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Chapter Text

“Happiness comes for those who wait ” Read the sticky note on Craig’s desk. He can’t really remember when he wrote this - the same going for all of the other cheesy lyrics lying around. Morning light from the window warmed Craig’s bare back as he pointlessly stared down at the mess, considering staying home and sleeping in. The consequences that would follow were ultimately not worth the hassle. He moved towards his closet and tried not to step on the loose pieces of paper thrown carelessly across the floor. A guitar lay on the floor as well, probably discarded beside his bed after another late night spent grumbling over words and sounds. Playing the guitar and writing stupid songs might be difficult and confusing but the feeling of finally getting it right made up for it. Like a jigsaw – falling into place. Music was the only thing that didn’t feel like a chore. But lately, even picking up the guitar felt pointless. 

Despite that, he considered picking up the instrument for a moment. He missed the feeling of simply playing it, making up lyrics, chords and melodies on the fly. He also considered cleaning his room; the aforementioned papers and notes made his room look very messy. His sister – Tricia – had been the only one to comment on the state of his bedroom in the past two weeks, so therefore it should be fine. She couldn’t boss him around. That is until she ends up finding some cringy note she could tease him with. In the end he neither cleaned nor played his instrument. What would his father say?

Changing into a pair of simple jeans and a hoodie, Craig made his way downstairs. In the kitchen, he spotted his mother who seemed to be making herself some coffee - evident by the familiar smell occupying the room. She turned her head and gave him one of those looks. One of those looks consists of tired eyes, judgemental eyebrows and a barely visible frown. He would usually receive those from his father, but in the past two weeks he’d been getting used to seeing those from his mother. As evidenced by the paler complexion of his mother’s face, she hadn’t been feeling any better since he’d left them.

“The counselor called me. Last night,” she said, her tone sharp.
Craig stiffened. “Okay.”
He reached for a cup, moving mechanically to fill it with water from the jug on the counter. His mother sighed, setting down her spoon with a deliberate clink.
“Eric? Really?” Her voice softened, but her eyes stayed on him. Craig avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the swirling water in his cup. His grip tightened, remaining quiet.

“He told me that you boys got into another fight?” She was still looking at him, and through his peripheral he could tell that soon she would be yelling at him. “We’re not friends, mom. I didn’t even touch him” Which was a half-lie, he did push Eric Cartman. They were not friends. The guy has a habit of using personal stuff to get a rise out of people, Cartman assuming that he had some sort of power over Craig after the funeral. No, fuck that guy. He walked out of the kitchen, ultimately choosing to go hungry this morning. “Well that's not what I heard from Mr. Mackey, your counselor?” she called after him, then continued “So, what? He’s making it all up?” Craig chose not to answer that, walking to the front door. While in the hallway he made the mistake of glancing at their family photo, still hanging on the wall, mocking him. Staring at his fathers face for less than 2 seconds Craig still felt an intense wave of guilt hit his stomach, quickly averting his eyes. He hurriedly put his shoes on and grabbed his backpack lying right beside the door, walking out the front door before his house could suffocate him any further. 

The almost daily walk to the bus stop paired with his earbuds and some great music was definitely something Craig enjoyed. Probably. The walk reminded him of the fact that he was indeed going to school again – Maybe not a crushing thought, but a mildly irritating one at that. It was Monday, he realized. No homework had been done for the past month or so, and he mostly found himself zoning out during his periods anyway. He did try his best, or what felt like his best. The only reason as to why he hadn’t completely given up on his classes yet was the looming possibility of being held back a grade. Leaving this school was the closest destination – or goal – to reach in life at the moment and the thought of having to keep up this mundane and agonizing cycle sickened him. It would be the let down of the century, not to mention the stress it would cause his mother with everything else going on. 

In the distance he could make out the familiar silhouettes of his friends, Jimmy and Tolkien. They seemed to be laughing about something, and they eventually spotted Craig as he grew closer. Craig slowed his pace, letting music fill his ears for a little longer before the inevitable small talk. He kind of just wanted to spend the morning continuing to listen to his music, but now they were here and he had to talk to them.

“H-hey man, What's with the look?” Jimmy stammered with a rather satisfied look on his face and Tolkien just sniggered. Craig rolled his eyes “Ha-ha, that’s funny,” Craig replied flatly. The joke wasn’t funny; according to his friends, Craig had less emotions than a wet rock. He’s been hearing this from them whenever they remember the “inside joke”, for years now. The concept of a joke dying must be lost on them. “Yeah yeah, we know” Tolkien added, then with a softer look said, “How are things?” 

Craig fought the urge to roll his eyes yet again but opted to shrug instead “Good,”

Tolkien looked at him and cautiously nodded. “Alright. That's good” 

The bus arrived, saving Craig from the awkward looks, Tolkien and Jimmy returning to whatever they had been talking about before. 

The smell of old vinyl seats and the chatter of other students reminded him of why he considered staying home earlier. Craig made his way down to the back of the bus – their usual spot – where he sat down on the seat closest to the window. Tolkien and Jimmy followed suit, albeit with a little more hesitance. 

“Do we really have to sit here?” Tolkien asked, eyeing Craig with a hint of suspicion. “I don’t really think an angry Cartman is a good start to our mornings,” Jimmy pushed past Tolkien and plopped right down in the middle of the back row and cartoonishly shrugged at Tolkien when Craig didn’t respond. Tolkien was wrong, or maybe half-right; An angry Cartman wouldn’t be a good start to their morning, but definitely an entertaining one. Tolkien had yet to sit down though.

“Just sit down man, what’s he gonna do? Body slam you?” Craig said, and with a shake of his head Tolkien sat down. Tolkien sighed and slumped into his seat, surely dreading the events guaranteed to follow. “Just leave me out of whatever you’re planning dude” Craig knew that Tolkien wasn’t afraid of Cartman in the slightest, but the look in his eyes that appeared each time Cartman opened that damned mouth of his was priceless. It was a “end this before I end myself” type of look, as opposed to the “shut the fuck up before I punch you in the face” look that would unfortunately most often be directed towards Craig. 

The bus makes a stop and more students begin to fill the seats. Craig fishes out his earbuds to drown out the noise while his friends continue chatting next to him, seemingly not minding that their friend isn't involved in their conversation. Staring out the window, he spots Clyde – the final member of their ‘gang’ – at the back of the line entering the bus. Then he feels a prod on his shoulder. Tolkien was looking at him, face alarmed. Craig first felt confused then just annoyed as he noticed that 4 other people were standing in front of their row, staring down at them. Cartman, Stan, Kyle and Kenny. They probably thought that they were pretty damn intimidating – seeing as they were standing with their arms crossed – but truth be told they just looked like dorks. And not in a cute way. 

Craig glanced at Tolkien, who nodded towards the gang, exasperated. Craig sighed and took out his left earbud, then stared back at Cartman. 

“What?” He said. Cartman sputtered, waving his hands in a frustrated motion at his sides. “Well Craig you’re kind of taking up our seats ” Said Cartman, in an unpleasantly nasally voice. Craig winced mentally at the sound and spotted Clyde again, now staring with a face of disbelief at him. He motioned with both of his hands and face, “ What the hell are you doing?” or something of the same nature. Craig ignored him, looked back to Cartman and the rest of his friends. Stan and Kyle locked eyes and shared a look that Craig did not have a name for yet, then Stan looked at him, trying to tell him something. confused, Craig simply squinted his eyes back at him. 

“Hey Craig,” Cartman snapped his fingers for attention, leaning over the seat in front of him. The bus had begun moving again. By now, the chatter of the other students had softened to a low murmur. Everyone was glancing their way, whispering. “Why don't you take your shitty friends and sit somewhere else huh? Or should I maybe repeat what I told you yesterday?” Craig stiffened, feeling a pang in his chest but steeled his face. It's eight in the morning; too early to let Cartman get to you. Seeing as he wasn’t getting a response from Craig, Cartman continued, “Well I guess maybe that's why your dad–” Tolkien quickly cut him off “Hey Clyde, get your ass back here!”

Clyde squirmed behind the gang, where he had been standing during the whole debacle. Stan and Kyle both turned back to Clyde who was probably losing his shit. He looked like a scared, wet puppy. Unlike Craig, Tolkien and Jimmy, Clyde was actually scared of Cartman and his gang. Even when accompanied by one of his friends. All of them had some kind of history with the four, mostly bad. So when Clyde made his way to shove past Cartman, Craig was impressed.

Kenny moved to let Clyde sit down while Cartman gave him a look of disbelief. Clyde sat down next to Jimmy. That is when Craig realized that Jimmy had been quiet this whole time. Was he scared? He knows that Cartman can’t really hurt anyone. He wanted to look over to his friend to check… something? But Stan was looking at him again. He couldn’t read his expression, but he himself did not show any sign of questioning. Although he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of pity in those eyes. Kyle then nudged Stan's shoulder. He said something in a low whisper, then they both walked away from the scene. Cartman’s jaw hung wide open, eyes wide. Craig wondered if he might begin crying. 

“Stan! Kyle! Where the fuck are you guys goin’?” He yelled. Some of the students were softly laughing, but Craig did not find this funny. Why would Stan and Kyle betray Cartman like that? Craig hated their guts, so they must hate him back as well. He shifted uneasily in his seat. Did they feel bad for him? Why the fuck would they do that?

“Just leave it Cartman, you’re gonna lose again anyway” Kyle shot back at him, before sitting down in the middle row with Stan following suit. “Yeah just leave them alone” Stan added, albeit not with the same bite as Kyle. Kyle looked back at Craig one last time, grimacing and mouthing a “sorry” before turning to Stan again. Another pang of something akin to anxiety hit Craigs chest like sudden adrenaline. Was this about his father? It better not be. inviting their families to the funeral was his mom’s doing after all. He didn’t want their pity. There was nothing to pity, at least not Craig. Only blame, but truthfully he just wanted to forget. He felt tension building up above his eyebrows and he seriously considered getting up and giving Cartman the beating he deserved for yesterday's events. Doing so would land him in more than detention, so he tried his best to ignore the adrenaline making his fingers tingle, pressing behind his eyes.

Cartman turned his head between Craig and his two other friends frantically, at a loss of what to do. Kenny, who was still standing next to Cartman, looked amused. Kenny usually wears his parka jacket zipped over his mouth with the hood over his head, but Craig still saw the glint in his eyes. The murmurs of the other student started dying down, all the while Craig could feel pressure building up inside him, breaths getting more shallow. He felt his friends glance carefully at him as he continued staring ahead. “I guess that's maybe why your dad died,” Cartman would’ve said, if Tolkien hadn't interrupted him. Maybe that's why your dad died. Craig clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms and pushed his thoughts away. What does he know? Kenny turned to mumble something to Cartman that Craig couldn’t quite make out. Cartman gave Kenny a death glare, said something about how he “could not believe you guys” before stomping away. Before he got too far away, he suddenly turned back towards Craig and his friends.

“And don’t fuck with me Craig! I’ll beat your ass till you join your father up in hell!” Fuck that. Craig was out of his seat lunging for Cartman. The bus was still moving, rumbling lowly through the floor. Students had now begun to shout, standing up from their scenes and getting their phones out. Craig didn't care, he pushed Cartman to the floor and got on top of him. He heard his friends shouting at him behind him, along with Kenny, who was now trying to pull Craig off of Cartman. He was too slow, Craig threw the first punch.

… 

News travels fast in South Park High School. Craig had always known this, especially now, as he walks through the school corridor. He can feel eyes on him like snow down his back, whispers on both left and right and even a celebratory holler from some guy – no one likes Cartman after all. People quiet as he walks by, as if he was stupid. A familiar pang rang in his chest and he silently willed himself to keep calm. He recalled the incident again; Immediately after Craig had punched Cartman he’d been pulled away by Kenny. It had only been a little over an hour ago, but for some reason it all felt hazy. Like trying to recall a distant memory from childhood. The bus driver had stopped the bus and called for someone to come pick up Cartman, and Craig had been told to sit at the front of the bus. Probably so the driver could keep an eye on him. Kenny had sat next to him as well. He’d said something about “after lunch” but he couldn’t recall what it was. He arrived at his locker, opening it and sifting through the mess to find the books he needed. Craig looked  over his shoulder to find the hallway mostly empty now. Had the bell rung? God, he was out of it. Craig shifted his attention back to his locker and sighed. He really needed to clean in here. 

A knock sounded on the locker door and Craig closed it to reveal Kenny leaning against the other lockers. He hadn’t even heard him walk up to him. His hood was down, light blonde curls and slightly scarred mouth now on display. “Nice back punch there, too bad I knocked you before you got a second one in, and how come you don't have your classic hat on?” Kenny said with a lazy smile. Craig’s hand flew to his head and he realized with a sigh that in his haste to leave the house he had – indeed – forgotten his hat.

“Must’ve forgotten it and you didn’t knock me” Craig stated matter-of-factly, because he didn’t, or maybe he did…

“That bruise would beg to differ” He pointed to his eyebrow. Craig mirrored him and touched his skin right above his eyebrow then withdrawing when pain erupted. “I hit my head” Craig responded flatly, opening up his locker again, covering Kenny’s face in the process.
“Yeah, after I knocked you” Kenny moved to craigs right side so he wasn’t obscured. Craig sighed loudly, hoping Kenny would go away. Instead, he kept on talking. “Anyways, are we still down after lunch? And Mr. Mackey wanted to talk to you in his office – he marked you as absent for Math” Craigs head spun. “Huh? Wait, what the hell are you talking about?” He asked.

“What are you, daft? What are you so confused about?” Kenny said. “Everything?” 

Kenny rolled his eyes, “I asked you on the bus if you wanted a smoke after lunch and you said ‘sure’, Mr. Mackey asked to talk to me like 30 minutes ago about what happened and he asked me to get you. Sounds good?” 

Craig paused for a moment, taking in the information. “Uh, yeah okay. I guess I’ll see you after lunch.” It hadn’t even hit him that no adult had asked to speak with him yet. What Kenny had told Mr. Mackey was also unknown to him. Worry seeped into his mind. Kenny gave him the thumbs up and a grin as Craig closed his locker and began walking away. Kenny was the only one acting somewhat normal around Craig; Tolkien, Clyde and even Jimmy had been approaching him with more caution – and somewhat care – after his father passed. Smoking with Kenny is what made him the most tolerable out of Cartman's gang and the promise of a cigarette after lunch calmed Craigs building nerves.  

…

As Craig sat in Mr. Mackey’s office, he noticed that something was off. Like something was missing. Something was different. Maybe the trinkets on his desk or the posters on the wall. Was that a new coffee mug? He felt slightly unnerved and with the way he was looking at him, Mr. Mackey wasn’t really helping. Mr. Mackey was old – probably pushing 70 – with small tufts of gray hair barely clinging on to his scalp and narrow creasing eyes. And as Mr. Mackey is staring him down, Craig wishes that he would’ve been nicer to him through the years. Especially considering just how many times Craig has found himself in this room, sitting on this chair while Mr. Mackey lectured him on how he’s “Tired of seeing Craig in his office” and “When are you gonna learn how to behave?” 

This time there was no lecture, just silence and Craig could feel his pulse beating through his fingers. He unclenched his fist and looked down to see small, red indents – one of them even bleeding. 

