my fault you’re predictable.”

Tweek sputtered. “I—WHAT—Nnngh! I am not predictable!”

Craig smirked. “Okay.”

Tweek opened his mouth to argue further, but right at that moment, he got nailed by a stray green shell. His Yoshi spun out dramatically, and Craig let out an amused huff as he sped past him.

“This game is RIGGED!” Tweek seethed. “It’s CONSPIRING against me!”

Craig shrugged. “Or maybe you just suck.”

Tweek gasped, scandalized. “I do not suck!”

Craig just smirked, but he didn’t push it further. He knew the second he got cocky, the game would humble him in the most humiliating way possible.

And sure enough—just as he was about to cross the finish line, a blue shell came out of nowhere.

Craig barely had time to mutter a deadpan, “Figures,” before the explosion sent his Dry Bones tumbling.

Tweek howled, kicking his legs out like a little kid. “YES! JUSTICE! POETIC JUSTICE!”

Craig groaned, watching helplessly as Tweek’s Yoshi zoomed past him at the last second to take first place.

The second the results screen popped up, Tweek jumped to his feet, throwing his arms in the air. “I WIN! HA! TAKE THAT, DORK!”

A thick, horrified silence filled the room.

Then Tweek let out a weird, nervous laugh, waving his hands.

Craig stared at him, expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he set his controller down.

Tweek paled.

Craig lunged.

Tweek let out a shrieking laugh as Craig tackled him with a pillow, his whole body twisting in a futile attempt to escape. His laughter was objectively terrible—high-pitched, choppy, and punctuated by these weird little snorts that made him sound like a broken squeaky toy. His voice, already hoarse, grated against the air in the most obnoxious, gross way possible.

And yet—it was infectious, in no way anyone else’s laughter was. Craig loved it.

Craig tried to hold it in, he really did, but the sheer ridiculousness of the moment cracked something in him. A breath of laughter slipped past his lips—hesitant, monotone, like it wasn’t used to being let out. But it kept coming. Soon, he was wheezing alongside Tweek, his whole body shaking with the kind of laughter that made your ribs ache.

For a long moment, that was all there was—the sound of their gasping, overlapping laughter, the kind that made it impossible to breathe but impossible to stop.

Eventually, it died down, leaving them sprawled out next to each other, still catching their breath. Craig aspired to make Tweek laugh more often. Tweek rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one arm as he studied Craig. His expression was unreadable, which was rare for him—usually, every thought he had was written all over his face.

He hesitated for a second, like he was picking his words carefully, before blurting out, “I don’t think I’ve ever really heard you laugh before.”

Craig blinked, still staring at the ceiling. He sat with that for a moment before responding, voice quieter than before. “Yeah… I guess I don’t really do that. Not often.” He paused, fingers idly toying with a loose thread on the pillow. “At least, not since…”

He trailed off.

Tweek, nosy as ever, immediately latched onto the opening. “Not since what?”

Craig didn’t answer right away. He just exhaled slowly, rolling his head to the side to look at Tweek, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be vulnerable with Tweek yet or not. Craig never really ever vented about that night to anyone before.

“… I dunno,” he finally muttered, but the way his fingers curled slightly into the fabric of the pillow said otherwise.

Tweek pries more. “It’s okay… you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but I won’t judge if you do.” Craig gives in.

“Well, it was a year ago on my 15th birthday…”

—

Craig hated field trips.

They were loud, crowded, and always involved some kind of forced enthusiasm from the teachers who pretended like any of them actually wanted to be here. Today was even worse—it was his birthday, and instead of doing literally anything else, he was stuck wandering around a science museum with a bunch of kids who wouldn’t shut up. Atleast it was science, something Craig enjoyed. Clyde had already disappeared somewhere, probably trying to impress Bebe with some dumb science fact he barely understood. Meanwhile, Craig was lingering near the back of the group, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, zoning out as Mr. Garrison droned on about blah blah evolution blah blah radioactive elements blah blah—Craig had already tuned out.

They were in some exhibit about genetics or mutations or something. He wasn’t really paying attention until he heard the words “radioactive specimen” and something about “live arachnids.” That caught his ear.

He turned his head just in time to see a glass enclosure—one of those fancy high-tech ones with a controlled environment inside, full of webs and fake rocks. There were spiders—big, creepy-looking ones. Craig wrinkled his nose. Gross. He loved them.

“Alright, class, stay behind the barrier!” Mr. Garrison warned, already exasperated as some kid leaned too close to one of the displays. Craig rolled his eyes and made his way to th front anyways, completely disregarding what the tour guide was saying.

That’s when it happened.

A sharp crack echoed through the air. At first, Craig thought someone had dropped something, but then a few kids gasped. He turned just in time to see a scientist in a lab coat rushing toward one of the enclosures, muttering a string of frantic curses under his breath. The glass on one of the smaller cases had splintered—just slightly, barely even noticeable. But then, something small and dark moved at the corner of Craig’s vision.

And before he could even process it—something landed on the exposed skin of his wrist.

The bite was instant. Sharp, like a pinprick. Craig hissed, jerking his hand back as a small black spider skittered off him and disappeared into the floor before he could stomp on it. His skin burned where it had bitten him, a weird tingling sensation shooting up his arm.

Craig’s first thought was Are you kidding me?

His second thought was Do I tell someone?

His third thought was No, absolutely not.

The last thing he needed was Mr. Garrison making a big deal out of this and sending him to the nurse or whatever. It was just a spider bite. Spiders bit people all the time. He’d get a little red mark, maybe an itchy bump, and that’d be the end of it. No way he was spending his birthday being dragged off for some dumb medical checkup.

So, he tugged his sleeve down over his wrist, shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket, and acted like nothing happened.

By the time they were heading back to the buses, though, his head was starting to pound. His body felt weirdly heavy, and his stomach churned like he was coming down with the worst flu of his life. His wrist still burned under his sleeve, a deep, throbbing heat spreading up his veins.

Craig grit his teeth and ignored it.

It was just a spider bite. It was fine.

And ever since that day on his 15th birthday, Craig was spider man. Craig had always been careful. Or at least, he thought he had been.

Being Spider-Man wasn’t exactly easy to hide, but he’d done his best. He kept his gear locked away, never swung too close to home, never let his mask slip. He figured if he was cautious enough, no one—especially not his family—would ever have to know.

But Tricia was smart. Too smart.

She was nosy, persistent, and above all, bored with being the younger sibling. She noticed things—like how Craig was sneaking out at odd hours, how he always seemed exhausted, how he came home with bruises and cuts that he had no good explanation for.

And of course, because she was Tricia, she wanted in on it.

Craig had no idea how long she’d been planning this. He only realized something was wrong when he went to check on her one night, only to find her bedroom window cracked open, the sheets of her bed stuffed into the shape of a fake sleeping figure.

His stomach dropped.

He bolted.

Craig barely had time to yank on his mask and swing after her, his heart pounding as he followed the faint echo of her footsteps. She was headed downtown. The science museum.

By the time he arrived, she was already inside.

Tricia had broken into the private sector of the museum—Dr. Mephesto’s lab. Craig didn’t even want to think about the kind of experiments that guy was running, but whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t safe for his little sister to be messing around with.

“Tricia!” he hissed, his voice bouncing off the sterile, dimly lit walls. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

She was standing over a glass enclosure, her small fingers fiddling with the latch. When she turned to face him, she was grinning. “I knew it! I knew you were Spider-Man!” she exclaimed, looking way too pleased with herself.

Craig ignored her. His focus was locked on the enclosure. Inside, a spider sat motionless, its body twitching unnaturally, legs shifting in stiff, jerky movements.

“Tricia,” he said, much more seriously now, stepping forward. “Step away from that.”

“No way!” she shot back, defiant. “I want superpowers too! It’s not fair—you got to be special, and I didn’t!”

Craig cursed under his breath and rushed toward her, but—

She undid the latch.

The spider sprang out faster than either of them could react, landing on Tricia’s wrist. And before Craig could reach her—before he could do anything—it bit her.

Her whole body jerked like she’d been electrocuted. Her eyes went wide, her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Craig barely had time to grab her before she collapsed, her body suddenly locked up.

This wasn’t the same spider that had bitten him. This was different.

Craig panicked. He scooped her up, but she was completely rigid, her limbs stiff, her eyes darting frantically, unable to move. He had to get her out of here.

But then—

The railing behind them gave way. Fuck Dr. Mephestos bogus security systems.

Tricia tipped backward. Craig lunged, reaching for her, his fingers just brushing against her wrist—

And then she was falling.

Craig leapt over the edge after her, shooting out a web. It caught—just barely—sticking to the metal beam above. He swung down, reaching for her, but the new webbing formula he’d been testing wasn’t built for this much weight. He had barely been Spider-Man long enough to come up with the idea.

His grip tightened.

The web snapped.

Tricia plunged downward.

Craig lunged—reached—

But she was already gone.

The impact was sickening.

Craig hit the ground hard, rolling onto his knees, skidding forward—his breath came in ragged gasps as he crawled toward her crumpled form.

She wasn’t moving.

“Tricia—Tricia—” His hands trembled as he touched her face, as if shaking her would fix this somehow. But she didn’t respond. She wasn’t breathing.

His whole body felt cold.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Craig sat there, his hands shaking, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. The fluorescent lights above him buzzed, casting harsh, sterile light over the scene. Craig never got along great with Tricia, but she understood him like nobody else. He loved her.

Police lights flickered outside, and Officer Tucker was not happy to find Spider-Man at the scene of his daughters death.

It was all his fault.

He was supposed to be the hero.

But he had lost.

—

Craig fell silent after finishing his story, his voice dull, almost mechanical. He had left out the Spider-Man parts, twisting the details to avoid revealing his identity.

By the time he was done, he hadn’t even realized he was crying.

Craig wasn’t the type to break down. He wasn’t loud about it—no hiccups, no gasping breaths, no outward signs of grief except for the silent, steady stream of tears rolling down his face. His expression barely changed. If not for the glistening trails on his cheeks, it would’ve been impossible to tell.

Tweek didn’t speak at first. He just sat there, watching Craig with an unfamiliar kind of softness in his gaze. Craig never let his emotions show—he was always so composed, so controlled, like nothing could shake him.

But here he was, breaking apart right in front of him.

Slowly, cautiously, Tweek shifted closer. He didn’t say anything—didn’t offer useless platitudes or try to fill the silence with meaningless words. Instead, he just reached out, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Craig. Tweek offered the exact kind of condolences Craig needed.

Craig stiffened at first. He wasn’t used to being comforted. Wasn’t used to needing it.

But after a moment, he let himself lean into it.

The embrace was light, careful, like Tweek was afraid Craig would push him away. But Craig didn’t. He let himself sink into the warmth, into the quiet understanding that Tweek offered so freely.

Tweek’s voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke. “It’s not your fault.”

Craig squeezed his eyes shut.

And then, without a sound, he allowed himself to cry even harder.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet except for Craig’s slow, uneven breaths. Tweek didn’t move, didn’t let go, just sat there, letting Craig take whatever he needed from the moment.

Then, from outside the room, the squeak of the front door being shoved open broke the silence. Tweek stiffened. His parents were home.

Craig must have heard it too because he immediately pulled back, hastily rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, forcing his face into its usual neutral expression. If not for the lingering redness around his eyes, it would have been impossible to tell he had been crying at all.

Tweek’s mind scrambled for a solution. He didn’t want to deal with his parents right now. They were never outright awful, but they wouldn’t care about any of this. They never did.

“Uh—hey,” he blurted, standing up abruptly. “Can we go to your place?”

Craig blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Tweek was already moving, grabbing a random hoodie off his desk chair and stuffing his Switch into a backpack. “Your place. Can we go?” He shot Craig a meaningful look. He didn’t have time to explain, but he knew Craig would get it.

Craig hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”

That was all Tweek needed to hear.

He swung the bag over his shoulder and made a beeline for the door, Craig following close behind. As they stepped into the hallway, Tweek’s mom barely glanced up from the takeout bag she was unpacking on the kitchen counter.

“Going to Craig’s,” Tweek announced quickly, pulling on his shoes.

His dad, who was setting out some beers, waved a dismissive hand without even looking at him. “Yeah, whatever. Be back whenever.”

And that was that.

No questions. No concern. Not even a second glance.

Tweek swallowed down the bitter, familiar feeling clawing up his throat and yanked the door open.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, stepping out into the night.

Craig followed in tow, drawing his hood up and walking in slow, deliberate strides behind Tweek. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched. His face was still warm from the residual effects of crying, and every now and then, a rogue sniffle would escape him, much to his dismay.

He felt sort of ashamed. Definitely embarrassed. He never cried in front of people— let alone Tweek. And yet… he didn’t feel judged at all. There was no pity in Tweek’s hug, no awkward attempt to fix him. It had just been comfort. Real, genuine comfort, and it settled into Craig’s chest in a way he wasn’t used to.

He let this realization marinate as they walked in silence, the only sounds being their footsteps against the pavement and the distant hum of traffic.

Tweek was the one to finally break the quiet, clearing his throat. “Uh, which way?”

Craig blinked, snapped out of his thoughts. “Huh?”

“Which way to your house?”

“Oh.” Craig pointed ahead. “Left at the next street.” His voice was distant, still a little detached.

Tweek frowned slightly but didn’t push it. They kept walking, their conversation stilted, as if neither knew quite what to say.

Eventually, the lull became unbearable, and they both turned toward each other at the same time. Craig opened his mouth first.

“I’m sor—”

“ACK! I’m so sorry!” Tweek blurted out, effectively cutting him off. His hands flailed as he spoke, voice climbing in pitch. “I shouldn’t have just invited myself over to your house! I totally made it awkward! And I—I didn’t mean to hug you! I know it must be weird since I’m gay! Not that I’m gay for you, I just—”

Craig’s eyes widened in alarm before he quickly hushed him. Loudly.

“Dude! Shut up!” he hissed, glaring at him. People were looking. Craig could feel them looking.

Tweek clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting around nervously. “Sorry,” he mumbled behind his fingers.

Craig exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “It’s fine,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. His voice softened as he added, “I wanted to keep hanging out anyway.”

Tweek blinked, startled by the admission.

Then, slowly, a relieved smile crept onto his face. “Oh. Okay.”

And just like that, the tension dissipated.

They kept walking, but this time, the silence wasn’t so suffocating. It felt lighter. Easier. And soon enough, they were talking again, slipping back into their natural rhythm as if the lull had never happened at all.

The moment Craig unlocked the door and stepped inside, his mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Craigory! You’re home late— Oh!” Laura’s tone shifted instantly as she poked her head out from the doorway, eyes landing on Tweek standing awkwardly behind Craig. Her face lit up. “And who is this?”

Craig sighed, already bracing himself. “Mom, this is Tweek. Tweek, my mom.”

Tweek stiffened, standing up straighter as if being inspected. “Uh— H-hi, Mrs. Tucker,” he stammered, giving a little wave.

Laura’s hands flew to her chest, eyes practically sparkling. “Oh my goodness, how polite! Craig, you never told me your friend was so adorable!”

Craig groaned. “Mom—”

But she wasn’t done. She bustled forward, placing a gentle hand on Tweek’s shoulder, beaming. “It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart. My, you’re such a well-mannered young man. And look at you! Just the cutest thing— oh, I love your hair.”

Tweek, entirely unused to this sort of attention, turned about three different shades of pink. “U-uhm—”

“And so small! You must not eat nearly enough. You are staying for dinner, right?” Laura clasped her hands together expectantly. “I insist.”