“Craig, why does this keep on happening?” Craig tore his gaze away from his hand and met Mr. Mackeys gaze. Mr. Mackey did not sound angry or irritated, but solemn and disappointed. It hit him that the man in front of him had watched him grow, despite the circumstances and maybe he felt frustrated for him. But there was nothing to be frustrated about. Why would Mr. Mackey out of all people care about me, he's just some old counselor who sees tons of kids everyday he told himself. Nobody needs to care.

“I don’t know,” He mumbled. “Come again?”, “I said ‘I don’t know,” He repeated, much louder this time. “Alright Craig, calm down–”, “I am calm” Craig interrupted in a rush, but Mr. Mackey kept his cool. “I’m not gonna lecture you because I know things have been hard and I care about–” “There's nothing to care about!” Craig interrupted again, only facing his lap. Despite this his voice rang clear; raw and loud. There was a beat of silence, and Craig dared a peek at his counselor, only to find Mr. Mackeys expression hardening. Craig put his head in his hands, leaning his arms down on his thighs as he felt a slight tremor in his back. His breaths shallowed. “Craig I know better than anyone that you’re not just some angry teenager ‘mkay? But I am sick and tired of you taking out your anger on everyone else!” He mentally willed himself to teleport out of this room – the walls are closing in on him. “If you don’t wanna show your emotions, that's fine! It’s immature but it’s your choice ‘mkay, but in that case you gotta keep that anger in too!” Craig raised his head, hands gripping the armrests at his sides, leg bouncing erratically. “I’m not angry,” He said weakly. He looked upwards and tried to ignore the tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m not angry,” He repeated. There was a pause, Craig leaned back in his chair, still not looking at Mr. Mackey. The air stilled in the office and as a couple minutes went by, so did the tears threatening to spill from Craig's eyes. He slumped back in his chair. His chest ached, he felt hollow. Mr. Mackey was quiet, but he knew that there was more to come. 

“Look Craig, you’re not here to talk about whatever went down this morning”

Craig met his gaze, this time more softened. Craig knew what he’d been doing, provoking Cartman like that. He wanted to get a reaction out of him. Maybe he wanted an excuse to punch him or just feel the build up of adrenaline, but he hated the way he now felt empty and spent. 

“Why the hell am I here then” He said, not bothering to dampen the tiredness in his voice. “Because you’re failing Junior year ‘mkay?” Mr. Mackey replied softly. “And if you fail we're gonna have to hold you back a year”

Craig breathed in and shifted restlessly in his seat. The words ‘held back’ rang through his head like a cursed mantra. He felt like he was sinking. This was worse than talking about how he punched Eric Cartman in the face. “Kenny already told me what happened, and I understand, but you need to get your act together if you’re gonna wanna make it to senior year ‘mkay?” 

Craig stared ahead, somewhere behind Mr. Mackey. He shook his head as if to clear it “W-what. Okay, uhm…” He let out a breath. Mr. Mackey waited for him to continue. Seconds went by without Craig uttering a word. 

Mr. Mackey briefly glanced at the clock and shook his head. “You are going to be assigned a tutor ‘mkay? He’s a student in your grade” Craig narrowed his eyes. “Wait, what?” He said, confused. This situation kept getting worse. “Yes Craig. Now I’m not doing this to punish you, you need the help ‘mkay?” Mr. Mackey tried to reassure him, but it felt as if he was being mocked.

Then, a knock sounded from the door behind him. 

“Yes, come in!” Mr. Mackey shouted and Craig turned his head to face the door behind him. The door hesitantly creaked open, a blonde boy peeking through. Upon seeing Craig, another layer of caution added to his demeanor. Great, he thought. This was actually happening. 

“Why don’t you bring over one of those chairs and have a seat, Tweek ‘mkay?” The boy – Tweek – closed the door behind him and did as he was told, sitting down next to Craig. “Alright, do you boys know each other?” Craig shook his head exasperatedly while Tweek remained still beside him, sitting straight in his chair. Craig glanced up at him from his slumped position on the chair, Tweek was wearing a jumper with a mottled green color and furthermore there were freckles dusting his cheeks. He looked so… youthful – even with a dark purple blooming under his eyes. He was staring, but tore his gaze away as Mr. Mackey continued to speak. 

“Uh okay, well Craig this is Tweek – Tweek this is Craig. You boys can get more acquainted later ‘mkay?” He said, then continued: “Here’s how this is going to work. Tweek, you will be assigned to tutor Craig–","What?” Tweek yelped. Craig felt something akin to amusement build in his stomach. 

“--Every day… Tweek please don't interrupt me ‘mkay? Now you may study in the library or the cafeteria – it's up to you ‘mkay? The staff already know to look out for you after the last period so don’t try skipping” Craig was beginning to mentally check out of the conversation, his earlier outburst and the mere mention of ‘tutoring’ draining his life force. Tweek on the other hand, was now trembling and– Oh, did he just flinch? Twice? Tweeks energy was all over the place, bouncing off the walls despite him being seated. Craig felt himself growing more tired and weary by the minute.

“I never agreed to this! Why do I have to be stuck with this violent, one-note maniac?” Tweek said in an almost frantic tone. Craig let out a sarcastic “ouch” but looked towards Mr. Mackey. 

“What happens if we just don’t show?” he asked. A stupid question, but it was worth a try.

“I will call both of your parents, and I will make sure to notify your mother, Craig, that her son will have to be held back a year ‘mkay?” 

Craig stilled. What the fuck? What, the, fuck? He closed his eyes and breathed in as he stood up from his seat. 

“You know what?” He said, tone harsh and accusatory but he stopped himself and took a deep breath. What was the point, this behavior is exactly what

Mr. Mackey lectured him about. If he refused, his mom would receive a rather unpleasant call. The prospect of stressing out his mother held him in a headlock. What could he do? The fight drained out of him. He relaxed his arms and walked away from his chair.

“Whatever,” he muttered. Turning around, he walked out the door, door slamming shut behind him. 

Chapter Text

Craig sat down with his tray at the table, the clatter drowned out by the deafening hum of the cafeteria. During the lunch hours, you can barely hear your own thoughts over the mass of noise. Normally, this would bother him to no end, but after everything that had happened in the span of 4 hours he could not find it within himself to care. His previous feelings of confusion, frustration and chaos had settled into an irritating buzz in the back of his skull. Almost like a string – previously snapped – hastily tied again only to tighten again. Clyde suddenly banged down on the table in a fit of laughter, probably from something Jimmy had said. Craig gradually became more aware of his friend's conversation, trying his best to catch up. Act normal. Just act normal, god damnit. From what he could make out, Tolkien and Clyde were talking about what happened during their maths class – the one that Craig had missed. He stared at Tolkien as he talked, words difficult to make out. Clyde's hand waved in front of his face. 

“Craig, dude,” Clyde said, retreating his hand once sure that he had Craig's attention. “You’re missing comedy gold over here! Snap out of it man, seriously” Craig blinked. “Uh, What are we talking about?”  

“W-what, did Mr. Mackey b-brainwash you or something?” Jimmy asked, his amusement written all over his face. Craig sighed and rubbed his now aching forehead. “No, We just talked”, Craig replied. “About what? You’ve been out of it ever since you stepped out of his office” Tolkien inquired, tone tinged with curiosity. I’ve been out of it since the punch, Craig thought to himself. He hadn’t talked to his friends at all between punching Cartman and talking to Mr. Mackey, so their curiosity was only logical. He did not appreciate the 3 pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly. “Did you get in trouble?” Clyde asked eagerly.

“No… No not really” Craig directed his gaze downwards, to his tray. Cold pasta and a single piece of bread stared back at him. He couldn’t even remember when he’d gotten his food. What time did he get here? He was the last one of his group to arrive at the table so– 

“Dude come on, just spit it out!” Clyde urged and Craig lightly shook his head, regaining focus. “We didn’t talk about Cartman at all. He wanted to talk to me because I’m failing almost everything” Craig admitted. lowering his volume. The last thing he needed was for someone to overhear him admit to failing all his classes. Clyde and Jimmy, however, did not possess a nonchalant bone in their body. They both bursted into disbelieving laughter, not bothering to be quiet. “Dude–” Clyde started, only to keep laughing. So much for being honest. Craig sighed. 

“Alright, come on you guys, that's not funny. And you don’t have a single grade above a D, so you shouldn’t be laughing” Tolkien said, pointing accusingly at Clyde. “What, not everyone is a perfect student like you, smartass!” Clyde shot back, suddenly defensive, “So, what? Are you being held back a year now?” Jimmy stopped laughing. “S-shit, you’re not, right?” he said, all amusement draining from his face. Craig only shrugged. “I’m supposed to meet with a tutor every day after school though,” he added bitterly. It still did not sit right with him, having a tutor. Especially when that same tutor was such a spaz. The guy looked normal upon first glance, and the freckles and the green jumper had been stuck in his mind ever since leaving the office. Something about the green in the boy's eyes matching his jumper had stuck with him – soothing in a way Craig couldn’t explain. Or maybe it was how clear his skin looked. Wait, was he being creepy? 

“A tutor? That sucks ass man,” Clyde said, more sympathetic this time. It did in fact suck ass. “Is it a-at least some hot chick? M-maybe you’ll get someone cool, like Wendy” Jimmy asked smugly. Tolkien threw him a disgusted look, “Dude, Stan would kill you for saying that,” Jimmy just shrugged, as if to say ‘I don’t care’. The tutor being a girl still wouldn’t have made the situation any better. Craig personally didn’t care for girls. At all. He never had, much like other things in his life. 

“It’s some guy I don’t even share classes with. His name’s Tweek or something,” After a pause, he added: “He totally freaks me out”, 

All of his friends quieted, only the general noise of the cafeteria remaining. “Tweek?” Clyde echoed. Craig only nodded, confused. They all made concerned eye contact, giving each other a look. The look was a new one, and it almost made him nauseous with anxiety. Feeling slightly awkward, Craig picked up his bread, then put it down again. He cleared his throat, “Is it good or bad?” He asked. 

“I… think we’re trying to decide if it's good or bad,” Tolkien hesitated, words dripping with caution. Trying to decide? “I don’t know how to tell you this man…” Clyde started, “Haven’t you heard about the coffee shop that his parents own?” Craig blinked. He hadn’t. “I’d never seen him until today,” Craig said. “Okay Craig, I’m sorry,” Clyde said sarcastically, “I keep forgetting that the world only revolves around you,” Tolkien winced, “but everybody’s heard the rumors” Craig felt heat slowly rising at his neck. Clyde's words stuck in his head for a while, and it stung. Not for the insult itself – but for the way that it couldn’t be further from the truth. If anything, Craig’s life revolved around nothing at the moment. Except getting his grades up. Besides, he’d rather see himself as the center of the world as opposed to his current state of mind; lost without care.

“Fuck you Clyde, just tell me what the rumors are” he said flatly. All heat left out of his voice, his leg bouncing under the table. He took a bite of the bread on the table; It was garlic bread, one of the two good things that had happened to him today. If he had a gratitude journal, he would write about the music he listened to this morning, and this unexpected but welcome piece of garlic bread. Snap out of it Craig. Pay attention. Clyde snapped his fingers in front of Craig's face, bringing him out of his daze – again. “Okay man, what the hell” Tolkien said as soon as life returned to Craig's eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? We keep losing you up in imagination land” Despite the sarcastic words, Tolkien looked at him with genuine concern. Craig felt guilty – because he was okay – he just got lost in the pleasant surprise of garlic bread. 

“Yeah, whatever I’m listening now” He waved them off. “Alright then,” Clyde said ominously, “When Tweek came into Mr. Mackey's office, what was the first thing you noticed about him?” he asked, looking at Craig expectantly.

His soft looking hair, His tinted cheeks, green eyes, the way his jumper fit him… none of those seemed like an appropriate answer. “Uhh…” Was all Craig could formulate at the moment. He blamed it on the current woozy state of mind he was in. 

“Like the way he behaved?” Clyde clarified, clearly impatient. “Oh. Yeah he was twitching and shit,” He remembered out loud, Clyde making a ‘bingo’ gesture with his hand. “Some say that he’s got ADHD or anxiety or some other weird shit, but let me tell you… I know for certain that he’s all spazzy because he’s an addict,” Clyde said with an air of finality, leaning back on his chair with his arms crossed. Craig felt winded. That took an unexpected turn. 

“Addicted to what? Caffeine?" Craig deadpanned. “No w-we’re talking real d-drugs. Like coke or heroin.” Jimmy quipped in, very serious. Craig fully paused, chewing his bread. Did they really think that Tweek had time before school – or during school – to shoot up some heroin? Craig cursed whatever cosmic powers that made his friends so gullible. “Is that it?” he asked, mouth full of bread. 

“Is that it? What do you mean ‘is that it’?” Tolkien exclaimed. “Dude, this is serious. He’s probably worse than Kenny” Clyde said, and it dawned on Craig that they were truly all seriously concerned about this. They believed too much of what they heard in the hallways. “Kenny can’t even afford more than a pack of cigarettes,” Craig said. “How would you know?” Clyde asked defensively. “Because even I know that he’s poor, and I smoke with him almost every day,” They all paused. Looking at each other again. “What, you guys seriously didn’t know?” They didn’t answer. Would his friends really judge him for smoking? He thought they’d known by now – his coat would usually smell like cigarettes after lunch. “No, but like– are you friends with Kenny then?” Clyde asked judgmentally, but before Craig could answer he continued, “Never mind, that’s not what we’re talking about. You saw it yourself Craig, the freaks always twitching and shaking, he even got pulled out of gym class for–”

“--A panic attack,” Tolkien interrupted, then put his hands in the air once Clyde glared at him. “Well, whatever it was it sure was sketchy as hell” Clyde concluded. Craig narrowed his eyes, “So you don’t even know? You just heard the story and decided it was true?” 

“Look man, h-he's always pacing around and shaking like he's coming down or something – it can’t just be c-coffee” Jimmy said lightheartedly, like they weren’t discussing very damaging rumors about some random guy right now. He did not know Tweek at all, but it still felt wrong listening to all of this. He’d had his own fair share of rumors fly around, 9 out of 10 being complete lies most likely crafted by Cartman. “And! And– I heard he’s always late to class, one girl even saw him throw up at the backside of the school once” Clyde added eagerly, and Craig had to physically steel himself to not physically convulse with frustration. Could he just shut up? “Okay, that's not true, he’s in my AP science class and he is always the first one there” Tolkien said, now also tired of all the nonsensical accusations casually being thrown around. Craig could feel adrenaline building in his body. He didn’t really care about Tweek – he didn't have a reason to – but the guy wasn’t even here to defend himself. That wasn’t right. “See? that's even weird–” And Craig couldn’t hold it together any longer,

“--Clyde please,” he said, voice low but firm, “Just shut your mouth.”

Clyde blinked, “Dude, what's your problem?” he asked, defensive now. 

“My problem is you talking like you know shit when you don’t,” Craig looked Clyde dead in the eyes. “It’s fucking weird.” he said, tone cold.

“What?--” Clyde exclaimed 

“Alright guys, let’s just chill out–” Tolkien said, attempting to dissuade the situation. “No! seriously,” Clyde interrupted “What’s fucking weird is you caring so much about this dude you don’t even know” he said, baffled. “You always make a fucking show of not giving a shit about anything, maybe Tweek is your secret boyfriend – I would never know because you never tell us anything,” Clyde continued, voice getting more heated as he went on, “But now you wanna sit here, and... and act like you care? Fuck that." He spat. "We’ve actually been wor–” 

“--That’s enough Clyde.” Tolkien sharply interrupted, table now quiet. Jimmy only looked downwards, remaining quiet. “That– was pretty uncalled for.” Tolkien firmly stated, but Craig figured that he had it coming. A weird feeling was pooling in his stomach – not nausea – something in between guilt and anger, because everything Clyde had said was true, except for the ‘secret boyfriend’ thing. His leg bounced under the table, nails pricking his skin as he clenched his fists. Was he really that detached from his friends? He felt all energy leave him again – he didn’t have a response to what Clyde had said. He silently stared down at the table – at his clenched fists. The words “you’re wrong about me” sat on his tongue, but he could not speak them. He was losing against himself. So instead, he abruptly stood up. 

“Yeah, leave, run away like you always do,” Clyde sneered, “You keep getting yourself in these situations only to run away from them. Does it make you feel good? I bet it doesn’t.” he bitterly berated Craig as he stood. He lifted his gaze to him, locking eyes with his friend, before flatly replying “Are you done?” But Clyde didn’t respond, instead Tolkien spoke up, voice quieter now, “Where are you going? You sure you don’t wanna finish that?” He motioned towards Craigs plate; untouched pasta and half of the bread left. Craig quickly swiped the rest of the bread.

“To smoke with my boyfriend Kenny,” Tone dripping with sarcasm, “don’t be too jealous Clyde” And with that, he walked away, leaving his friends behind. 

…

South Park High School's backside was somewhat equivalent to a sketchy alleyway in New York – Filthy and unpredictable. It was usually where all of the scheduled fights or illegal activity took place. There were two ways to get into the backside; The door in the old boy’s locker room, or by jumping the fence by the parking lot. The principal highly discouraged hanging out at the backside, but never did anything to actually prevent it. Craig guessed that it was some sort or “out of sight, out of mind” situation. And as he stood in the old locker room, that sentiment felt even more true. The walls were dirty, with moss and foliage growing up from the cracked floor, onto the walls. Somewhere in the room there was water running – you could hear it, but through his many escapades here Craig had never been able to find the stream. He reached for the door, pushing it open, the door handle having been lost to time. When he stepped outside he  could immediately smell the scent of cigarettes. He hoped it was Kenny, or this would be really awkward. The fresh air cleared his mind like water dousing a fire. He’d felt disoriented and light headed inside the school walls, breaths always shallow. Maybe this is what he needed all along. Craig stood by the doorway, just breathing. One deep breath at a time, muscles relaxing. He felt truly calm for the first time that day.

“Are you meditating or something?” Craig was startled out of his peace. Not even realizing that he’d closed his eyes, they’d flown open, head turning to meet Kenny’s gaze. He raised his eyebrows in amusement, then waved a pack of cigarettes enticingly in one hand. Craig sighed. “I was just getting some air,” Kenny beckoned with his head for Craig to follow him. They ended up sitting on a bench by the school's backside wall, sheltered slightly by the hanging roof from the sun. It grew colder without it. “Bad day?” Kenny asked, handing Craig a cigarette and a lighter. He simply hummed in response, putting the stick in his mouth. He fumbled with the lighter, clicking it over and over again to no avail. “Here, let me,” Kenny offered, taking the lighter and doing the same, “You wanna talk about it? Or was it just the fight,” he said, all the while having no success with the lighter. Craig dumbly stared at the lighter, cigarette still in mouth. “Clyde was being an asshole, and Mr. Mackey assigned me a tutor so…” He thought for a beat, “I don’t know how to feel right now” Kenny paused and looked at him for a moment, his hood was down but his face did not betray whatever he was thinking. It gave him the impression that Kenny saw through him, even when he knew that there was nothing to hide, he still felt caught in a lie. Craig found it unnerving. Maybe even disturbing.

“A tutor?” Kenny laughed “What, you failing all yo–” “--Yes, I am” Craig said coldly, snatching the lighter out of Kenny’s open palm, trying to get a light. He was growing frustrated again. Why wouldn’t this thing just work? 

“Alright man, no need to go all sour on me” Kenny said, tone light, which only made Craig tense up again. He felt a strong discomfort throughout his whole body, and that bottomless feeling -- he could only escape for 30 minutes at most -- sat idly in his stomach. But he had no energy left for anger. He just wanted to cool off, that’s why he came here after all. As he continued messing with the lighter, it finally went off – flame hitting Craig’s thumb directly. He gritted through the pain, jutting out his cigarette to the flame, finally getting it lit. He dropped the lighter, cursing. That fucking burns. “Shit, did you burn yourself?” Kenny asked, dumbfounded. “Not on purpose, dickhead” he responded flatly, hand trembling in pain. He took a drag of his cigarette, the burn in his throat accompanied by the stinging pain on his thumb further evaporating any unnecessary thoughts. Smoking hadn’t become a habit yet, it was just one of many means towards damping out the buzzing noise in his head. As of right now, his thoughts ran smoothly, completely uninterrupted, and his vision was no longer blurred and delayed. If only he could feel like this all the time. “Let me see dude,” Kenny urged, having lit his own cigarette now. Craig hesitated before moving his hand towards Kenny, letting him see the injury. 

“Oh shit. Don’t tell me you just let yourself burn to light it?” Kenny laughed, both amusement and disbelief present in his tone. “You should slap a band-aid on that or something.” Kenny suggested with a smirk. Craig shrugged it off. The side of his thumb was bright red, still burning. Kenny let out a laugh. “You’re fucking bleeding too.” They sat in silence for a while. Craig now staring down at his open palm. small crescent-like indents sat on Craigs open palm, dried blood having gone dark red. Inspecting his nails on that same hand, he found more blood coating them. Huh. He could feel Kenny’s gaze on him again, analyzing him. He turned his head, meeting his gaze, “What?” He asked. Kenny only shook his head, smiling to himself. A silence settled between them. They both took drags of their cigarettes, simply staring ahead. only the sounds of their breathing, the wind and birds persisted, and after a few minutes, Kenny spoke up: “So who’s the lucky tutor?” Craig let out a snort, although more like a breath before responding, “Tweek.” 

“Tweek? Like Tweek Tweak?” He asked, “Sounds right.” Craig responded. He was expecting Kenny to throw in the same accusations as his friends had, readying himself for another round of stupidity. 

“I know him, he’s cool!” Kenny said with a smile “I’ve got my elective with him, chill guy, fun to talk to.” Craig was stunned. Chill guy? Fun to talk to? That was the opposite of what he’d heard from his friends. But then again, they didn’t know him. And honestly, Tweeks energy in the office hadn't been exactly chill either. It was getting too complicated, what should he believe? Had Kenny seen a different side of Tweek, or did he just bring out that side of people? “So you guys are like, friends?” he asked, curious. 

“Yeah, I’d say so. like, I could probably hang out with him outside of school, no problem,” He smiled, genuine, “Honestly? He’s a better piano teacher than the actual elective guy” he argued. 

“You play piano?” Craig asked, even more surprised. “fifty-fifty, I’m not any good. I play drums though.” Kenny replied, pride lacing his words. Craig nodded approvingly. Kenny playing the drums made sense in his head – loud, chaotic yet charismatic. He held the song, and everything else, together in a way only he could. Tweek playing the piano made even more sense – Craig couldn’t quite place why he felt that way, it just felt right. He felt himself grow more curious about Tweek. Who was he really? The two of them continued to sit in silence, smoking the last of their cigarettes. Craig purposefully waited longer between the hits – just to make this moment last longer. His moment of peace. 

He checked his phone and sighed. “I gotta get going.” He said, standing up from the bench and snuffing out the cigarette. Kenny’s grin widened as Craig dusted off his jeans. “Soo… are you actually gonna talk to him, or will you just be staring at him for an hour?” he teased. Craig shot him a scowl, stuffing his phone back into his pocket, “What are you on about?” he asked him warily. Kenny just snickered and shook his head, “Nothing.” Craig shot him one last look, silently thanking Kenny for both the cigarette and the escape. He seemed to understand – of course he did – and cocked his head. As Craig began walking away, Kenny shouted after him, “Hey, man, don’t overthink it. Just ask him about the piano.” Craig did not look back, instead rolling his eyes as he arrived at the locker room door. Once inside the locker room, he hesitated. Kenny’s last piece of advice – “don’t overthink it” – made Craig wonder if he hadn’t been teasing at all. His knowing and understanding look hinted at something. Kenny always seemed to know things about you before you did, and it was frustrating. Craig didn’t know how to feel about it. He didn’t know how to feel about his upcoming meeting with Tweek. It wasn’t just about the tutoring; something about Tweek stuck in his head, and he hated that he couldn’t shake it.

He took a deep breath, savoring in the calm he’d experienced out on the backside. He couldn’t help but feel that this was the calm before the storm. And he had no idea what kind of storm it would be.

…

Focusing during the last period proved to be very difficult, especially when you had something – or someone – on your mind. Craigs last period of the day was English, not a very boring subject. Usually Craig would find this the easier one of his courses, being one of the classes he wasn’t failing. Unfortunately for him, his anxiety was through the roof. This time it was not accompanied by a foggy brain and lightheadedness – it was the opposite. He felt restless, mind clearer than a crystal ball. Legs and arms buzzing, he wanted out of the classroom, just for a few minutes. Taking a walk around the school corridors, a bathroom break, maybe even some fresh air, he needed anything but this classroom. He needed to make his brain shut up. All the other students in the classroom were reading silently, so he truly wouldn’t be missing any important information. He could always catch up in the book later – given the tutoring session awaiting him. The teacher was typing away at her computer, completely focused. He envied her. He also wasn’t very sure if she would even let him leave. But then, the frantic tapping of his legs would not go away without a break. He debated on if he should call her name, but landed on raising his hand instead, silently begging the old hag to feel his stare. He – contrary to popular belief – wouldn't want to disrupt everyone else’s precious reading time.

She eventually looked up from her computer, noticing Craig. He took it as an invitation to approach her. He stopped by her desk, the classroom eerily quiet.

“Yes Craig?” She whispered, returning her focus to the computer. Respectful, he sarcastically thought to himself. “I need to use the bathroom” he bluntly stated. She gave him a look. Craig processed the look in his head, translating it, before trying again, “May I use the restroom?”

She sighed. “Craig, I know for a fact that if I let you out of this classroom, you will not be back.” She said, faux sympathy in her voice. Wait, what? “How do you know that?” He questioned her, because truly – how could she? 

“Craig, do not question me and return to your seat.” 

Craig's mouth hung slightly open, dumbfounded. He could feel himself getting more desperate by the second. “Alright, listen. I really need to go.” He whispered to her, trying to put emphasis on his usually monotone voice. “Like, really… I need to go. Right now” 

She looked at him again, disgusted by the implication before eventually waving him off. Yes! Craig immediately turned on his heel, not bothering to thank his teacher before sneakily slipping through the door. He was free… For maybe 15 minutes at most, but he was free. 

Craig decided to actually go use the restroom, hoping that taking a piss would alleviate some of the pressure plaguing his body. He walked slowly through the empty corridor, savoring his freedom much like he had done in the backside. He felt strangely at ease, corridors empty and quiet safe for the sounds of his own footsteps. As he grew closer to the restrooms, he spotted a figure by one of the lockers further down the corridor. Stopping by the entrance to the boys restroom, he tried to make out who it was, the figure feeling somewhat familiar. It wasn’t until they looked his way that Craig recognized the person. It was Tweek. He stared back at him suspiciously, green jumper, blonde hair and everything. They held steady eye contact for a moment, Tweek looking unsure. Craig nodded towards him in greeting, to ease up the awkwardness, but he didn’t reciprocate it. Tweek simply casted an unsure glance over his shoulder before walking away, leaving Craig with a sour taste in his mouth. Did he come off as intimidating, or had Tweek already decided to hate him?

The interaction had barely lasted a minute, but he concluded that Kenny’s version of Tweek was either very much overblown, or a complete lie. He couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. 

…

Craig's English class ended with a bang, him specifically being told to catch up with the reading as a consequence for his 15 minute bathroom break. It didn’t really matter to him anyway, the real hell awaited him in the library. After the embarrassing not-really-rejection he’d received from Tweak, all intrigue and curiosity towards him had dimmed out. He didn’t want to see him at all. But alas, he trudged onward like the courageous soldier he was. If Craig ditched, it would only cause further problems for himself, and he’d had just about enough today. His mother, punching Cartman, snapping at Clyde. It was all too much for one day. Especially monday. He still felt horrible about the whole Clyde situation. Maybe he shouldn't have snapped, Clyde was one of his best friends after all. But he certainly did not regret saying what he said – spreading false and baseless rumors like that was totally wrong and unjust. It felt personal, it was never really about Tweek, it was about the principle of it all. What if Clyde had been spreading rumors about him as well? “Did you know that he owns a gun?”, “I heard that he gets into fights for fun”, “He’s a sociopath, that's why you never see his expression change” The mere thought made his stomach churn. “You know, his dad actually–” 

Craig shook his head. He walked out of the classroom, navigating through the sea of students, trying to get to his locker. It would be a while until the corridors were breathable again, but Craig tried to manage his way through anyway. As he finally got to his locker, he stumbled across a problem; What materials does he bring? Maybe he should’ve actually approached Tweek earlier in the corridor and asked him about that. He grabbed his english book and decided Tweek would just have to deal with it, and if that upset him then that was his problem. Maybe Craig could just read, and they wouldn’t even need to talk to each other; A win-win situation for both of them. That thought was immediately crushed. 

“Uh, hey?” Craig turned his head to the voice, seeing that it was Tweek. Standing by his side. He was carrying three books in one arm and a thermos mug. His other hand was lifted in a half-hearted wave. He looked so… awkward. And tired, and Craig couldn’t help but notice how much taller he was compared to Tweek. 

“Hey.” Craig replied, deliberately flat. He felt his body tense with caution, fists instinctively clenching There was no way he was letting Tweek know that he cared. Eyeing the books Tweek was holding, one of them seemed to be math-related. Craig fought the urge to slam his head against the locker. 

“So, uh, we ‘doing math today?” Craig asked, letting some of his disapproval seep into his tone. He silently prayed for a miracle. “Yes, maybe, but mostly planning.” Tweek responded airily. Something about him felt off. Tweek was almost pacing on the spot, feet kicking the floor. Was he anxious? Craig's eyebrows furrowed, “Planning?” he echoed, skeptical. Tweek shifted his books restlessly, sighing, “I’ll explain to you later, just grab a notebook or something” Tweek dismissed exasperatedly, as if the question itself tired him even more, walking right past him towards the library. 

Craig, startled by the sudden dismissal, fumbled to find his notebook and jogged after Tweek, silently glaring at his back. 

“Alright dude,” Craig sighed, walking next to Tweek, “No need to be so snappy.” He didn’t appreciate how he had treated him so far, like he was so far above him, despite being the physically shorter one. Tweek shot him a look and Craig met it, silently challenging him. Tweek rolled his eyes. They entered the library, being mostly empty now. The school library was also the public library of South Park, but barely anyone used it other than the students.

It was comfortably silent, the smell of books lingering in the air. Craig had to admit; it was cozy in here. Tables were hidden away in corners by bookshelves and there were colorful sofas lining the walls. The library itself wasn’t very big, but it never felt too small or suffocating. Craig felt comfortable here, no wonder so many students went here just to hang out. 