Tweek’s mouth opened and closed uselessly, his brain short-circuiting from the overwhelming kindness. He was used to being spoken at, not to. His parents only ever acknowledged him to scold him or bark orders— and certainly not to tell him he was cute.

“I— Uh— I mean—” He floundered, gripping the sleeves of his hoodie awkwardly.

Craig, watching this unfold, decided to throw him a lifeline. “Yeah, he’s staying.”

Tweek whipped his head toward him, eyes wide. “I am?”

Craig shrugged. “Unless you don’t want free food.”

Tweek hesitated. Then, as if remembering the last burnt, flavorless meal his parents forced on him, he turned back to Laura. “I—I’d love to stay for dinner,” he said, voice barely above a squeak.

Laura practically glowed. “Oh, wonderful! I’ll set an extra plate. Make yourself at home, dear!”

She disappeared back into the kitchen, humming cheerfully.

Tweek let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His face was still burning. “Your mom is… really nice.”

Craig rolled his eyes, already heading toward the stairs. “Yeah, she’s something.”

Tweek lingered for a moment, glancing toward the kitchen, where the warmth of a loving home seemed to radiate. Something about it made his chest feel tight— but not in a bad way.

Craig led the way up to his room, where the two boys collapsed onto the floor, backs against the bed. The awkwardness from earlier had faded, replaced by a more comfortable, easy silence. Tweek was still a little flustered from Laura’s warmth, but Craig, as always, seemed completely unaffected by the world around him.

Still, Laura’s words echoed in Craig’s mind. You never told me your friend was so adorable! He cringed at the memory. His mom never let things go.

“So, uh,” Tweek started, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, “Your mom’s, like… really nice.”

Craig huffed. “She’s a lot. But yeah, I guess.”

“She’s, like— so different from mine.” Tweek snorted bitterly. “I think my parents have called me adorable maybe once in my life. And I think they were being sarcastic.”

Craig glanced at him. “Yeah, well, my mom would probably swap me out for you if she could.”

Tweek laughed at that, a little snort slipping out. Craig smirked. “You really gotta work on that laugh, dude.”

“Oh, shut up! I can’t help it!”

Craig snatched a throw pillow off the bed and lightly smacked him with it. Tweek gasped, affronted, before grabbing a pillow of his own and returning the favor— though it was more of a frantic flail than a calculated strike.

“Okay, okay—” Craig lifted his hands in surrender, laughing. “Truce before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

Tweek huffed but let it go, tossing the pillow aside. “You started it,” he mumbled.

Craig just smirked.

Unbeknownst to them, Laura had lingered nearby, watching with quiet interest. It was subtle, but she could see it— the way Craig sat a little straighter, the way his usual deadpan expression lifted just slightly around this boy. He was always so quiet, so closed-off. But right now, he looked… lively.

She filed that observation away for later.

Dinner was soon ready, and the two boys made their way downstairs, Tweek still a little on edge from the overwhelming kindness of the Tucker household. The dining table was small, but it felt warm— something his own dinner table never did.

Laura set down their plates with a proud smile. “I hope you boys like it! Craig loves this dish, so I figured I’d make it for you both.”

Tweek beamed. “Thank you, Mrs. Tucker, it looks—”

Then, he actually looked at it.

Chicken.

His stomach dropped. His face paled.

Craig, immediately noticing, spoke up before Tweek could spiral. “Oh, right. Tweek’s Buddhist. He doesn’t eat meat.”

Tweek looked at him, horrified. “Oh my god, I totally forgot to say something— I—I feel awful— you made all this food—”

Laura, ever unbothered, simply waved a hand. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s no trouble! I should’ve asked beforehand—”

But before Tweek could protest further, Craig, in a completely casual and wordless motion, reached over with his fork and scooped every piece of chicken off Tweek’s plate and onto his own, swapping their portions. This way, Craig had all of the chicken, and Tweek had the rest. Then, he shoved Tweek’s plate back in front of him as if nothing happened.

Tweek blinked. “What—”

“There. Problem solved.” Craig picked up a forkful of chicken and took a bite without ceremony.

Tweek stared at him, stunned. “But— that was, like, your favorite part—”

Craig shrugged. “So? You can eat the rest.”

Tweek opened his mouth to argue, but… the weight of the kindness settled in his chest. It was such a small gesture, but coming from Craig, it felt big.

Laura, watching this interaction unfold, narrowed her eyes slightly. Her gaze flicked between the two boys, something unreadable in her expression.

She said nothing.

But she noticed.

After dinner, the two migrated to the living room, sinking into the couch as the soft hum of the television filled the space. The glow of the screen flickered against their faces, casting muted blues and yellows across the room.

Craig had the remote, flipping through channels with little interest, barely stopping long enough for anything to register. Tweek, curled up against the armrest, watched with mild amusement.

“You’re just gonna scroll?”

Craig didn’t even look at him. “Yup.”

Tweek snorted. “You’re so boring.”

Craig finally stopped on a random nature documentary. Some guy with a deep voice was narrating the migration patterns of sea turtles.

“This is the opposite of boring,” Craig deadpanned.

Tweek hummed, sinking further into the cushions. “At least it’s better than those conspiracy theory shows my dad watches.”

They sat in silence for a while, the warmth of the house settling around them. It wasn’t until Craig glanced out the window that an idea struck him.

“Wanna go outside?”

Tweek blinked, caught off guard. “Uh. It’s cold as hell out there.”

Craig shrugged. “You scared?”

Tweek scoffed, shooting up from the couch. “I’m not scared!”

Craig smirked, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch before leading the way out to the fire escape. The night air was crisp, the sky a deep, endless stretch of darkness scattered with stars. Tweek shivered on instinct, but Craig barely seemed to notice the cold.

They sat down onto the metal makeshift balcony, Craig spreading the blanket over both of them. Tweek followed his gaze upward, eyes tracing the constellations, though he couldn’t name a single one. Craig, on the other hand—

“See that one?” Craig pointed, his voice losing its usual flatness, replaced by something almost… excited. “That’s Orion. You can tell by the belt— those three stars right in a row. And over there— that bright one? That’s Sirius. It’s the brightest star in the sky.”

Tweek followed his finger, his breath puffing into the cold night air. “Huh.”

Craig continued, more animated than Tweek had ever seen him. “And that cluster over there? That’s the Pleiades. People used to use them for navigation. And— oh, and that one?” His voice picked up, almost eager. “That’s Mars. You can tell ‘cause it’s got a reddish tint.”

Tweek turned his head slightly, watching Craig instead of the stars. He had never heard him talk this much at once.

Craig caught himself, hesitating mid-thought. “Uh— sorry. I’m rambling.”

Tweek shook his head. “No, dude, it’s—” He paused, searching for the right word. “It’s cool. You really like space, huh?”

Craig, uncharacteristically bashful, shrugged. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Tweek gave a small smile. “Well, keep going. I was actually listening.”

Craig blinked at him, caught off guard. People didn’t usually encourage him to talk.

So he did.

And they sat there for a long time, Craig’s voice filling the night as he pointed out different stars and planets.

Tweek shivered as he finally stood up from the cold metal, rubbing his arms before quickly making his way back inside. The warmth of the house hit him instantly, and he exhaled in relief, stretching his fingers out to get the stiffness out of them. Craig followed behind, shutting the back door quietly.

“I’m making coffee,” Tweek announced as he wandered into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. “Want some?”

Craig gave him a dry look. “It’s almost midnight.”

Tweek blinked. “And?”

Craig rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he disappeared down the hall to get some extra blankets while Tweek busied himself with Craig’s fancy coffee maker. Tweek was an expert on coffee, and within minutes, the strong aroma of brewing coffee filled the kitchen. He poured himself a mug, not bothering to add sugar. Tweek enjoyed the bitterness.

By the time he made it back to Craig’s room, Craig had already changed into a loose T-shirt and some sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips, tossing a pillow down onto the makeshift sleeping mat he had thrown together earlier.