Tweek walked up to the front desk as Craig lingered behind. The librarian nodded at whatever Tweek said, fumbled around behind the desk and then handed Tweek something. Tweek turned back to him, gesturing for Craig to follow. Walking up a staircase, they were met with a small corridor. On both sides there were wooden doors. The second floor had the same calming atmosphere as the first floor of the library. 

“...Where are you taking me?” Craig asked slowly, hesitant to disrupt the soothing energy present. He eyed Tweek suspiciously. “Group room.” He curtly answered,  clumsily fumbling  with what looked like a keyring. That must’ve been what the librarian gave him earlier. Craig nodded, and they approached a door. There was a small, golden ‘4’ on the door, presumably the number of the room. 

Unlocking the door with a tag, they entered. The inside starkly contrasted the overall look of the library – the walls were a plain dark grey and a single light shone from the ceiling. There was a white table at the center of the room, along with a few chairs, and a whiteboard  mounted  on the wall. Craig stepped inside cautiously, unsure of what to think of this situation. Tweek on the other hand, placed his books on the table, already sitting down. He stared at him pointedly, motioning for Craig to do the same. Craig hesitated, settling down eventually. He dreaded  whatever he would have to sit through for the next hour. Tweek took a shaky, deep breath.

“Alright!” he said, lightly slamming his hands down on the table. "We gotta start planning.” Craig looked at him quizzically, still not understanding what he meant by “planning”. Tweek deadpanned, “For the rest of the semester? I need to know what you need to work with, obviously.” Oh. That made sense, but he should’ve still explained  it. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just do what you gotta do.” he said, as nonchalant as he could muster. Tweek seemed bothered by that, blankly staring at him. His gaze remained for a few seconds, bemused  and displeased.  

“You’re very much involved in this too,” He said, opening up his notebook, “You can’t expect me to know what you’re bad at” he leaned his head on his hand, exasperated.

“Bad at?” Craig repeated , eyebrows raised. “I’m not bad in any of my classes.” he stated, leaning back in chair – as if to convince Tweek with his confidence. 

“Let me rephrase it then. What classes are you failing?” Tweek asked. They looked at each other for a beat, Craig wondering  if protecting his dignity would harm him in the long run. He hesitated. Then admitted, “Science, algebra, social studies, spanish and math,” Then added, “I really suck at math.” 

Tweek nodded, writing in his notebook now. Craig felt embarrassed, he could’ve left out at least two of those. Surely he didn’t need to pass all of his classes, right? Without looking up he said, “Most people are.” The comment felt almost reassuring, even if Tweek hadn’t intended  it to be, and Craig could feel himself relaxing a little. Tweek put down his pen and showed  Craig what he had been writing down. On the page, the five subjects were written down. 

“What we need to do is plan out which days we do what,” Tweek explained, “And I’m glad that you’re only failing five classes.” Craig looked at Tweek. “Why’s that?”, “There are only five school days of the week” Tweek said. Shit. That's embarrassing,  he thought. Tweek placed a pen by the notebook, now in front of Craig. “Just write down what day you want to study what,” He pointed to the paper, then further clarifying, “Write down the day under the class.” 

Craig stared down at the notebook, mind blank. This all felt a bit too much, and studying on a friday? No thank you. He lightly tapped  his fingers against the table, not raising his gaze. He thought for a moment, trying to gather all his remaining brain power. 

“Is there a problem?” Tweek’s voice broke through. Craig realized that he was scowling. At the paper. He quickly lifted his gaze, meeting Tweek's eyes.

“Uh, no. Maybe.” he said. “Well it's not rocket science, just pick a day, write it down”  Tweek stated, a bit condescending in Craig's opinion. His earlier frustration crawled back. “Alright, well have you maybe thought about the fact that I don’t want to be tutored?” Craig said before he could stop himself, matching Tweek's tone. If he wanted to be patronizing , that was fine. Two could play that game. 

Craig could tell that Tweek was fidgeting under the table, body moving ever so slightly. Good. He should be nervous. But apparently he wasn’t. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have slacked around while you could have been working.” Tweek shot back, his voice had raised in pitch slightly. Craig was stunned, at a loss for words. He hadn’t expected a response. Slightly twitching, he muttered, “I don’t wanna be stuck here with you out of all people.” That was it. Craig narrowed his eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His whole body tensed, pressure building in his mind. “Oh, you know, there is no way you don’t know.” Tweek almost laughed, “Everyone says that you’re some sort of sociopath, and how you’re a selfish asshole. And they might be right.” His voice remained low, though his annoyance rang clear, “You don’t even try caring about this stuff – even if it will harm you in the future.” 

Venom laced the words coming out of Tweek's mouth, Craig feeling the sting. What the fuck? How could Tweek hate him this much? They didn't know each other. Anger bubbled  in his chest. Who does this guy think he is?

“You know what? people talk about you too,” He leaned forward in his chair, fully facing Tweek. “But I’m not gonna use that against you, because that's fucking low. And I don’t know why you’re putting so much effort into this bullshit, you don’t have to pretend like you care about this stuff. It doesn’t fucking matter.” Now it was Tweek who leaned forward, “I don’t care, Craig,” he retorted disdainfully, “And I’m not trying to care about this, but maybe you should! This–” He gestured exaggeratedly  to the still open notebook, “--Is the absolute  bare minimum. I’m also being forced into this, remember?” His face was closer now, clear green eyes widened in anger. It only bittered Craig more, realizing how beautiful his eyes were. Fuck, snap out of it. 

“Yeah, poor you, tutoring some fucking idiot for extra credit and brownie points.” Craig mocked. “You’re just a fucking spazz.” He spat, standing up from his chair, then pointed accusingly at Tweek. This was going too far. “I’m not dealing with this.” He said, anger clear in his voice. Craig's fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his already injured palm, thumb stinging. He needed to leave before he did something stupid. Unlike Cartman, he found that he didn’t actually want to hurt Tweek. He didn't deserve that, this situation fucking sucked for him too. God, what is his problem? He turned towards the door as Tweek stood up. “You can’t just fucking leave, asshole, you’ll only get us into trouble.” Tweek exclaimed, still furious. He was fully twitching now, not bothering to keep his composure. There was a tinge of hurt in his eyes as well, Craig almost regretted his words. You fucked this up Craig.

“I don’t care.” Craig countered  coldly, because he shouldn't care. He reached for the door handle, but Tweek grabbed his arm. Craig shook him off aggressively. “If I don’t leave right now I’m gonna punch you square in the face so fucking back off, okay?” He said, shocking himself with his honesty. Tweek's gaze shifted from angry to almost concerned – and not for himself. Craig recovered quickly, hesitantly shooting one last defiant glance at Tweek before walking out the door. He slammed it shut behind him, moving forward at record speed, almost flying down the stairs. He was out of the library in less than 30 seconds. 

During the walk home Craig realized two things; he’d forgotten his backpack in his locker, along with his stuff in the group room, and he felt guilty. Really guilty. He was still bitter, but the cool autumn air had struck him out of his anger, like a fish out of water. It had been a regular pattern today – stress, anger, guilt. Now that he had left, his mom would receive a phone call any minute now. The guilt only piled on with each step he took, but he willed himself to keep calm. What was wrong with him? He lashed out again, this time hurting someone he barely even knew. Craig wasn’t the only one being forced into this, Tweek clearly didn’t want to tutor him. Maybe he could’ve become friends with Tweek, like Kenny had. He would have proved his friends wrong – Tweek probably wasn’t some junkie, and Craig… Well… Who was he kidding? Everything Clyde and Tweek had said about him was true. Except for the sociopath thing. He wasn’t a fucking sociopath, but was he a selfish asshole? Everything had felt so pointless lately, like he was stuck floating in space and it was all his fault. If he hadn’t said all those things, he would’ve never ended up like this. 

After about 20 minutes, he was home. He steeled himself for what his mother had to say to him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. What could he say? There was no defending himself this time. Whatever it was, he deserved it.

Chapter Text

Soft sounds of strumming filled the air in Craig's room.  At 2:15 am, Craig sat cross-legged on his bed, guitar balanced in his lap. His fingers moved over the strings with practiced ease, cool wool against his skin. This was all familiar – strumming the guitar, getting lost in melodies – he might’ve even called it a hobby. Normally, he would’ve been writing and composing whole songs, but a strange hesitation occupied his mind. No matter how hard it got, he still went back to it. Like an addict. Tonight – much like recent nights – he wasn’t singing. Singing felt too raw, he was afraid of the words that would stumble out of his mouth if he did, the emotions it would reveal. 

Besides, he wasn’t any good at it. 

Suddenly, the door slowly opened and Tricia – his younger sister – peeked through the door opening. Craig stopped playing. 

“Hey buttface…” She said quietly, careful expression splayed across her face.

“What’s up?” Craig said, putting his guitar aside. She didn’t answer him, instead standing unsurely by the door. She wasn’t asking, but he could tell that she wanted company; fidgeting with her pyjama pants and downcasting her glance. Craig and Tricia had never been the type of siblings who talked about feelings – he could count the times they’ve hugged on one hand. But ever since their fathers passing, something had changed. A heavy silence had settled between them and Craig felt the urge to protect her like an older brother should. He’d neglected that part of himself up until now. She’d been taking the grief surprisingly well, but he knew that she was only keeping it together for their mom’s sake. 

So, Craig lightly patted the space beside him, silently inviting her to sit down. She smiled in relief, shoulders relaxing as she closed the door behind her. 

“I didn't know you still played that old thing” she lightly teased as she sat down. Craig casted a sheepish glance towards the guitar now laying next to him. “Yeah, well, I never stopped.” he mumbled “It’s just a hobby.” He said, fingers itching to resume playing. Tricia raised an eyebrow, “Just a hobby?” she echoed, “Playing the guitar in the middle of the night?” He lightly shoved her, barely grazing her. “Shouldn’t you get a new one? That thing looks ancient…” Craig shook his head, sighing. His mouth opened and closed, unsure if honesty was right in this situation. 

“Dad gave me this on christmas, when I was like, seven I think…” The air felt emptier around them, “He told me that it used to be his.” he said. Tricia made an ‘oh’ shape with her mouth. She obviously didn’t remember the christmas gift, with her only being four years old at the time. 

“Didn’t he play this in some band or something? The guitar, I mean.” She asked. Craig didn’t like where this conversation was headed. He’d prefer leaving him in the past. It shouldn’t bother him now – that his father probably gave him this guitar, silently hoping that he would love it just as much as he had, if not more. 

“Yeah.” Craig managed to choke out. Tricia seemed to get the hint, standing up from the bed. 

“Yeah, well, you shouldn't play it so loudly,” She said, making a show out of dusting her clothes off. “It’s disturbing my sleep” 

She said it with an air of sarcasm, but Craig only stared at her. He didn’t really want her to leave, but he couldn’t find it within himself to stop her from doing so. Instead, he swallowed and said, “If you ever need to talk I’m always awake, you know?” 

Her gaze softened, nodding. She turned and began walking out of her room. “Just be sure to knock next time, idiot.” Craig teased. She turned over her shoulder and rolled her eyes, smiling. She looked to Craig once more, hesitating, before eventually closing the door. After she’d left, Craig didn’t feel empty. He felt warm. Maybe this is what having a sibling is supposed to feel like, he thought. Then, he felt his phone vibrate. Then again. He picked it up, squinting at the bright screen. A text from Clyde? He unlocked his phone, opening the message. He’d completely forgotten his earlier argument with Clyde after walking out on Tweek. He’d dreaded his mom finding out about him failing his classes, but she’d only greeted him like normal once he came home. Did she not get a call?

He brought his attention back to Clyde's text, 

Clyde (2:44 AM)

  im sorry about earlier. 

  I shouldnt have said that to u.

Craig hesitated, why was he apologizing? They’d argued multiple times before, but they always ignored it and moved forward. Craig had always liked it that way. Besides, he’d been in the wrong as well with the way he had spoken to Clyde. They were best friends, goddammit. Craig felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach. Why did he always choose to fuck things up like this? He always made the conscious choice to escalate over solving problems, almost as if he wanted things to get worse. Another buzz sounded from his phone, and Craig realized that he’d just been staring dumbly at the message. 

Clyde (2:49 AM)

  i get that u might be feeling pretty bad rn

  but u rlly need to talk to us

You (2:50 AM)

u dont need to apologize i was wrong too                                 

and im fine  

Clyde (2:50 AM)

   rlly?

You (2:52 AM)

yes

Clyde (2:52 AM)

  alright dude

  im here if u need to talk tho 

  yk that right?

You (2:53 AM)

yeah yeah

go to sleep now

Clyde (2:53 AM)

  u too

He sighed, closing his phone. He’d debated admitting how he’d been feeling to Clyde. For just one moment, he actually thought about it. He knew that it would be for the better. Maybe he would feel better, but he decided against it. It would be dramatic of him. He didn’t have any real problems to talk about, other than his dad dying. He wasn’t depressed, or anxious – well maybe sometimes but it wasn’t anything serious. Really. And his dad dying didn’t affect him. Sure, it definitely hurt. It shocked everyone, the way that he died. Everyone in South Park had been talking about how, “ tragic it all was” and how they “wish those kids the best”. If they knew the truth, Craig would surely be excluded from their condolences. Brief flashes of the ocean entered his mind, the smell of pizza filtering through the air. It was all because of him. Everything happened because of him, what he said. It was all his fault. So it didn’t affect him, right? That would be selfish. It didn't affect him. It couldn’t affect him. Disgusting guilt settled in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. God, what would he think of his son now, moping around with his old guitar? He reached out to softly touch the wood of the guitar. If he were here, would he still love him, after everything he’d said? Would he be disappointed? Probably. Would he hate him? Craig’s mind blanked. He needed to stop thinking, slow down. The room was spinning, eyes barely staying open. 

He needed to sleep.

…

I Might be getting sick , Craig thought as he bit into his apple. It tasted like nothing, only serving as sandpaper on his tongue. He forced himself to eat it anyway, he would only feel like shit if he skipped breakfast again. He sat at the kitchen table, his mother making coffee like any other morning by the counter. 

She was silent. Not in a creepy way, but more peaceful. In Craig’s head, it clashed directly with how on-edge he felt. He didn’t understand it. Had his mother received a call or not? There was no doubt that the librarian had reported his absence to Mr. Mackey, if not Tweek himself, had beaten him to it. Tweek probably was the kind of guy who would notify the teacher that they forgot the homework – AKA, a goody-two-shoes. Whether or not his mom had been called, he wouldn’t be stupid and ask her. Maybe she’d somehow forgotten, now in a surprisingly good mood. She carried herself across the kitchen in a light, floaty manner, and she might’ve even been singing softly to herself. Her usually dull, dry hair now glowed in the morning light. She was dressed for the day, as opposed to her morning robe that had evolved into a “everyday, every hour” robe. Her back was turned to him, but he could feel her calmness radiating from her. He hoped that it would reach him too. Was that selfish of him? She shouldn’t need to take care of him, he was old enough to bear his own worries. He needed to take that responsibility. Craig took another bleak bite of his apple. At least she was happy for once. 

“Craig,” she called, turning around. Anxiety sparked in his chest as Craig met her eyes. “Do you want me to make you breakfast? Or lunch, for school?” 

Craig looked down at his barely-eaten apple, shaking his head. “No, I'm good, thanks.” he said. 

“Well I’m making you a sandwich anyway.” she almost sing-songed. 

“Alright.” he sighed. Checking his phone, he realized that there were only 10 minutes left until his bus left. He debated telling his mom to forget about the sandwich, until he realized something. Missing the bus would equal not seeing his friends – if he was lucky – until lunch. Maybe this was the miracle he needed. He couldn’t face Clyde – or his other friends – yet. Hell, he would rather be invisible today. Yesterday had been a never-ending rollercoaster, all for everyone to point and laugh about. Maybe they thought that they were laughing with him, punching the biggest asshole in school, but it deeply bothered him. He didn’t want any more talk about him, no more gossip. Even if he couldn’t escape the hallway gossip, he could escape the first bus. 

He let time pass, plugging in one earbud, patiently waiting for his savior-sandwich to be served to him. In his ear, the soft intro of ‘Blow Out’ by Radiohead began playing. Tender and lulling, reminding Craig of freshly washed sheets, morning light streaming through the curtains and blonde hair. Briefly, he wondered if his dad’s band ever made any good music. After all, It was his father who had introduced him to Radiohead, during a long, agonizing car ride. Don’t think about that, Craig. Anxiety splashed like cold water over him, freezing him. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually his mom walked up to the kitchen table. She handed him the sandwich – wrapped in plastic – with a smile. She could never find out what happened that day, now that she seemed to be getting better. Maybe she finally accepted what had happened, and maybe she was finally ready to move on. Craig could not ruin that for her. If she knew about what he’d said that day, how he did nothing and still ruined everything – It would break her. Would she be able to look Craig in the eyes still, like she was doing now, and smile? Or would she only see a murderer staring back at her? Craig wasn’t too excited to find out. He took the sandwich, face still as neutral as ever, mouthed a small “thanks” before standing up. He’d probably missed the bus by now.

…

Autumn chill bit at his cheeks as Craig waited by the bus stop. The leaves had yet to shift in color, but the typical gloom of the season had already settled. He found it oddly comforting, like recalling a memory of an estranged friend. Right before leaving home, he’d been tossed a jacket by his mom. An almost too big denim jacket. It looked aged and worn. It wasn’t broken or ragged, but you could tell that it had been loved. Especially by the way that his mother had looked at him after he’d put it on – reminiscing and content. Deep down, he knew exactly who had worn this jacket before, he simply chose to ignore it. He wasn't wearing it for sentimental reasons, and the bagginess of it matched his jeans. Denim on denim. Did he look like a homeless guy, or a skater? He hoped for the latter. 

From a distance, he could make out the bus through the fog. The bus stop was empty, excluding himself, and he wished that the bus would be empty as well. Having no one around to perceive him allowed Craig to turn off his brain. The vehicle made a stop in front of him, Craig stepping inside once the door opened. To Craig's pleasure, after walking up the stairs, he was met with an empty bus. Except it wasn’t empty, he realized. Kenny and Stan were sitting at the very back of the bus, Stan only being recognizable with his usual hat peeking out from behind the row before them. He was heavily slumped down on the seat, in comparison to Kenny who was sitting up straight. He looked concerned as he looked at Stan, softly murmuring something. The bus had begun moving, rumbling filling the strangely stale and isolating air. 

“Dude, that’s not normal,” Kenny’s voice rang low, but clear through the noise, “You guys need to talk about this.” Stan sighed, “Yeah, well he’s my best friend Kenny. You know that,” voice lower, he added, “Things would never be the same.”

He realized that he’d been eavesdropping and in a split second, Craig tried to move to sit down at one of the front rows, using his observation as an excuse to not butt-in on their conversation. Kenny had already spotted him though, eyes lighting up in recognition as they locked eyes. He had no choice but to head towards them. 

Stan cleared his throat and adjusted his previously slumped position as Craig sat down next to Kenny. This was going to be awkward.  

“Hey,” Stan greeted, earning a simple nod from Craig. He felt conflicted – Stan was supposed to hate him, but something had changed. Stan’s general demeanor had changed, he often looked tired or out of it. This shift had begun a month ago, before Wendy had broken up with him. Wendy and Stan had been together for a very long time – mostly on and off – until she broke up with him for good, but something told him that the way Stan had been acting was due to something else entirely. Anyhow, Stan wouldn’t throw insults at Craig anymore. He'd lost all the fight within him. 

He could feel Kenny’s gaze on him, assessing him. Did he know about his argument with Tweek? Craig didn’t actually know how good friends they were, seeing as they had never gotten the chance to engage in smalltalk during the previous study session. He steeled himself.

“Are you avoiding your friends or something?” Kenny asked knowingly. Craig heard himself let out a “huh?” before he could stop himself. Was it obvious? Or could Kenny also know about his fight with Clyde?

“No, I–” Craig paused. Wasn’t he avoiding them? He instinctively denied Kenny’s question without a second thought. It made him slightly disgusted with himself, they were treating him with basic decency, why couldn’t he just relax? Stan was staring at him curiously, weariness present on his face. Should he be honest with them? He didn’t see a point in lying. “I just wanted some time alone, I guess…” Craig sheepishly mumbled. Stan’s gaze softened into a look of recognition. 

“I get that.” Stan said, tone heavy. Craig remained silent at that. This might’ve been their first non-hostile interaction – no glares, insults or pity – and he didn’t know what to make of it. I get that… Was Stan avoiding his friends too? Cartman and Kyle evidently weren’t present on the bus. He understood wanting to avoid Cartman – Craig doubted the three even liked him anymore, but why would Stan avoid Kyle? His best friend, out of all people. “Well he’s my best friend Kenny. You know that. It would never be the same.” The words hung in the air as Craig held Stan’s gaze. There was something so calm in his eyes, maybe even understanding. No pity this time. Maybe the animosity between them was slowly dying out. Something was definitely going on beneath the surface, but he chose to not speculate. It wasn’t his business. He had bigger things to think about. 

…

Unsurprisingly, things went back to normal. He sat with his friends at lunch, yesterday's fight seemingly long forgotten – or at least left in the past. Craig felt relieved. He wouldn’t mind being alone, but the guilt of breaking up a friendship would only make the weight on his shoulders grow heavier. Clyde and Craig had been friends for years now, realistically he was someone to rely on. Craig did not need anyone to rely on though, which must have been why he suddenly wanted to distance himself from his friends. That must be it. Even as he was sitting in the noisy cafeteria with them, he wished to be anywhere else. Craig wasn’t even paying attention to their conversation, and they never snapped him out of his head like they usually would. Maybe things weren’t normal again. Had they given up on him? Craig took a bite out of the sandwich his mom had made him. Maybe he shouldn’t have missed the bus, he thought, gazing at his friends. Their voices were muffled, faces almost blurry. The noise of the cafeteria grated at his ears, making him dizzy. He needed some air. 

“I’m getting some air,” Craig quickly mumbled as he stood up, not giving any of his friends a chance to respond before walking away. As if on autopilot, he walked to the old locker room, not bothering to be discreet. The walk took both 20 minutes and 2 seconds, rooms and corridors blurring together. Craig's entire body buzzed with restlessness. He felt out of breath, the world tilting around him – he needed air, he needed air.

Something heavy akin to sleepiness weighed down on him, and Craig had to fight the urge to lay down on the dirty floor of the locker room. Briefly gazing into one of the mirrors, he was met by his own pale reflection. He looked sick, and ugly, like he’d been without water for 10 days. His breath shallowed. Fucking freak. He moved past the mirror, finally pushing the door open to the backside. As soon as he took his first breath of fresh air, he fell into a coughing fit. How graceful of him. He bended over, hands on his knees as he hackled and coughed continuously. Then he stopped coughing, only rapidly breathing in and out. Why wasn’t he calming down? There was a figure by one of the benches, but Craig couldn’t care less about them. He couldn’t care less about the fact that someone was seeing him in such a pathetic state. He did care about calming down though, as he began to wonder if he would pass out. Calm down for fucks sake, you’re gonna be fine, just calm down, you’ll be fine, calm down–

  He felt a hand at his back. Flinching away from the touch, he looked up to see… Tweek ? No , what was he doing here? How long had he been here, was he the figure from the bench? Craig’s head hurt, chest rising up and down on loop.

Tweek put both his hands up, as if to say “I come in peace” all while eyeing Craig in skeptic concern. Craig was still breathing erratically, dizziness hitting him even after getting the guaranteed cure of fresh air. His only solution had failed him, what was he supposed to do now? 

“Craig, you gotta sit down okay?” Tweek’s voice cut through the white noise. Oh, alright, he thought. Craig made no move to sit down, he only stared into Tweek's eyes. Fuck, what was happening? Was this a psychotic break? Was he finally going insane? Tweek grabbed Craig by the arms, guiding him to sit down on a bench. Craig leaned against the wall behind him, softly beating his fist into his chest, willing away the ache that had settled there. Tweek sat down next to him, urging him to look at him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Listen to me, you gotta breathe in three seconds, breathe out for 5.” Craig only shook his head in panic. No, please no counting . 

“No– look it’s okay, I’ll count. Are you ready?” Tweek reassured him, maintaining eye contact. Craig swallowed, nodding eventually. With confirmation, Tweek began counting and motioning for Craig, guiding him through whatever was happening. As Craig gazed into his green eyes, he couldn’t help but feel like he was in a fever dream of sorts. The only focus he had left remained on the warmth of Tweek's hand on his shoulder, and the green eyes still looking at him. 

As time passed, so did his panic. Tweek's steady but soft voice drowning out his panicked breathing, chasing the horrible feelings away. A heavy silence hung in the air. It wasn’t awkward, but relaxed. They were still sitting on the same bench both slumped against the wall. Craig felt strangely numb and spent – physically exhausted even. What would Tweek think of him now? Maybe he’d disproven the sociopath-allegations at the very least. Bearing his emotions unwillingly like this bothered him – no one should have to see this side of him. Especially when he himself did not know how to handle it. God, and Tweek had to help him through it too. This wasn’t Craig. Craig wasn’t emotional like this. He didn’t embarrass himself like this. 

“So…” Craig began, clearing his throat, “What’re you doing back here?” 

Tweek turned his head towards him, giving him a brief look of confusion before answering, “I like being here, It’s quiet” Craig nodded in approval. Then he remembered. “Dude, I–” he quickly started as he turned towards Tweek, but was interrupted. 

“Don’t worry about it. You were being an asshole, I was an idiot – end of story.” Tweek simply stated. Craig could only look at him incredulously. 

He’d helped him though whatever that episode was – which was embarrassing for Craig – but he didn’t wanna think about how things would've ended up if Tweek hadn’t already been here. 

His discomfort grew back, it felt wrong to sit next to Tweek like this. They weren’t friends by any means, but that wasn’t why it felt wrong. The prospect of them eventually becoming friends, only for Craig to ruin it loomed over him. He’d been given a second chance, but he wasn’t going to touch it with a 20 ft pole. Selfishly, he didn’t have the desire to bear the guilt of hurting another person, so distancing himself would be for the greater good. He stood up from the bench, vision blurring for a few seconds before clearing. He met Tweek's gaze again, stopping to look down at him. His blonde hair tousled slightly with the breeze, cheeks faintly rosy from the cold. He’s so… confusing.

“Thank you.” Craig finally said. Tweek’s eyebrow raised, a smug expression on his face. 

“Don’t mention it, I’ll see you later right?” he said, tone surprisingly light. Craig blinked. “Uh, yeah. See ya.” he flatly said, walking to the door. 

“Come to the same group room, number four!” Tweek called after him and Craig only answered with a wave of his hand, not turning his back. He wasn’t so sure that he could face him after what had happened.

Chapter Text

Shit, Shit, Shit, Craig thought as he sped through the hallway. He’d finished all of his classes for the day, his study session with Tweek remaining. Only, he was late. Really late. If you asked Craig Tucker why he's late, he’d lie and say that he wasn’t, because that would be really humiliating. How could he be running this late, when all he had to do after his last period was to walk to the library. The truth is, Craig Tucker had spent 20 minutes in a bathroom stall, playing mobile games while trying to conjure up a believable excuse to not show up at all. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the thought of studying that made him not want to show up, but the thought of seeing Tweek. The thought of seeing Tweek again made him cringe horribly, like recalling something embarrassing you did as you’re falling asleep. Only he wasn’t falling asleep, and said embarrassing thing happened only 2 hours ago. He’d freaked out, at the backside of all places, and out of all people to find him, it just had to be Tweek. For some reason, he almost wished that some stranger had found him instead. A stranger would’ve left him alone. He could’ve dealt with that himself . Really. He really could’ve. 

He sped past all of the lockers,hallways cleared out by now. Would Tweek still be there? Would he be waiting for him? The thought made him feel bad, because what if Craig decided to fuck up and leave again? He would just be sitting there. Alone. 

He shook away his thoughts as he approached the library door. Stepping inside, the transition from harsh fluorescent lights to dimly lit lamps and candles immediately soothed him. It slowed his frantic pace, urging him to relax, take a breath. A little disoriented, Craig glanced around the library. Where was he supposed to go again? Eyes landing on the semi-obscured staircase, his thoughts clicked into place. Group room four, second floor, right. He made his way towards the stairs, plastic foliage was wrapped around the railing, something he hadn’t noticed yesterday. Then again, he’d been so out of it. His sight felt clearer today, edges of his vision unblurred. During the earlier incident, it had been completely clouded over – as if a thick fog had settled in front of him, drowning him. No , not drowning. Don't think about that .

He pulled himself up the stairs, relishing in the calm of the atmosphere. He wasn’t sure if the calm would extend into group room four once he entered it. He really should focus today, get his head on straight. He shouldn’t make this any more difficult than it already was. Not only for himself, but for Tweek too. 

Gosh, what was he thinking? This emotional sensitivity must be a side effect of his freak out. 

Walking through the corridor, he headed straight for room four. He slid his phone out his pocket, glancing at the time. 3:34 pm. Shit. He’s 34 minutes late. He put his phone away, clenching his hand around the strap of his backpack. He didn’t even have an excuse for being this late. Craig hesitated at the door, dumbly staring at the golden ‘4’ on the wood in front of him. Four was an unlucky number, right? He’d read about it somewhere. He sighed, setting his sights on the door in front of him. His thoughts spiraled briefly; what if Tweek had left already? Craig wouldn’t blame him. He shouldn’t have to wait up on Craig just because Craig was scared. Why was he so scared? Was he scared that Tweek would judge him, or look down on him? Especially now, when he was so fantastically late. No, Snap out of it Craig. He shook his head lightly.

steeling himself, he hovered his fist over the dark brown wood in front of him. It’s not scary, everything is fine. He was fine, he’s been fine. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, because he is fine. Craig let himself knock. He hoped that Tweek would be there to open.

Only a few seconds passed, the door made a strange clicking sound, and opened. Tweek stood on the other side, shoulders slumping and face morphing into an incredulous expression once he recognized the person in front of him. 

“What the fuck man?” He uttered, eyeing Craig up and down judgmentally. Offended, Craig did the same. He came to the conclusion that Tweek was wearing a deep blue knit sweater and grey jeans. Great, he has a sense of fashion, Craig thought bitterly. He would like to think that he had an okay style himself, baggy jeans and all. Tweek brought him out of his thoughts. 