Tweek gave him a grateful nod, trying to look anywhere but his lower half before lowering himself onto the mat, taking a careful sip of his coffee. His body was buzzing with nerves and exhaustion, a jittery mix of energy that he was used to.

And then—

His arm jerked.

The motion was sudden, completely out of his control. His hand spasmed, and before he could react, the mug slipped from his grasp. The hot liquid sloshed over the sides, drenching the blankets and splattering onto the floor with a loud splat.

Tweek froze, his entire body stiffening in mortification.

Craig, who had just been sitting down on his bed, turned his head at the noise. He took in the scene— the overturned cup, the ruined blankets, the spreading stain— and let out a long, slow sigh.

Tweek swallowed thickly, his face burning. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t,” Craig deadpanned, already standing up. He grabbed a few crumpled clothes out of his dresser and tossed them at Tweek’s face.

Tweek peeled them off with a grimace. “The hell is this?”

“Change into those,” Craig said, already heading out the door. “I’ll get a towel.”

Tweek stared after him, his chest tight with embarrassment. He hated when this happened. Stupid, jerky limbs. Stupid, shaky hands. He let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair before reluctantly changing into the spare clothes Craig had given him.

Tweek shifted awkwardly in the oversized NASA t-shirt and joggers Craig had given him, hugging his arms around himself. The fabric was soft and worn, obviously well-loved, and it smelled distinctly like Craig— a mix of laundry detergent and something else familiar but indescribable. It was oddly comforting.

As he settled on the floor, still mildly fuming at himself for the mess he made, Craig returned with a towel, kneeling down to clean up what remained of the coffee spill. He didn’t say anything about it, which Tweek was grateful for. Instead, he just wiped up the mess with practiced efficiency before tossing the towel aside and straightening up.

“Move over.”

Tweek blinked up at him. “Huh?”

Craig gave him a look, as if he was stating the most obvious thing in the world. “Move over. I’m sleeping here.”

Tweek furrowed his brows. “But— but this is the mat. You can’t sleep here— I spilled coffee all over it. It’s wet.”

“Yeah, you spilled coffee on it,” Craig said flatly. “Which means you get the bed.”

Tweek gawked at him. “That makes no sense. I’m the one who fucked it up, I should get the repercussions!”

“Move.”

Tweek remained frozen in place, trying to process this unexpected act of kindness. Craig wasn’t exactly the nicest guy— he was blunt, often indifferent, and had a talent for acting like he didn’t care about anything. But this? This was… really, really nice.

His face burned. “I— I can’t take your bed, dude, that’s—”

“Jesus Christ, Tweek.” Craig pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “It’s not a big deal.”

“IT IS—”

“No, it’s not.” Craig leveled him with a look, his voice carrying that signature Craig monotony. “You had a bad night. Just take the damn bed.”

Tweek opened his mouth, ready to argue again, but Craig was already grabbing a spare pillow and flopping down onto the sleeping mat with zero hesitation. His long limbs sprawled over the blankets, and he shifted slightly to get comfortable before looking back up at Tweek expectantly.

“Well?”

Tweek’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. He wasn’t used to people being so considerate. Hell, his own parents barely even noticed when he was around. He swallowed thickly, staring at Craig, who had already closed his eyes as if the discussion was over.

Tweek hesitated for a moment longer before slowly, reluctantly, crawling onto the bed. He sat there, stiff as a board, before finally laying down. The mattress was way more comfortable than the floor, and despite himself, he sank into the plush blankets with an involuntary sigh.

Craig cracked one eye open at the sound. “Better?”

Tweek’s face was practically on fire now. “Shut up.”

Craig huffed out a small, barely-there chuckle before turning onto his side, pulling his blanket over himself.

Tweek stared up at the ceiling, the warmth of Craig’s clothes surrounding him, the kindness of his actions weighing heavier on his chest than he knew what to do with.

He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve this, but for the first time in a while, he felt truly taken care of.

Tweek woke up feeling… off. But not in the usual jittery, heart-pounding way he was used to. This was different— like his body had finally, finally been given the chance to rest, and now it wasn’t quite sure what to do with itself.

He blinked up at the ceiling, bleary-eyed and confused. It took him a few seconds to even remember where he was. The unfamiliar scent of laundry detergent that wasn’t his own, the NASA t-shirt that draped over him like a blanket, the general quiet of the house compared to his usual mornings— right. Craig’s house.

And more importantly, Craig’s bed.

Tweek groaned softly, pressing his hands to his face as the memories of last night came rushing back. The coffee spill. The oversized clothes. Craig insisting— in the most casual, indifferent way possible— that he should take the bed instead.

It was stupid. So, so stupid that it made Tweek feel this warm and fuzzy over something so small, but… it just meant a lot. It had been so effortless for Craig to be kind, like he hadn’t even thought twice about it. And then there was dinner, and the way he had just quietly given up his chicken so that Tweek could eat without worry.

He didn’t get it. Craig acted like he was so detached, like nothing really mattered to him, but his actions were so loud. So deliberate, even if he pretended otherwise.

With a sigh, Tweek sat up and ruffled a hand through his hair, only to immediately regret it when he realized what an absolute mess it must look like. His face burned slightly as he climbed out of bed, tugging at the sleeves of Craig’s borrowed hoodie as he stepped out into the hall.

He found Craig already in the kitchen, lazily scrolling through his phone while Laura moved around the stove, setting out plates.

“Oh, good morning, sweetheart!” she chirped when she saw him, all bright and warm like a mother straight out of a sitcom. “Did you sleep well?”

Tweek froze. Sweetheart?!

Craig barely even reacted, like this was completely normal behavior for his mom. Maybe it was. Tweek wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

“Uh— y-yeah. Yeah, I did,” he admitted, still feeling the lingering traces of sleep weighing him down. “Thank you, Mrs. Tucker.”

“Oh, please,” she laughed, waving a hand dismissively as she set a plate of food in front of him. “Call me Laura.”

Tweek hesitated before nodding, sitting down at the table. Craig was already eating like a starved animal, barely even acknowledging his presence.

Still, as Tweek took a hesitant bite of breakfast, he couldn’t help but glance over at him.

It was weird, sitting here like this. Having a meal at the table, being cooked for. His own parents barely even noticed when he ate, let alone made sure he had food in the first place.

But here, Laura had welcomed him like he belonged. Craig had given up his own bed without a second thought. Even Thomas greeted him.

It was just… nice.

They finished breakfast without much conversation, Craig devouring his plate in record time while Tweek ate more slowly, still getting used to the feeling of being full. He wasn’t sure if it was the food itself or just the company that made it feel so different.

Afterward, the two of them trudged back to Craig’s room, where Tweek plopped down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. He bit his lip before mumbling, “I’m, uh… still kinda hungry.”

Craig looked at him like he had just confessed to murder. “Then go eat more.”

Tweek scowled. “I— I don’t wanna bother your mom, dude, it’s— it’s fine.”

Craig groaned loudly, as if this was the single dumbest thing he had ever heard. Then, before Tweek could even think to stop him, he turned toward the door and took in a deep breath.

“HEY, MOM—”

“ACK—” Tweek practically leapt off the floor, heart slamming against his ribs as he flailed toward Craig, grabbing his hoodie sleeve in a panic. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

But Craig, the absolute psychopath, just calmly finished his sentence:

“I’M STILL HUNGRY.”

Tweek froze.

From the kitchen, Laura sighed. “Again? Craig, you eat like a damn vacuum! Fine, but this is the last plate.”

Craig turned back to Tweek, face completely neutral. “Problem solved.”

Tweek gawked at him. “You— you lied—”

Craig shrugged. “I redirected.”

Tweek was still trying to comprehend what had just happened by the time Craig strolled back in, a fresh plate of food in hand. Without a word, he plopped it directly into Tweek’s lap before throwing himself onto the bed, tugging his hoodie over his head like he hadn’t just altered the entire course of Tweek’s morning.

Tweek stared at the plate. Then at Craig. Then back at the plate. His face burned as he hesitantly picked up his fork, stomach twisting with a mix of emotions he wasn’t entirely sure how to name.

But more than anything, one thought stuck in his head.

He really, really wasn’t sure what he did to deserve Craig as a friend.

Later that morning, after they had both settled into the routine of their lazy day, Tweek found himself sprawled out on their couch, mindlessly flipping through the channels, trying to find an excuse to stay longer before he had to go back to his apartment. Craig was perched in the armchair, looking way too comfortable with his legs stretched out and his arms crossed behind his head, scrolling through his phone with the kind of disinterest only he could manage.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt surprisingly easy. But there was something that kept nagging at Tweek, an itch in his brain that he couldn’t quite scratch. Something about Craig’s nonchalance, his ease in just being, had started to feel… infectious. Like he could almost breathe easier just being around him.

Suddenly, a news story caught Tweek’s attention—a quick flash of Spider-Man swinging between the buildings, dodging bullets and stopping a bank robbery in some downtown part of the city. Tweek’s eyes widened slightly, watching the footage as Spider-Man easily dispatched a group of thugs, flipping and web-slinging through the air with effortless grace. His heart gave a small skip in his chest. Yeah… that was what made Spider-Man so cool. He had all that bravery, that strength, the kind of heroism Tweek admired but would never have the courage to act on himself.

“What’s up?” Craig’s voice broke through Tweek’s reverie, and he glanced over to find Craig’s eyes narrowing slightly, his interest piqued by the flickering news on the screen. “What’s so interesting?”

“Uh, just… Spider-Man,” Tweek replied absently, though he could feel his cheeks warming slightly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Of course Craig would ask, of all things.

Craig raised an eyebrow, a half-smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Spider-Man, again? What’s so attractive about him anyways?”

Tweek blinked, not sure how to answer at first. He shifted slightly, trying to figure out how to phrase it in a way that wasn’t too embarrassing. “Well, I mean, he’s a superhero, right?” He paused, thinking. “He’s got that… bravery. Like, he’s not afraid to step in, even when things get dangerous. He’s always trying to protect people. I think that’s… kind of admirable. You know?”

Craig didn’t say anything, just watching Tweek with a raised brow, clearly waiting for something more. Tweek let out a deep breath and continued, trying to ignore the awkward lump forming in his throat.

“And, like, he’s just cool,” Tweek added with a small shrug. “The way he moves, the way he handles himself… it’s… it’s like everything he does has purpose, and that’s really attractive.”

Craig didn’t react, but Tweek could feel his gaze lingering on him. “Yeah?” Craig said, leaning forward just a little, clearly still curious about where this was going.

Tweek shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting down to his lap. “Well… yeah. Plus, uh… he’s pretty ripped. I mean— not that that’s the reason why I like him, but, uh, it’s just… a bonus, you know?”

There it was. Tweek felt the warmth flood his face instantly, and he shifted uneasily in his seat. The last part had come out so awkwardly, like some embarrassing confession. Spider-Man’s muscles were definitely not the first thing he had admired about him, but after all that talk about bravery, he just couldn’t help himself.

Craig blinked, eyes flicking to Tweek for a split second before he cleared his throat. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking back at the TV screen as though he hadn’t just been completely flustered. Tweek couldn’t tell if Craig was trying to hide the fact that he was now slightly awkward, or if he was just trying to act unbothered. Either way, Tweek couldn’t stop the slight chuckle that escaped his lips, his own embarrassment growing with every passing second.

“Ripped?” Craig finally asked, his voice betraying a slight edge of something that was… almost shy? “So, uh, you’re saying you like him because he’s… strong?”

Tweek nodded quickly, trying to make it seem like it was nothing, but his voice came out a little more strained than he intended. “Yeah, I mean… he’s Spider-Man. He’s like, uh, super strong, right? Who wouldn’t find that attractive? Like! When he saved me from the arcade? He picked me up so easily, and we’re like the same size!”

Craig cleared his throat again and straightened up, his face suddenly hard to read. “Yeah. I guess I see what you mean.”

After a beat of silence, the air felt almost charged with tension. Craig stared at Tweek with a look that was both knowing and a little teasing. Finally, he spoke again, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re whipped, dude.”

Tweek huffed and threw his hands up, trying to brush it off. “Okay, fine! Whatever! I think he’s cool, alright? He’s heroic and brave and—” He paused, his voice faltering a little. “And he’s hot… but like— that’s not the only reason! It’s just… he does the right thing even when it’s hard.” He could feel himself rambling a little now, but it was too late to stop. “So… there’s my answer. Happy?”

Craig watched him for a moment, the smirk still lingering on his lips, blushing a bit. Hearing someone else talk about him that way, even inadvertently was.. flattering. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Superheroes and all that… but still. You’re totally whipped.”

Tweek’s face turned a shade darker as he plopped back down onto the couch, running a hand through his messy hair. “Whatever, man! It’s just a celebrity crush. Like… everyone has one! Don’t act like you’ve never been obsessed with some girl!”

At that, Craig’s expression shifted just slightly. His smirk faded into something a little less certain, and he cleared his throat. “Not really. I’m not Clyde. No girl has ever really interested me that much yet.”

Tweek blinked, startled by the admission. He leaned forward, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Wait, what? Seriously? Not even one? You’ve never had a thing for anyone?”

Craig shifted in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the window, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden subject change. “Not really. It’s just… it’s hard to find someone who really gets it, you know?” He shrugged, though there was something almost wistful in the movement. “I don’t know… I guess I’m just waiting for the right person to come around.”

Tweek stared at him, processing what Craig had just said. It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered the idea before, but hearing Craig say it out loud made him pause. “So… you’re just waiting for the right girl to come around?” he asked slowly, voice quieter now, like he was trying to make sense of it.

Craig nodded, his fingers absently tapping on the armrest of his chair. “Yeah… something like that.”

The words hit Tweek harder than he expected, and he found himself unable to immediately respond. There was something so… vulnerable in Craig’s tone that made Tweek feel like he had stumbled onto something deeper. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat.

Instead, he decided to joke. “Man! You didn’t strike me as a hopeless romantic.” Craig rolls his eyes and hurls a pillow in his direction with a sharp, playful: “Fuck you!”

Tweek sat back on the couch, letting his thoughts linger for a moment. He glanced over at Craig, who had fallen back into his usual relaxed posture, staring at his phone with half interest. The conversation from earlier still lingered in his mind, and a sudden thought occurred to him, almost as if the idea had sprouted out of nowhere.

After a few seconds of contemplation, he leaned forward, nudging Craig’s knee. “Hey, what about Wendy?” he asked, not entirely sure where this was going. “She’s smart, funny, and she kinda likes you…”

Craig’s eyes darted to Tweek, then quickly away. “What? Wendy? No way.” He brushed it off quickly, his voice defensive as he tugged at his sleeves, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion. “She’s, like… way out of my league, dude.”

Tweek raised an eyebrow, still teasing. “No, seriously. She’s a good match. You never know, man. Maybe you should—”

Before he could finish, the shrill sound of his phone broke through the conversation. Tweek glanced down at the screen, his stomach sinking. It was a text from his Dad at the coffee shop: “Tweek, you need to come in and work today. We’re short-handed. You’re so selfish to leave us on a busy morning, show some gratitude to your parents.”

Reluctantly, Tweek stood up, already feeling the pressure of having to leave. “Ah, shit. I gotta go,” he muttered, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.

Craig gave him a casual nod. “Yeah, alright. See you later, man.”

Tweek hesitated for a second, the warmth of the morning still lingering in his chest. He turned to Laura, who was still in the kitchen, finishing up some cleaning. “Thanks again for everything, Mrs. Tucker… I mean, uh, Laura.” His voice was a bit sheepish as he awkwardly walked over to her, offering a quick, uncertain hug. “I really appreciate it.”