“You’re thirty-four minutes late, thirty four!” Tweek exclaimed, hand flying to fidget with his lip, as if to remind himself to be quiet and calm. 

Craig cringed inwardly – mostly at himself. Shit, what should he say? That he was stuck in the bathroom playing tetris for twenty minutes? Hell no. He’d humiliated himself enough for today, thank you very much.

“Yeah, uh. My bad?” He tried, voice thin. Tweek simply raised his eyebrows and gave him a look of disappointment, then closing his eyes and breathing a shuddering breath. Craig felt guilt spark in his stomach, noticing the slight tremble in Tweek’s body as he inhaled. He opened his eyes again, glaring at Craig but stepping away from the entrance. What an uninviting invite. Craig followed Tweek inside, cautiously shutting the door behind him. 

Craig observed the bleak room, once again reeling from the contrasting atmospheres of the library and the group room. Did they forget to include them in the budget or something? They could’ve at least chosen some less offensive lighting. Fluorescent lights and Craig’s fairly sensitive head weren’t exactly a dream team. Eyes adjusting to the harsher lights, his gaze landed on the table. A notebook and what looked like a biology book laid open, along with various pens and stationary objects. It looked weirdly organized – in a chaotic way. It looked so candid, like Tweek had been deep into his work before Craig showed up and interrupted him. 

“What’re you studying?” Craig asked, surprising himself with the attempt at conversation. Tweek seemed surprised as well, throwing him a suspicious glance before moving to sit down in front of the neat mess he’d made. 

His shoulder twitched, “AP Biology, but ah–” He stopped himself briefly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“But?” Craig echoed, sitting down as well. Tweek lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Craig in a fairly awkward, but mildly irritated glare. 

“But nothing . It’s just hard to understand s’all” He mumbled. He seemed fairly tricked off about something– or someone. That someone was probably Craig Tucker himself, he presumed. He couldn't help but feel confused anyway – Tweek had helped him earlier. He wasn’t going to bring it up, but why would he chose to sit through such an awkward situation such as Craig freaking out, if he still chose to feel resentful towards him? The idea was too complex – and tiring – for him to think about right now, he concluded, sliding off his backpack. 

He opened it, rummaging around in it until he found his notebook. As he placed it on the table, he saw Tweek slide a piece of paper towards him. WIthout saying anything Craig placed his backpack on the floor and looked at Tweek, silently questioning. Tweek remained silent as well, only exaggeratedly urging him to look at the paper before him. He did so, seeing that it was a schedule of some sort. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Were all written down, along with subjects underneath them. He realized that it was the planning. He looked up at Tweek again, hoping that the shame he felt wouldn’t show on his face. Now he was even more confused – Tweek did this for him? Surely not. This was most likely for practical reasons. 

“I, uh, made it after you left.” Tweek hesitated. “We can change it if you want to–” He quickly added, but Craig interjected, “No– no, this is fine.” Then looking up from the paper again, he said,

“My mom never got a call.” It was meant to be a statement, but came out as a question anyway. Tweek’s hands began to fumble slightly with one of the pens lying around, evidently choosing his next words carefully based on the conflicted look on his face. 

“I talked with the librarian,” He said, not meeting Craig’s questioning gaze. “I asked him not to report it.” 

Oh. Why would he do that? Didn’t he hate him, after Craig said those things? But then it hit him – Tweek pitied him. Fuck that. 

He downcasted his glance again, looking at the paper in front of him. The handwriting mirrored Tweek’s set up; neat and chaotic. The letters were all ugly, but written weirdly straight and consistently. No matter where he looked he couldn’t seem to get a read on the guy. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the paper. Shame threatened to boil over, but he willed himself to keep his composure.

“You talked with the librarian?” he asked, tone sharper than he’d intended. Tweek squirmed at that. 

“I mean– it’s not a big deal or anything, he agreed pretty quickly…” He trailed off at the end, unsure. Craig still kept his eyes on the paper. The handwriting made it all feel all the more raw and personal. It grated on his already building headache. Why? Why would he do that?

“I just don’t understand–” Craig started, catching himself when he heard his tone heating. “Why?” He exhaled, staring blankly at Tweek. Tweek averted his gaze, but shifted it back and forth multiple times. He searched for words, simultaneously whether or not to look at Craig or down at his notebook. Craig sighed.

“We’re not exactly friends, so I don’t get why you would do that for me” He added monotonously. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Tweek reacted immediately, rolling his eyes. His body relaxed slightly. “I didn’t do it for you” 

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Why’d you do it then?” he challenged, leaning back in his chair. Tweek hesitated again, but firmly held Craig’s gaze. It was weird, being observed like that. Not a bad weird though. Tweek shook his head, he was unsure if that was another twitch or not.

“I would get in trouble too, y’know? Like I said yesterday, you’re not the only one stuck in this situation.” Tweek said, voice smaller.

Craig could only blink in acknowledgement at that. That does make sense. In being unable to deal with his own outburst, he risked getting someone else into trouble again, great. Good job, Craig. Then a thought hit him.

“Why would you get into trouble though?” Craig asked curiously. It must have been a stupid question, because Tweek gave him an incredulous look that simply read “are you dumb?”. Craig cleared his throat and moved to lean forward.

“Like, why– why would you even be forced to tutor me?” Craig clarified, judgement slipping out as he referred to himself. He hoped that he wouldn’t pick up on that. Tweek twisted in his seat, albeit with an expression that could either be seen as mildly irritate or concerned. Craig ignored the latter. He opened his mouth as if to begin talking, but closed it again, averting his gaze upwards. A moment passed, Craig leaning forward impatiently, silently urging Tweek to talk. He had to admit, he’d never thought about why Tweek was forced into this. There were other kids who probably would’ve volunteered for the extra credit – except for kyle. Craig was curious. Tweek met his gaze again, unsure. Craig held his gaze, silently saying “go on”. 

“I– Mr. Mackey thinks that I don’t socialize enough,” Tweek mimicked their counselor's voice on ‘socialize’, and Craig had to fight back a smile. Tweek seemed to notice, continuing, “And so– I guess he thought that tutoring someone would do me good, or whatever.” his voice was much lighter now, like he almost felt at ease. For some extraterrestrial reason, that made Craig feel slightly more at ease too. He nodded softly, “Well, that’s kinda dumb.” he said simply, then tapped the paper before him.

“So, what's the deal? You expecting me to stick to this, or what?” Craig challenged. Tweek scoffed, “Not really, but it would make my life easier if you would.” There was a pause, their eye contact remaining constant in the bleak room. He couldn’t help but remark how Tweek’s eyes contrasted against the white walls. It almost felt rebellious, staring into his eyes like this. He wasn’t even sure if he’d seen green eyes in person before. Wait, no, back to the present Craig.

“I’ll try.” Craig said, tone so much softer than he’d intended, and Tweek widened his eyes in surprise. 

“You– Oh, uh. Great. Good.” He spluttered, averting his gaze and placing his hands flat against the table, as if unsure what to do with them. Craig tore his gaze away, eyes landing on the paper in front of him. It was Tuesday today.

“Uh, Tweek?” 

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have my textbook…”

An irritated groan echoed off the walls. 

…

Minutes ticked by, and the heavy silence had begun to weigh down on him. Craig – having borrowed Tweek’s math book – was trying his hardest to focus on the work in front of him. He would occasionally check the time or steal glances at Tweek, curious to what he was up to. Tweek himself was hunched over his own notebook, frantically looking between it and the biology textbook that he had yet to turn a page in. Truth be told, Craig had gotten stuck on multiple questions, but had opted to skip them instead of asking for help. The way Tweek was lightly chewing on his pen with wide eyes, even tugging ever so slightly at his hair gave Craig the impression that he’d explode if asked any questions. Still, despite skipping problems, he’d gotten some work done – which was better than nothing. 

About forty minutes had gone by since either of them had spoken, and Craig was growing more and more restless. It wasn’t the usual adrenaline induced restlessness, but more of a need to get up and do something. He was bored, simply put. He stared idly at his notebook, head resting on his right hand. There wasn’t anything interesting to inspect in the group room. Only the plain white walls and the faintly flickering fluorescent lights. He sat up in his chair – sitting hunched over had been starting to hurt his shoulders – and stretched out his arms above his head. His gaze wandered, eventually landing on Tweek’s face. His gaze remained, even as he rested his arms against the armrests of the chair, leaning back. He couldn’t say why – but something about his face left him perplexed. His energy was usually so nervous and ticked off, like a glass about to spill over, but there was something oddly steady about his face. He found it… soothing in a way he couldn’t understand. Was he staring? Yes. Was it weird? Maybe. He couldn’t find it within himself to care.

“What’re you staring at?” Tweek mumbled without looking up, startling Craig enough to avert his gaze. Okay, maybe he did care.

“Nothing, you just look… busy.” He answered, suddenly finding the math book very interesting. Silence. Craig lifted his gaze again, inspecting the room for the nth time. Nothing. Nothing on the walls, boring table, boring chairs and a blank whiteboard. There wasn’t even a clock. How could anyone focus here? He stole another quick glance at Tweek. Then another, before finally speaking up,

“I’m bored,” he stated. Tweek finally tore his gaze away from his notebook, only to shoot Craig a glare.

He looked back down at his work, “I know.” Tweek said. He looked back up again, only to catch Craig’s “oh, really?” expression. He sighed.

“You’ve been drumming with your fingers for the past 10 minutes. It’s distracting.” Craig raised his eyebrows. Had he really been doing that? Looking down at his hands, Tweek was right. Silently grumbling to himself, he crossed his arms in front of him and inspected Tweek’s notebook from across the table. It was cluttered in chaotic writing, in seemingly panicked rambling. Some words were underlined harshly, while other portions had been erased. The eraser fragments littering the space around him made Craig’s skin crawl. His annoyance gave way to a smaller feeling. Tweek only grew more and more frustrated, hands slightly trembling. Craig frowned. Maybe he needed a break or something? He tried to conjure up a way to kindly interrupt Tweek’s focus, but he beat him to it.

“Argh– I can’t do this anymore!” Tweek exclaimed, exasperatedly flinging his hands over his head. He slumped down in his chair, as if all energy had left him in that singular outburst. He glared at his notebook. Then he cringed, 

“Sorry, I just… hate getting stuck like this.”

“Then don’t,” Craig said, rather matter-of-factly. He almost winced at how flat his voice sounded. You should take a break, he wanted to say, but it almost felt too personal. Too nagging or friendly.

“Well that's easy for you to say.” Tweek said grudgingly, weakly raising his gaze to Craig. He tried not to think about what Tweek was implying. Keyword: tried. Was he calling him lazy? Dismissive? Dumb? He knew where this would go if he chose to take offense to that, so he didn’t. Well, he did, but he didn’t voice it.

“Whatever,” he said instead. 

“Can you help me with this?” Craig said, tapping his finger against his own notebook, which was hilariously empty in comparison with Tweek’s. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, trying to mask how uncomfortable he felt with that singular question. Asking for help like this felt foreign, but he’d felt compelled to direct Tweek’s attention elsewhere – so he at least wouldn’t bite his pencil off. Tweek’s glare immediately morphed into something akin to curiosity, sitting up straight in his chair.

“Alright, bring it over.” Tweek said, clearing the space in front of him. Craig stood up and slid his chair with him, creating a gnarly screeching sound. He suppressed a shudder, while Tweek outwardly shook and groaned at the sound.

“ Jesus man– I said bring it over, not tear open my eardrums!” He hissed and covered his ears. Craig suppressed a smile. He sat down next to Tweek and reached over the table for his books, bringing them in front of them.

“Uh… I don’t get this one.” he said, pointing at one of the questions he skipped. Tweek leaned closer, reading the question. Craig couldn’t help but notice how Tweek’s brows unfurrowed and smoothened out as he examined the question. His body seemed to relax, frustration and tension all melting into focus. It was oddly captivating – and humbling, considering Craig’s own troubles to even look at a math problem. “Okay. What did you write down?” he asked. Craig tore his eyes away from Tweek, just then noticing a faint but lingering smell between them; coffee and shampoo.

“Write down?” Craig echoed, slightly distracted. Get yourself together, Craig. Tweek raised his head, looking at him now. 

“Yeah, your calculation?” He said, “So I can explain where you messed up.”

“I didn’t.” he said flatly, eyes glued to the paper. Tweek blinked.

“ You didn’t? ” He echoed questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t do any calculations,” Craig admitted, avoiding Tweek’s increasingly judgemental gaze. There was a beat of silence. Craig continued to stare down at his mostly empty notebook page, Tweek staring a hole into the side of his head. Then he sighed.

“Alright then, I’ll explain it.” Craig raised his gaze to meet Tweek’s, “But you better listen or I’ll strangle you.” Tweek threatened. He was dead serious, as evidenced by the way he scowled at him. Despite that, Craig scoffed.

“What, you think you’re stronger than me?” he teased. 

“I’m stronger than you think.” Tweek promised. It intrigued him that Tweek stood his ground instead of getting exaggeratedly defensive. It would be a more expected reaction. 

“Well I’m definitely faster,” Craig countered, putting all of his will-power towards not smiling, “I’ll be outta the room before you can blink.” 

“Well that's only ‘cause your legs are longer–” Then Tweek stopped himself, glancing down at the notebook waiting for them.

“Dude, let’s focus.” He said, effectively shutting down their banter. Craig felt disappointed, but tried his best to let it go. Was it weird of him to enjoy a tutoring session? With Tweek out of all people? A notification dinged at Tweek’s phone, displaying the time – 4:20 pm. 

“I’ll explain this to you…” Tweek started, glancing back at Craig, “Then we can call it a day. Sound good?” Craig nodded, lips almost curing into a smile. Almost. That sounded more than good.

…

What was supposed to be a quick explanation had spiraled into 26 minutes of bickering and questions. Tweek had chastised him for his lack of understanding, even as he’d “dumbed it down” for him while Craig emphasized yet again how he didn’t get math .

Eventually, he did get it, and they had packed up their things. As Craig was pulling his jacket on, Tweek spoke up.

“Are you walking home or are you getting picked up?” he asked casually. Craig hesitated for a second, caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything, right? Still the question felt so… natural? Craig brought his backpack to his shoulders before answering. 

“Nah, I’m walking.” Then after a beat, he asked, “Are you?” 

“Yeah. I- uh, only live, like 5 minutes away so…” He trailed off, not finishing his thought. Craig stared at Tweek as he fumbled to zip his own jacket, a black puffer that would’ve matched with Craig’s usual winter jacket. In a strange way, he felt comfortable around Tweek. Despite his quirks, it steadied Craig. Craig hesitated, a question lingering on his tongue. They weren’t friends, but maybe that didn’t matter. He forced the question out before he could change his mind,

“You wanna walk together for a bit?” He asked. Tweek looked up to him, meeting his gaze without reacting, like Craig hadn’t just asked him something. Then, he visibly softened, shoulders relaxing. It wasn’t until then that Craig had noticed just how tense Tweek had been. 

“Yeah, sure. Why not?” He said, softly smiling, a little out of breath from wrestling with his jacket. His hands visibly relaxed, zipping it closed. With a raised eyebrow, he added, “That is, if you can even find your way home on your own.” Craig blinked. Then he gaped, groaning.