Laura smiled, her arms wrapping around him with genuine affection. “You’re always welcome here, Tweek. Take care of yourself!”

Tweek quickly turned to Craig, giving him a brief, awkward hug as well, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’ll see you later, Craig,” he muttered, stepping back.

Craig raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, giving him a short nod. “Later.”

Tweek hesitated one last moment, lingering in the doorway before stepping outside and heading toward the street. As he walked away, he couldn’t help but think about the conversation with Craig, about Wendy, and about the strange warmth in his chest. He also, recalled, that he was still wearing Craig’s clothes.

But for now, work called. And the rest—well, that could wait until later.

Chapter Text

The rooftop was quiet except for the occasional gust of wind and the distant hum of the city below. Up here, the usual sound of New York—the honking, the shouting, the constant movement—felt muted, far away but just close enough to hear.

Craig leaned against the low concrete ledge, hands stuffed into the front pocket of his hoodie, eyes focused on the lights stretching into the distance. His mind, however, was everywhere but here.

Tolkien stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He wasn’t looking at the skyline, though. He was looking at Craig.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Tolkien said, finally breaking the silence.

Craig huffed, barely turning his head. “That’s just my personality.”

Tolkien didn’t laugh. “No, dude. You’re, like… extra weird.”

Craig exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but Tolkien wasn’t done.

“You keep disappearing. You come back with bruises. You flake out on plans all the time now. You’ve been ditching us to hang out with Tweek. And, worst of all, you haven’t been making fun of Clyde.” Tolkien folded his arms. “That last one? That’s a serious red flag.”

Craig scoffed. “Maybe I’m just growing as a person.”

“That’s not growth, that’s concerning.”

Craig stayed quiet, jaw tightening. He was disappearing, wasn’t he? It had been subtle at first—slipping away from their usual group hangs, making excuses about school or family. But now, it was more obvious. Too obvious. And Tolkien was sharp enough to notice.

“Look,” Craig finally muttered, shifting his weight against the ledge. “I’ve just been busy. Tired.”

“Bullshit,” Tolkien shot back. “We’re all tired. You’re different.”

Craig let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders like the weight pressing down on him was something he could physically shake off.

“Fine,” he admitted. “Yeah, I’ve got… stuff going on.”

Tolkien’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of stuff?”

Craig hesitated. He could deflect. He could make a joke, or throw the conversation back at Token, or just walk away. That would be the easier route. But the truth was, he was tired of shouldering everything alone.

Still, he couldn’t exactly tell Tolkien, Oh, I don’t know, just the usual—school, life, and being Spider-Man. Also, I’m letting myself get away with a lot more around Tweek, and I feel awful when I’m around him.

So instead, he sighed. “The kind of stuff I can’t really explain.”

Tolkien studied him for a moment, then, to Craig’s surprise, he just… let it sit. He didn’t press. Didn’t interrogate him like Clyde or Jimmy would have.

He just leaned against the ledge next to him and said, “Okay.”

Craig frowned. “That’s it?”

“What, you want me to waterboard you for answers?” Tolkien smirked, then shook his head. “Look, man. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I do know that you’re not the type to just talk about shit unless you really want to.”

Craig blinked, caught off guard.

“I also know that you think you have to handle everything on your own,” Tolkien continued, tone leveling out. “And maybe that’s true. Maybe there’s nothing I can do to help. But if there is, you’d tell me, right?”

Craig didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his eyes drift across the skyline, watching the lights blink against the darkness.

“…I don’t know,” he admitted.

Tolkien nodded slowly, like he expected that answer. “That’s fair.”

Another silence stretched between them. This time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. At least, not as much as before.

Craig tapped his fingers against the ledge. “You don’t have to check up on me, you know.”

Tolkien raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you know I do, man.” Craig never really opened up to anyone, ever. Sometimes he’d partially share with Tolkien.. the only time he’s ever really been honest and vulnerable was with Tweek. And well..

Craig sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. It wasn’t often that he was caught off guard, but Tolkien had a way of getting past his defenses without even trying.

“I don’t even know what I’d say,” Craig muttered.

Tolkien shrugged. “Then don’t say anything. Just… let me know you’re good. That’s all.”

Craig stared at him for a long moment. Then, without thinking, he flicked a loose pebble from the ledge at him.

“You’re a loser,” he said, voice dry.

Tolkien grinned, catching the pebble before tossing it back at Craig’s chest.

“Yeah, well. You’re stuck with me.”

Craig let out a small, amused huff—barely a laugh, but more of a reaction than he’d given anyone in a while.

Maybe he didn’t have to do this alone.

Maybe, when the time came, Tolkien would be the first person he told.

For now, though, he was okay with this. With the quiet. With knowing that at least one person in his life could see through his bullshit.

And for once, Craig didn’t feel the need to run from it.

After a while, the rooftop got too cold. The wind had picked up, carrying the unmistakable chill of an approaching storm, and Craig figured he should head back inside before his mom started asking questions.

Before leaving, though, he hesitated. Tolkien didn’t press him for anything tonight. He didn’t demand answers, didn’t force him into a conversation he wasn’t ready to have. And as much as Craig wanted to brush it off, it meant something.

“…Hey,” Craig muttered, shifting on his feet. “Thanks.”

Tolkien glanced up. “For what?”

Craig shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I dunno. Just—y’know. For not being annoying about everything.”

Tolkien smirkedd. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Craig rolled his eyes, already turning toward the rooftop door. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t make it weird.”

He didn’t wait for Tolkien’s response before heading inside, but he was pretty sure he heard him chuckle.

By the time Craig made it back downstairs, dinner was already set. His mom had made something simple—pasta, some garlic bread, and a salad that no one would touch except her. His dad, Thomas, sat at the head of the table, scrolling through something on his phone before Laura shot him a look, and he quickly put it down.

Craig slid into his usual seat, letting the conversation flow around him while he focused on his plate. His parents weren’t bad or anything. They just didn’t always know how to talk to him.

Thomas cleared his throat after a few minutes. “So, uh… how’s school?”

Craig glanced up, blinking. “…Fine.” He murmured, pushing the pasta around his plate idli with a fork.

His dad nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “Good, good.”

A beat of silence passed. Then—

“How about your friend?” Thomas asked, making an effort to sound casual. “Uh… Tweek, right? He was here the other day?”

Craig tensed slightly, caught off guard by the mention of him. Not because he minded—just because he wasn’t used to his dad bringing up his friends.

“Yeah,” he said after a second, stabbing at his pasta. “He, uh… he needed a place to crash.”

Laura hummed knowingly, setting down her fork. “I like him.”

Craig shot her a look. “Mom, you like everyone who is nice to me.”

She gave a dramatic gasp. “That’s not true! I didn’t like that one group of boys you were friends with back in fourth grade.”

Craig groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “That was ten years ago, and we were not friends.”

“Yes you were! You guys went and formed that..instrument band, wasn’t it?”

Thomas smothered a laugh into his napkin, and Craig sighed, shaking his head.

Laura turned back to him, a softer expression settling on her face. “But really, honey. You’re… different around him.”

Craig stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Craig said, suddenly defensive.

“You’re just more yourself.” She smiled, resting her chin in her palm. “I don’t know, you talk more. You have that little smirk you do when you think something’s funny but don’t want anyone to know. It’s nice to see.”

Craig opened his mouth, then shut it again. He didn’t even realize he acted differently.

Thomas cleared his throat again, shifting slightly in his seat. “It’s good to have people like that,” he said, not quite looking at Craig. “Friends who, uh… bring out the better parts of you.”

Craig blinked at him. His dad wasn’t usually the “deep life advice” type, but he looked… sincere.

Laura beamed. “I mean, Craig’s clearly got a soft spot for Tweek. You’re friendlier to him than your other friends.”