“I know where I live Tweek, I just suck at math!” defeat ringing clear in his voice. Tweek laughed at his outburst. He hadn’t meant to outwardly show his exasperation like that, but it amused Tweek. 

As they exited the group room, Craig almost felt a sense of whiplash. He’d been stuck in that room for so long, that he’d forgotten all about the outside world – for better and for worse. They descended down the stairs in silence, mirroring the noise level of the library. Most people had gone home by now, except for two other students sitting at one of the tables. Upon further inspection he realized it was Wendy and Heidi. He didn’t share any classes with them, but they were somewhat popular. Besides, everyone in South Park High School knew each other (for the most part) even if you’d never interacted before. Looking away from the girls, he noticed that Tweek had left his side. He was standing by the reception. He said something – Craig couldn’t hear what – and walked away once the librarian gave him a thumbs up. When Tweek reached him, he didn’t ask about what he’d said. It wasn’t important. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eager to leave the library behind. 

The moment they stepped outside, the cold air hit Craig like a reset button. It sobered him up in the most intoxicating way possible. Maybe that was why walking next to Tweek didn’t feel so strange. It felt reassuring. They walked across the parking lot, dimly lit by the streetlamps above them. The only sounds coming from cars passing by and the steady rhythm of their footsteps. Craig relished in the calmness.

“It’s already so dark out.” Tweek remarked. Craig hummed in agreement, stealing a quick glance at him.

“I think it’s nice though,” Craig said, “It's more quiet then.” 

Tweek turned to look at him. Craig looked back, meeting him with his flat expression. He looked faintly surprised, as if he hadn’t expected that answer out of Craig. 

“Yeah, I like it too,” He said carefully, voice lower. “Especially after a tough day y’know? When you just wanna sit in silence, and not be bothered?” Craig continued to stare, even as Tweek brought his attention forwards. They’d reached a crossing, and after they’d walked over it they’d somehow gotten closer. 

“Yeah.” Craig answered simply. His friends would’ve probably teased him for the short and monotone response, but Tweek didn’t seem to mind. A small happiness radiated from him, paired with the smallest smile on his lips. Craig had to look away. 

They spent the rest of the walk in silence, which felt much longer than five minutes. The silence hadn’t felt heavy or awkward, but comfortable and understanding. Usually you would say that time flies when you’re having fun, so maybe time goes slower when you feel just okay? Because that's how Craig would describe this moment. He felt okay. Hell, he hadn’t felt this comfortable in so long . Even as they passed Tweek’s house and said goodbye, Craig didn’t feel a sense of loss. Tweek disappeared into his house, leaving Craig behind. He wasn’t upset. He had his earbuds with him, and he was content with the promise that he would get to do this again. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, fishing out the earbuds case. Tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Coming to the backside was becoming a habit, Craig realized. He was sitting on the bench by the backside wall, next to Butters. Kenny sat on the pavement, unbothered by the dirt. He would’ve fit on the bench, but he insisted on staying on the pavement. The sharp click of the lighter punctuated the air. It grated on Craig’s nerves. He bounced his leg impatiently, waiting to receive the lighter from Kenny. Butters on the other hand, was completely still and calm next to him – a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. He was the guy everyone had been picking on since middle school – because it was easy. Craig himself had probably been an asshole to him when they were kids. Then again, Craig is kind of an asshole to everyone. 

Butters always wore an innocent smile, a spring in his step and showed good manners towards everyone. Yes, everyone. even those who tormented him. There had always been something off about him, though. An eerie, uncomfortable feeling was always present in Butters eyes. So much so, that it compelled Craig to stay away from him entirely. 

But now, as he sat next to him, he didn’t feel that way at all. Maybe it was because he wasn’t putting up a front anymore. Butters was being his genuine self without all the effort of feigning positivity. Butters was Kenny’s friend. Kenny seemed to have a soft spot for him, and Craig couldn’t help but trust Kenny’s judgement. The lighter clinked again and Kenny cursed. Looking to his right, Craig caught Kenny glaring at his lighter as if willing it to explode. He sighed.

“Just give it to me, dude.” Craig said, sticking out his palm. He gave him a look, but surrendered the lighter anyway. Kenny put his cigarette in his mouth.

“Butters, you don’t have a light on you, do you?” he asked, slightly muffled. Butters shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes instead. Craig paused his fight with the lighter, looking at Butters instead. He eyed the small box.

“Can I have one of yours?” Craig asked. He was beginning to feel guilty about leeching off of Kenny all the time, considering Kenny’s financial stance. Kenny Mccormick is poor, his family has nothing. Stealing -- or borrowing --from Kenny feels wrong when he can barely afford his own lunch. So when Butters shrugs and says “ sure ”, Craig is relieved. When Craig looks back down at Kenny, he has his hand over his heart in faux shock, a betrayed look on his face. 

“What?” Craig scoffs, almost laughing. 

“I thought you liked my cigarettes?” Kenny said, then smiled “were you lying to me this entire time?” Craig rolled his eyes.

“I just want to see what a real cigarette tastes like for once.” he said sarcastically. He heard Butters softly chuckle beside him, amused at their banter. He kept trying with the lighter and finally got it to light, quickly holding it out towards Kenny. The rapid movement caused his thumb to slip, extinguishing the small flame before Kenny’s cigarette could get lit. Kenny glanced at him uneasily, harshly snatching it from his hand. Craig scowled at him, but Kenny only met him with an almost judging look. 

“Careful, pyromaniac.” He mumbled around the cigarette, then with two clicks got a light. He looked at Craig’s thumb pointedly, Craig now acutely aware of his still throbbing injury. The place he had burned himself had slightly swollen, now red and itchy. It hurt like hell, but he’d never thought about putting a band-aid over it like Kenny had urged him to do. It was clear that he was being silently criticized for that now. 

“C’mere and I’ll light it for you.” Kenny said, and as he lit their cigarettes, Butters spoke up,

“ So… ” he started, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and taking a drag,

“Tweek, huh?” he breathed out. His eyes had a mischievous glint in them.

“What?” Was all he could respond. What was he suggesting? 

“He told me y'all have been studying together.” Butters said, raising an eyebrow. In his peripheral, Craig could see Kenny shaking with contained laughter. What the fuck? He took a drag out of his cigarette, breathing the smoke out his mouth and up his nose. 

"He's my tutor , big deal.” Craig said, staring ahead. 

“You’re not friends?” Kenny said from below him. Craig could hear the smile in his voice. 

“No– Or, uh…” He hesitated, thinking about the previous afternoon. The time he’d spent with Tweek – even time spent studying – had felt… okay. It had felt okay, when every other part of his day had either been stressful, angering or just boring. Feeling okay – with Tweek – didn’t feel okay to him, and that felt even less okay. Craig could feel the start of a headache above his brows. Too much thinking.

“I don’t know.” He finally said. Butters made a thoughtful sound beside him.

“Well, he told me you were studying yesterday.” He said, and when Butters didn’t continue, Craig could feel his skin itch with curiosity. 

“And?” Craig inquired. He’d barely taken any hits from his cigarette by now, he was too distracted. Butters laughed uneasily.

“I’m not so sure that you wanna know, buddy,” he said, “Or if you’re ready for it.” Craig scoffed. 

“What, was he shit-talking me or something?” He said, gesturing with his hand as if stating the obvious. 

“No, kinda the opposite actually,” Butters remarked, smile growing ever so slightly. But before he could question further, the backside door opened abruptly, slamming open like it had been stuck at the door frame. The three of them turned their heads toward the noise. Familiar blonde hair and a black puffer jacket stepped outside – it was Tweek.

They locked eyes, Tweek averting his gaze quickly and muttering something under his breath. His chest tightened. Was that disappointment on Tweek’s face? Or was it caution? Why would he be disappointed? Then again, maybe seeing Craig warranted for a negative reaction. He wavered at the door and Craig could feel his stomach drop slowly. A faint but clear frown had gradually formed on Tweek’s face. He was clearly deep in thought. So was Craig. Maybe they weren’t friends after all. Maybe Tweek didn’t want to see Craig at all outside of tutoring sessions. Maybe Butters had only been teasing him. 

“Hey man! C’mere and have a smoke with us!” Butters exclaimed gleefully, abandoning his previously laid-back tone. It almost gave Craig whiplash. Tweek smiled uneasily, feigning confidence as he began walking towards them. The leaves crunched under his feet and the wind tousled his hair, without ruining it. It all just fell into place in a perfect mess. Craig looked away. He’d been staring again. Kenny must’ve caught onto it, glancing between Tweek and Craig conspiratorially. He then began to stand up, mouth rapidly opening and closing.

“Actually Butters,” Kenny started, “remember that favor I mentioned?” 

Butters only stared at Kenny, clearly not remembering. He shot Kenny a confused look, smile still firm. Craig suppressed a shiver. 

“Oh, you know,” Kenny started, smile falling as he failed to continue his sentence. Butters raised an eyebrow, slowly shaking his head. Tweek and Craig looked between the two, equally confused as to what was going on. He could’ve sworn that Tweek’s gaze burned him for a second too. Kenny glared meaningfully at Butters, before sighing. 

“Just fucking come with me man,” He said, suddenly reaching out and grabbing Butters – harshly – and dragging him away. Butters thrashed and  loudly questioned “ where the fuck are we going?” and “what the fuck is happening?” while being dragged away, stumbling over his feet when Kenny’s grip didn’t loosen. Neither of them looked back before inevitably fully disappearing back into the school building. The cool air now whistled between Craig and Tweek, stunned by the pair's sudden exit. The two of them were alone now. The silence was eventually broken by Tweek,

“What was that all about?” he said, gingerly scratching his neck. Craig looked back up at him. Tweek was standing right in front of him, eyes still glued to the backside door. 

“No clue, my guess is as good as yours.” Craig flatly said, leaning back on the bench, trying his best to seem indifferent. He stuffed his free hand into the pocket of his jacket, bringing his cigarette to his lips with the other. Tweek shifted his gaze to Craig, locking eyes again. This time, his eyes did not shy away immediately. His expression stilled, observing Craig. The silence of the autumn air was brought back as they simply stared at each other. Then, Tweek’s eyes shifted to the cigarette in Craig’s mouth. Craig inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out. With Tweek's both meaningful and meaningless gaze weighing heavy on him, Craig felt compelled to speak, shifting slightly on the bench. 

“Uh– You smoke?” Craig nearly coughed. He cringed inwardly at how raspy his voice sounded. Tweek paid no mind to it, face lightening up in recognition. If they were in a cartoon, there would probably be a light bulb popping up over Tweek’s head right now. 

“Yeah, uh…” He said, frantically digging in his pockets before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you have a lighter on you?” he asked, hesitating before sitting down on the bench next to Craig. Suddenly, the earlier disappointment Tweek had displayed was forgotten. Asking for a lighter was almost akin to extending an olive branch, right? Warmth spread in Craig's chest. He shook his head, as if to clear his head. 

“No, I used Kenny's,” he said. Tweek’s shoulders sunk at that, expression falling as well. 

“Oh.” was all he said, slightly slumping forward. Craig briefly looked at his cigarette, twirling it around with his fingers. Faint laughter and chatter could be heard, presumably from the middle schoolers “exploring” the school's abandoned playground. Without thinking, Craig held out his hand, offering his cigarette to Tweek. Tweek turned his head towards Craig, then sat up from his slumped position. His eyes had gone wide, mouth slightly agape. 

“Craig, I–  you really don’t need–” Tweek began to protest, Craig quickly interrupting. 

“Just shut up and share it with me.” He softly said. He surprised himself with both the harshness of his words and his persistence. Would he ever share a cigarette with Kenny? No, probably not. If anything, he would choose to give Kenny a cigarette entirely if it ever came down to that – for obvious reasons. Tweek however, had deflated so drastically when Craig failed to have a lighter on him, that it almost made him feel bad. So, Craig wanted to share his cigarette with him. Or, uh, he felt obliged to . Despite this, nervousness prickled at his fingers. He needed to stop thinking. He didn’t want to think about what he was feeling, and it didn’t really matter. Tweek was just a guy trying to get by – just like Craig. He suppressed the urge to retreat his hand, willing himself to stay cool. 

Tweek stared blankly at him, then slowly, a small smile grew on his face. His eyes even crinkled the tiniest bit, and Craig tried his best to ignore the swelling sensation in his chest. Tweek still didn’t move, his smile both disbelieving and affectionate. Craig had to gesture with the cigarette in a “c'mon” way before Tweek spoke.

“Alright,” Tweek said, accepting the cigarette with a small smirk. “It better not be laced.” Tweek took a drag from the still lit cigarette, his hand trembling ever so slightly. Craig could tell that it wasn’t from nervousness, and it made him wonder. Craig watched as Tweek twirled the cigarette between his fingers gingerly. He scoffed lightly.

“Do I really look like that kinda guy?” he said, taking the cigarette when Tweek lightly passed it back to him. His gaze remained on Tweek, who now stared out onto the overgrown basketball court in front of them. Craig could recall playing many games on that court when he was a kid, before everything turned upside down. 

“I mean…” Tweek said, briefly pausing, “That whole ‘I-don’t-give-a-shit’ act really doesn’t help your case.” he said, shrugging. Craig nearly coughed. They had settled into a steady rhythm of passing the cigarette around now, but he simply held onto the stick now, giving Tweek a questioning glare. 

“Act?” he echoed, puzzled. Tweek didn’t answer, taking the cigarette out of Craig’s hand and bringing it to his mouth. He found himself torn between feeling offended and amazed, looking at Tweek. They held eye contact as he inhaled smoke from the cigarette. Craig couldn’t look away, mouth suddenly dry. There was something about him. His expression contrasted with the constant tremble racking him. Maybe he was cold, seeing as his cheeks had dusted the slightest pink, almost hiding his freckles. How Tweek still had freckles in autumn was beyond him. Everything about him was so… captivating? The way he held the cigarette, his hair, his eyes—

Tweek coughed, rather ungracefully. Bringing his arm to cover his mouth and passing the cigarette back with the other. Craig chuckled lightly, taking the cigarette.

“Smooth,” he said, smirking. Then, as if to prove a point, took a drag himself. Tweek glanced sideways at him, suppressing both a laugh and a smile as he coughed. 

“Shut up,” he said between hackles. He put a hand on his chest, finally stopping and facing Craig. “I could’ve died just now.” he said in mock disbelief, grinning in a winded sort of way. Craig sighed contently, slumping against the back of the bench and resting his head against it. He felt relaxed. It was probably the nicotine, he told himself.

“Do you even smoke?” he teased, passing the cigarette back. Tweek accepted it with a scoff.

“Yeah,” Then carefully, he took a drag, successfully this time. “Calms me down,” then with something between a shrug and a shake of his head, he reevaluated, “Most of the time.” 

Craig nodded, more to himself. He brought his eyes away from Tweek, staring ahead at nothing in particular. 

“You?” Tweek said, exhaling smoke. Craig accepted the cigarette, inhaling the last of it before snubbing it out against the bench. 

“Kenny gave me one once, to clear my head.” He let the cigarette sit on the bench between them. Staring ahead, he added, “Kinda stuck with it ever since.” Craig admitted. Sharing these things with Tweek felt natural, like he’d done yesterday. While they hadn’t opened up or said something ‘deep’, it had still felt so personal. 

Tweek hummed in thought, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“So, what you're saying is that it’s Kenny’s fault if you get lung cancer, or something?” Tweek giggled. Craig let out a disbelieving laugh, throwing his head back softly.