Craig nearly choked on his drink. “Mom. Stop.” He hissed, face heating with a new intensity.

She winked.

Thomas, meanwhile, just furrowed his brows slightly. “Soft spot?”

Craig wanted to disappear. “Can we not do this right now?”

His parents exchanged amused glances, and Laura held up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. No embarrassing comments from Mom anymore.”

Craig exhaled, picking at his garlic bread. His dad was quiet for a minute before speaking up again.

“…You know,” Thomas said, in that hesitant, I don’t know how to say this without making it awkward tone. “If you ever… need anything. Or just—wanna talk. I’m, uh… I’m here.”

Craig glanced up, caught off guard again. His dad looked genuinely unsure of himself, but also genuinely trying.

Something in Craig’s chest tightened. His parents weren’t bad at this. They weren’t distant or inattentive. They just didn’t always know how to reach him.

And maybe that wasn’t their fault.

Craig let the words sit for a second before finally nodding. “Yeah. I know.”

Thomas seemed relieved at that, even if it was a short response.

Laura smiled, squeezing Craig’s hand briefly before grabbing her plate. “Alright, then! Since you boys are bonding so well, I think one of you should do the dishes.”

Craig immediately pointed at his dad. “Him.”

Thomas scoffed. “Wow. Some soft spot you’ve got there.”

Laura just laughed, and for the first time in a while, Craig let himself relax.

Maybe Craig wasn’t great at the whole sharing his feelings thing.

But at least he was trying. And maybe that was enough.

Craig shut the door to his room, exhaling as he leaned against it for a moment. The dinner had gone… fine. Normal. His dad was trying, which was weird but not bad. And his mom was, well, his mom—always five seconds away from saying something that would make him want to jump out the window.

But right now, Craig wasn’t thinking about dinner. His eyes flickered to the corner of his room, where his new suit sat, stuffed into the bland bag on his desk.

A small smirk tugged at his lips.

Finally.

He had been waiting for a good excuse to take it out, and now, with the city still buzzing about the recent crime spree and the latest news coverage hyping up Spider-Man’s involvement, (and Tweek freaking out over him on the news) it was the perfect time. He hadn’t had a real chance to show it off yet—and if people were going to be watching (Tweek), he might as well give them something worth talking about.

Quickly, he grabbed the suit, feeling the sleek material between his fingers as he pulled it on. It was definitely an upgrade. The reinforced fabric clung to him like a second skin, comfortable yet durable, and the new design—sleek black with sharp blue accents—stood out just enough without being obnoxious.

It’s cool as hell.

Craig knew he didn’t usually get excited about things, but… well, no one else was around to call him out on it, so who cared?

Once the mask was secured, he stepped up to the window, cracking it open just enough to slip out. Time to make an entrance.

He made sure to swing by every spot the news had been covering. Not that he was trying to get attention—except, okay, maybe he was.

It wasn’t like he was seeking out cameras, but he wasn’t avoiding them either. If the media (Tweek) was already talking about Spider-Man, then why not give them something new to talk about? Besides, he was helping, right? It wasn’t like he was just showing off—he was stopping muggers, breaking up fights, and making sure the usual dirtbags knew he was still watching.

Still, in the back of his mind, there was one particular opinion he was hoping for.

Would Tweek like it?

Not that he cared. Obviously, he didn’t care. But… well, Tweek had been pretty into the whole Spider-Man thing lately. Maybe he’d think the suit was cool. Maybe—

“OH MY GOD, SPIDER-MAN!!”

Craig barely had time to react before he heard a chorus of excited squeals from the street below. He turned his head mid-swing, only to see a group of teenage girls pointing directly at him.

“Oh my god, look at him! His new suit is soooo hot!”

Craig almost missed his next web shot.

He landed on a nearby building, hoping they would just take a picture or whatever and leave it at that. But no.

“They say he’s, like, super ripped under the mask,” one of them gushed. “I bet he’s crazy buff.”

“I just wanna see his face,” another sighed dreamily.

Craig stared at them from above, completely expressionless beneath his mask. What the hell.

It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d gotten attention from fans, but this was… different. He had heard people call him cool before. He had even heard people call him hot in passing. But this level of thirst upfront was new. (Apart from Tweek, obviously)

He waited a moment, then simply turned and swung away.

He wasn’t disgusted or anything. It was just… weird. Made him feel uneasy, a bit.. unsure. Wasn’t he supposed to love it when girls his age fawned over him?

Tweek’s voice echoed in his head from earlier. “I mean—he’s just so cool, dude! So strong and brave, and—and have you seen those arms?! That suit does not hide anything—”

Craig let out a long, slow sigh through his nose.

Maybe he should just go punch something.

And that’s exactly what he did. Craig continued swinging through the city, the wind biting at his face as the city below buzzed with its usual chaos. He didn’t mind the action—the crime stopping, the adrenaline rush—but today felt a little different. There was something in the air, something pushing him to go the extra mile.

As he zipped through the streets, his eyes scanned the area. He didn’t have a destination in mind—not until he spotted a van screeching around a corner. Four men in ski masks jumped out, their hands full of bags stuffed with something—probably cash or stolen electronics. The van came to a halt in front of a jewelry store, and the men began running toward the entrance.

Craig’s stomach dropped. This was the kind of thing that would make the news.

And not just because it was criminal activity—but because the camera crew was already scrambling to set up across the street.

He couldn’t miss this.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, Craig launched a web at a nearby fire escape, swinging himself into position high above the street. He crouched silently, watching the men as they prepared to enter the store. He could already hear the sound of alarms blaring in the distance, their time running out.

One of the men reached for the door, but Craig swung down, landing between them and the entrance with a loud crack. The impact sent a shockwave through the street, and the sound of his landing seemed to freeze the criminals in place for a moment.

“Hey, fellas,” Craig called, his voice dripping with disinterest, though his posture was already in that battle-ready stance. “Looks like you’re doing the wrong kind of shopping.”

The thieves jumped back, startled, before one of them reached for his gun. But Craig was already there, webbing the weapon from his hand and sending it flying across the street.

“You’re going to want to leave that alone,” Craig said coolly, his eyes narrowing as he observed the men. He could hear the muffled sound of cameras clicking. His chest tightened with anticipation. Let them get the shot.

The leader of the group pulled out a knife, his hands trembling slightly. “You’ll regret this, Spider-Man,” he growled.

Craig shrugged. “I’m not exactly concerned.”

Before the man could make a move, Craig launched himself forward, effortlessly dodging a swing of the knife and landing a quick, solid punch to the man’s stomach. The man crumpled, gasping for air. Craig didn’t even look at him, already focusing on the next guy, who had backed away with his hands raised in surrender.

“Good choice,” Craig muttered, webbing him to the ground. He barely gave the other guy a second to react before leaping back into the fray, slamming his fist into the second man’s jaw. The impact sent him crashing into a nearby car, leaving a dent in the side.

The third man, realizing they were losing, made a run for it. But Craig was faster. He swung in front of him, landing with such force the man stumbled backward, eyes wide.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Craig asked, unamused. He used a web to yank the guy toward him and gave him a solid punch to the face.

The last man, now on the ground and unable to escape, glanced nervously at Craig, his breathing heavy. “Please, please just let us go! We don’t want any trouble!”

“Too late for that,” Craig responded, webbing him to the ground next to his partners.

As he stood over the criminals, a grin tugged at the edge of his lips, even as his mind ticked. The whole thing had been over in less than a minute. Efficient. Powerful. Perfect. His suit had held up. His moves had been flawless.

And from the angle of the streetlight and the bright lights from the camera crews, it looked perfect.

He took a slow, deliberate step back, letting the criminals stew in their defeat while he raised one hand to the sky—just enough for the camera to catch a glimpse of his sharp profile. He held the pose for a moment longer than he needed to, making sure the shots of him looked dramatic.

He wasn’t doing this for the fame or the glory. Not really. But there was something undeniably satisfying about knowing that, with just the right angle and the right timing, people would talk. The news would cover it. And Tweek? Tweek would probably hear about it. He’d see the footage.

A small part of Craig—that annoying little voice inside—really, really hoped Tweek would see him in action. What would Tweek think? Would he be impressed?

Tweek had made it clear that he admired Spider-Man. And normally, he hated the cameras on him. But right now, the thought of getting a little extra attention wasn’t exactly unwelcome.

“Spider-Man, huh?” Craig muttered under his breath as the police arrived on the scene. They’d have everything taken care of from here. “Let’s see if I can get you to notice, Tweek.”

Craig was crouching on the edge of the rooftop, the faint hum of the city beneath him. The fight earlier had gone well—he’d made sure to look good on camera, made sure people saw the new suit. Made sure Tweek would see it.

But the rush was fading, and now he just felt… exhausted.

He sighed, stretching out his fingers, about to swing away—

“Hold it right there.”

Craig stiffened. Shit.

That voice.

Slowly, he turned his head. Standing just a few feet away, gun raised but not quite pointed at him, was Officer Thomas Tucker.

“Why so aggressive of a greeting? Not even a hello?” Craig retorts, feigning indifference despite the sweat pooling under his gloves.

Thomas didn’t lower his gun. His face was unreadable, but his posture was stiff, wary.

“You don’t get a hello,” he said flatly. “Not when you’re the reason half the city can’t sleep at night.”

Craig bit back an instinctive rebuttal. He knew exactly what this was about. Thomas Tucker had made it clear before—Spider-Man wasn’t a hero in his eyes. He was reckless. A vigilante. Someone who brought trouble, not stopped it.

Someone who had failed Tricia.

Craig felt his stomach knot. He couldn’t count how many times he’d wanted to tell his dad the truth. But it was impossible. Even now, staring at him, knowing how much he hated Spider-Man, Craig couldn’t say a word.

Instead, he stayed quiet, watching as his father exhaled, steadying himself. “What were you doing down there tonight?”

Craig shrugged. “You saw the news. Stopping bad guys. Pretty standard for me.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “And getting yourself in front of cameras, too?”

Craig’s jaw tightened. Busted.

There was a pause. Then, Thomas sighed, finally lowering his weapon. He looked tired. Not in the way most cops did after a long shift—this was something deeper.

“Spider-Man,” he started, voice unusually careful, “I’ve spent a long time trying to figure you out. Trying to decide if you’re someone I should be throwing in a cell, or someone I should be thanking.”

Craig swallowed. He didn’t say anything, but he felt his throat tighten.

“You saved lives tonight,” Thomas continued, rubbing his jaw. “I can’t ignore that. I don’t want to.” His voice grew quieter. “But every time I see you, all I can think about is my daughter.”

Craig’s breath caught.

Thomas wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes were distant, as if looking past him, into something only he could see.

“My little girl is gone, and I wasn’t there to stop it,” Thomas said, voice steady but full of weight. “But you were. And no matter how much I try to make sense of it, I can’t help but wonder—if—if it’s your fault. If you did this, or if you could have stopped whoever did.”

Craig felt his chest tighten painfully. He was the one who did this. He tried, so hard to stop it. And it still hadn’t been enough.

Silence stretched between them. The sounds of the city faded into the background.

Then, in a low voice, Craig finally spoke.

“I know you blame me,” he said. “And I get it. But I need you to know—I would have saved her if I could.” He hesitated. “If I could take it back, I would. If I could give my life for hers, she would be standing here right now. Not me.” Craig says as casually as possible, ignoring the raw feeling climbing up his throat as tears prick his eyes.

Thomas studied him carefully.

“…I know.”

A pause. Thomas stays silent, contemplating. “You just don’t quit, do you?”

Craig tilted his head. “I mean, I could. But then who’s gonna do my job?”

Thomas huffed, crossing his arms. He looked at Spider-Man like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Craig braced himself for another lecture, about breaking the law, about how Spider-Man was a reckless nuisance.

Instead, Thomas sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Do you have kids?”

Craig blinked. That was not what he was expecting. “Uh—what?”

Thomas exhaled, shaking his head. “Never mind. You’re too young.”

Craig stayed quiet, not sure where this was going.

Thomas leaned against the rooftop ledge, looking out over the city. “I’ve got a son. A teenager. About your age.”

Craig’s stomach twisted.

“He’s a good kid. Smart. Talented.” Thomas hesitated. “But… I don’t know how to talk to him anymore.”

Craig stared. What the hell was he supposed to say to this?

Thomas continued, voice growing more frustrated, like he was talking more to himself than to Craig. “When he was little, it was easy. We’d watch cartoons, build stuff, play catch—he actually used to think I was cool.” He scoffed. “Now, I can barely get a word out of him. It’s like I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

Craig shifted uncomfortably. “Teenagers are, uh… complicated.”

Thomas shot him a look. “Well.. Yeah.”

Thomas exhaled. “I just… I don’t know if I’m doing this right. I try to be there, but he barely looks up from his phone. I ask about his day, and all I get is ‘fine.’ I know he’s dealing with stuff, but he won’t talk to me.”

Craig swallowed, something twisting deep in his chest.

He wanted to tell him. So badly.

But instead, he shifted slightly, clearing his throat. “Look, I’m not a parent, obviously, but… kids notice more than you think. Even if we don’t say it, we see when our parents are trying.”

Thomas let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah? Doesn’t feel like it.”

Craig hesitated. Careful. Don’t say too much. “Just ‘cause he doesn’t say it, doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate it.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Trust me.”

Thomas studied him for a moment, as if trying to see through the mask.

Craig’s heart pounded. Did he know? Was he guessing? Did he see something in him—some part of Craig that was too obvious?

But then, Thomas just exhaled. “I hope you’re right.”

Craig shifted on his feet. “For what it’s worth, uh… I bet he thinks you’re pretty cool.”

Thomas huffed. “Not likely.”

Craig shrugged. “Dads are always cooler than their kids want to admit.”

Thomas shook his head with a small, tired smirk. “You sound like you’ve got a good one.”

“I do.” Craig said, before slinging a web to a building not far from here. “I’ve gotta head out, see you, Officer Tucker.” He murmured before pushing off of the roof and swinging into the night once more.

Craig barely registered stepping into his apartment via the window before he was already shrugging off the suit, tossing the mask aside in exchange for his usual hoodie and sweatpants. His bed creaked as he slumped onto it, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling through his notifications.

As expected, the group chat was flooded with Clyde whining about Bebe, dramatic paragraphs broken up by Jimmy’s emojis and Token’s half-hearted attempts at logic and comfort. Craig exhaled sharply through his nose. Same shit, different day.

Then, his phone lit up with an incoming call.

Craig’s stomach dropped.

The number wasn’t saved. They barely texted, let alone called.

But he knew exactly who it was.

Tweek.

He answered immediately.

A soft, choked sob crackled through the speaker.

Something in Craig’s chest twisted. It felt like his stomach was hollowed out, filled with something sharp and painful at Tweek’s despair.

Then—Tweek’s voice, small and fragile.

“Sorry. I’m sorry to call late. Sorry.” He said, almost in one breath.

Craig frowned, sitting up. “It’s okay. I wasn’t doing anything anyway. What’s wrong?”

A sniffle. A hiccup. And Craig heard the distinct noise of wind, traffic, car horns in the foreground.

Craig’s grip on his phone tightened. He was outside. In the cold. Alone.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t…” Tweek sucked in a breath, voice trembling. “I didn’t have anyone else to call. I’m so sorry. It’s—please come—please—I’m sorry.”

Craig was already moving.

Shoes. Jacket. House Keys. Door.

“Tweek,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “What’s wrong?”

Silence. Then, Tweek’s voice cracked.

“It’s—it’s my parents.”