“I cannot believe you just said that.” He said, voice slightly raspy now from the smoke and the cold air. Craig pointedly knocked on the bench – knocking on wood – earning a bemused look from Tweek. Craig’s smile dropped. Shit, when had he begun smiling anyway?

“...What?” he asked, bringing his hands back into his pockets. Tweek gave him a small smirk.

“I didn’t take you for a spiritual guy.” He said, scooting the tiniest bit closer on the bench. Suddenly aware of the minimal distance between them – and the remark from Tweek – Craig could feel his face slightly warming. 

“Well, I’m not.” He said dumbly, willing his voice to be as flat as possible. 

“Where did you pick up on it then?” Tweek chuckled, then quickly added, “It’s not weird or anything!” Craig itched his nose, shifting his gaze away from Tweek.

“My sister does it all the time,” Craig admitted slowly, almost embarrassed. 

“All the time?” Tweek echoed, “How often do you threaten her?” he laughed, finding this whole ordeal, and Craig’s embarrassment, very amusing. Craig rolled his eyes.

“Just shut up.” he said, but a smile slowly revealed itself nonetheless. Tweek only laughed harder at the retort. Natural silence filled the air once again, only this time there was no cigarette between them. Neither Tweek or Craig had reasons to stay beyond staying in each other's company. Craig found it funny – and scary. He’d never felt this at ease around anyone . Kenny was too observing and unexpectedly smart, Clyde was too oblivious, Tolkien too much of a people-pleaser. He still didn’t understand who Tweek was, but he wanted to understand. That was the scary part. He’d grown cold towards his friends lately, hell , he’d even started avoiding them. Becoming friends with Tweek, getting to know him, would only lead to issues. For both of them. His head suddenly felt strangely heavy, almost lolling forwards. 

“I kinda like it here.” Tweek said, snapping him out of his thoughts. Craig took a deep breath and shuffled slightly in his seat. He took a moment to look around, taking in his surroundings. The backside was shitty and forgotten, but there was something nice about it. 

“I remember playing basketball here,” Craig turned and gestured to the basketball field before them. “I almost miss it.” he said, voice almost getting lost in the wind. 

“Playing basketball, or being a kid?” Tweek said. Craig could feel his eyes watching him. 

“Both?” he answered, meeting his gaze. Tweek only nodded in thought, turning towards the field. Craig did the same, truly relaxing into the autumn gloom. He could probably fall asleep here, on this bench. Maybe that would grant him some real sleep, being away from his house.

“Hey, but…” Tweek spoke up, suddenly sounding unsure. Craig turned his head and looked at him with a puzzled question. 

“You’re okay though, right?” he said, caution strewn across his face. “Like… for real? I never even asked you yesterday.” Concern dripped from his voice, making Craig’s stomach sink. He really didn’t need to be reminded of his freak-out – he’d been thankful enough for the fact that Tweek hadn’t brought it up during their study session yesterday. He looked away and brought his hands up to rub at his face.

“I’m fine.” Craig breathed, shame bubbling in his chest. 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause that was kinda intense–” 

“ I’m fine.” Craig interrupted, removing his hands from his face. His jaw tightened, and he could feel a familiar burn from his palm when it clenched. “It was just a… thing that happened.” He said, tone lowering as he spoke. 

His relaxation and drowsiness settled into a dull exhaustion. He could feel Tweek eyeing him from his side, as if unsure of what to say. There was a beat of silence before he responded.

“Well… your hand would definitely beg to differ,” Craig looked to Tweek, shame forgotten in his confusion. He frowned, brows furrowing as Tweek gestured to his hand. Then – it hit him. Kenny’s lighter. The burn. His nails digging into his palm, though he would rather not explain those. When he flipped his hand to inspect his palm, Tweek let out a painted wince. Craig almost winced himself, he should’ve hid it. Craig looked up, Tweek had moved closer to get a look himself. Light from the setting sun hit Tweek’s face, illuminating him. He quickly moved his gaze back to his hand. 

“What’d you even do?” Tweek asked. 

“I– uh– burned my thumb cause Kenny’s lighter sucks ass,” Craig said, Tweek smiling at him incredulously. 

“And–” before he could try to explain how he’d dug into his palm with his own nails, the sound of the school bell rang from above. Surprised, they tilted their heads back to see where the sound could be coming from, only to realize that one of the windows was open above them. They looked back at each other, before Tweek smiled and stood up. 

“We should probably head to our classes?” he said. We. We should probably head back to our classes. Something in Craig’s stomach twisted. He shouldn’t be getting friendly with Tweek like this. He couldn’t explain why, but something deep in his mind told him that it was a bad idea. That it wouldn’t last anyway. 

Tweek held out his hand, waiting for him to accept it. Craig thought about it, really thought about it. His mind raced. What if Craig ruined things? What if he made things harder– messier? But the way Tweek was looking at him, patient, expectant and optimistic – it reassured him. Maybe reaching out would be okay, just this once. 

“Alright.” He finally said, taking Tweek’s hand and letting himself be pulled up from the bench. They immediately let go as soon as he was up, walking to the door. Leaving the calm of the backside was disappointing, but he wasn’t leaving alone. The feeling of Tweek’s hand lingered in his mind as they walked back inside.

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, Craig really hates being late to class. The teachers seem to think that he arrives so fashionably late on purpose, with how often it happens. But in reality, he has a bad habit of lingering in the hallways. The empty hallways of the school are oddly calming, and almost enjoyable to walk through, so he naturally stalls by his locker until the halls have completely cleared. After parting ways with Tweek, that is exactly what he’d done, and now he was late again. Craig fished out his phone from his pocket, checking the time. Only ten minutes, he thought, internally patting himself on the back. He put his hand on the doorknob, trying to open the door before realizing that it was locked from the inside. He sighs and knocks. At first, no one opens the door, and Craig is left to lean against the wall next to the classroom door. He stares at the drinking fountain by the opposite wall, counting as water drips out of the faucet. Then, he hears it. A faint melody lowly echoed through the halls, bouncing gently off the lockers and the doors. It was a piano playing, he realized. When thinking of the piano, Craig was reminded of two things. He was reminded of his guitar, suddenly craving the feel of cool wood at his fingers, and he was reminded of Tweek. Kenny had mentioned that he played the piano, and that he was good. 

He shook his head. He shouldn’t think about that. The soft melody felt familiar to him, maybe it was a famous piece? Craig felt compelled to find the source of it, but before he could abandon his post next to the classroom, the door opened. On the other side was Bebe Stevens, who upon recognizing Craig froze in motion. 

“Ugh, of course ,” Her expression immediately soured into disgust, brushing past Craig with a purposeful shove to his shoulder. Unphased by Bebe’s outright distaste of him, he reluctantly stepped inside.

Once inside, Craig slowed down his walk to scan the classroom for an empty seat. The teacher, Mr. Davis, stopped whatever explanation he’d been in the middle of, turning to Craig.

“Hey Craig, you’re only–” he checked his watch dramatically, “–fifteen minutes late!” Soft giggles ensued, and Craig had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, still standing at the front of the classroom. Mr. Davis was probably the only teacher who didn’t hate him, but that didn’t stop him from ranking very high on Craig’s ‘least favorite teachers’ list. 

“Can I sit down?” Craig flatly asked. Mr. Davis leaned against his desk, clearly amused.

“Sure you can. You can sit by Stan at the back.” he said, nodding to his right. In disbelief, Craig looked across the classroom. The only free seat was next to Stan. He cursed under his breath, dragging his feet toward the back of the classroom. Mr. Davis resumed his lecture, his voice transforming into white-noise as Craig dumped his backpack next to his designated seat.

“C’mon man, I can’t be that bad,” Stan teased him in a hushed tone. Craig dragged his gaze from the floor, only to be met with a smirk from Stan. He scowled at him, plopping down on the seat next to him in defeat. Slumping in his seat, he pressed a hand against his hat, attempting to scratch an itch.

“Aren’t you happy? You get to sit next to your best bro.” Stan sniggered. Craig only closed his eyes, trying to remain composed. 

“ Don’t push it, man.” He said, tugging his hat further down as if to block out Stan completely. Stan only laughed airily beside him. 

Craig’s eyes wandered around the classroom, eventually landing on the surface of his desk. On it lay a piece of paper, titled ‘ EASTWOOD CAMP ’. The title failed to catch much of his attention though, Craig opting to close his eyes again in hopes of getting some rest. He ignored Stan poking him in the side – Craig isn’t even a little bit ticklish. He was brought back to a childhood memory. Cartman had been trying to pick a fight with Craig in middle school, like usual. He’d made fun of Craig’s teeth, calling them “ messed up ”. When Craig called him fat, he’d tackled him to the ground. All it took to get him off had been to poke Cartman in his sides, making him recoil and shriek like an animal. Stan and the others had been there, not really rooting for anyone, but still not breaking anything apart. He briefly wondered why Stan, Kyle and Kenny still hung out with Cartman. He’d maybe understand why Kenny did – he was acquainted with everyone. Kyle, however, seemed to hate Cartman more than everyone. Craig didn’t blame him, but he couldn’t understand why he didn’t just drop him, seeing as Stan would most definitely follow him. Stan could never seem to make a decision for himself. He felt a harsher jab at his side, and Craig opened his eyes, ready to return the favor. Turning to his side, Stan raised his hands defensively. 

“ Shit , sorry, sorry, but we’re supposed to be discussing with our seat mates.” Stan quickly said. Craig leaned back down in his chair.

“I’m not discussing shit with you,” He said, closing his eyes once again. 

“Yeah, I know, but you probably want to stay awake so you won't be discussing shit with Mr. Davis.” Stan argued, Craig opening his eyes bitterly. Stan did have a point. 

“So,” Stan began. Craig sent him a sideways death glare, which he gracefully ignored with a smirk. “What’s the deal with always being so late? Some mysterious bad-boy shtick?” Craig furrowed his eyebrows, momentarily stunned by Stan’s words.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go with that.” He said slowly. Stan laughed again, further irritating Craig. Why was he so fucking happy? He’d gotten used to seeing Stan moping around or just looking tired, that his current mood almost freaked Craig out.

“What’s up with you ?” Craig asked accusingly, narrowing his eyes at him. Stan smiled dumbly, “What?” 

“Did you win the lottery or something?” Craig said. Stan only giggled.

“You’re weird, man.” He said, shaking his head and turning to the front. Then, just as Craig let his guard down, Stan leaned closer.

“Maybe I just missed you, dude.” He said gleefully, already laughing at his own joke. Craig lightly shoved him away in annoyance, not even bothering to answer Stan. As Stan calmed down, Mr. Davis started speaking again. The chatter of the students died down, but Craig couldn’t grasp at the words coming out of Mr. Davis’ mouth. 

“Are you going?” Stan asked from beside him, tone suddenly casual. Craig shifted his attention to him.

“Where?” he asked.

“Eastwood? Junior school trip?” Stan said, tapping his finger against Craig’s paper. “You gotta get this permission slip signed and bring it to Mr. Davis.” Craig shook his head.

“I don’t think so…” He said. The idea of a school trip sounded exhausting. 

“What? Dude, c’mon, these things are supposed to be fun,” Stan said, “And we could probably propose an activity like… music night .” Craig only stared at Stan, as if to say ‘and…?’. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Dude, I know you play guitar, you’ve been carrying that guitar case around since middle school,” Then after a pause, he added, “Or used to… You still into music?” Stan asked. Craig thought about it briefly. He never really brought his guitar to school anymore, as he stopped attending his guitar classes after he got better at playing. He nodded slowly.

“Sure,” he said. 

“Cool, so , music night then?” Stan said, looking at him expectantly. Craig held his gaze, then sighed, writing ‘music night’ down on his paper. Satisfied, Stan twisted around to open his backpack. He fished out a plastic bottle, opening the cap and taking a thick gulp of water. Craig returned to resting his eyes, crossing his arms in front of him. He wasn’t asleep, he’d never been the type to fall into slumber easily. In fact, Craig wasn’t sure if he always did fall asleep. He’d never seem to reach that deep sleep, which resulted in daily brain-fog.

“--Uh, Mr. Davis?” Stan suddenly spoke up. Craig opened his eyes, glancing at him. Stan covered his nose with his left hand, right raised in the air. Looking down, red spots marked the desk in front of Stan. Craig’s eyes widened.

“My nose is bleeding, can I just go to the bathroom real quick?” Mr. Davis briefly looked shocked, before locking eyes with Craig. Realizing what was about to happen, Craig tried to shake his head in signal to his teacher. Mr Davis ignored him. 

“Craig, you go with him,” He said, “make sure he doesn’t hit his head on the sink,” Hesitant giggles and murmurs filled the air as Stan stood up, Craig following with a sigh. 

As they walked to the bathroom, Craig couldn’t help but notice how Stan was swaying lightly with each step. Not exactly wanting Stan to faint and fall, he firmly held onto Stan’s arm. Heat radiated off of him, and he was smiling again, cheeks tinted. Maybe he was sick? 

“ Whoa … what’re you doin’?” Stan asked, stumbling. He slightly slurred his words, Craig shooting a glare his way. Then, it clicked. Stan’s strangely happy mood, his pestering of Craig, the physical symptoms. Stan was drunk. Craig hastily dragged him into the boys bathroom, letting Stan go to check the stalls for anyone who could eavesdrop before turning to him. His mind raced. Getting drunk in the middle of the day? Heat flashed in his chest, mixed with something else. 

“Dude, are you fucking drunk right now?” He hissed, voice sharply echoing off the walls. He gripped Stan’s shoulders, almost shaking him in disbelief. Blood had begun dripping from Stan’s hand, he realized, turning his back to Stan again to grab paper towels. In his haste, he forgot about the state of his own hand, flinching in pain when he tugged on the paper too hard. He winced and cursed under his breath, frustration only growing. When Craig turned back to him, he accepted the bundle of paper towels and held it against his nose. Stan’s gaze shifted to Craig’s hand, observing his now bleeding thumb. He didn’t say anything. The light flickered, faint sounds of rushing water coming from above them. They must’ve landed in the old bathrooms. Craig continued to glare at him. 

“ Well ?” Craig said, growing impatient. Stan only chuckled softly.

“Why do you care all of a sudden?” he asked, voice much softer before turning to face himself in the mirror. Stan leaned over the sink, removing the paper towels occasionally to inspect his nose. The question had landed like a punch. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about Stan, he convinced himself. Craig opened his mouth to answer, but none came. They locked eyes through the mirror, something akin to pity sparking in Craig’s chest. He had expected Stan to meet him with another careless grin, but his expression was blank, the purple under Stan’s eyes more obvious than before, brown eyes vacant. The anger inside him slowly faltered. When had things gone so south? He shifted his gaze, landing on the dirty floor.

“Because it's messed up, that’s why.” He muttered, crossing his arms. He thought back to Stan’s behaviour in the classroom. Stan’s sudden happiness had made Craig suspicious – now it just felt wrong. To think that Stan had to get drunk to be outwardly happy was an uncomfortable thought. Craig sighed.

“ What the hell is going on with you ?” Craig asked, voice softer. Stan scoffed. 

“I could ask you the same, have you seen yourself?” Stan said, tone light. Craig ignored the casual jab. This wasn’t about him. 

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do,” he started, “But getting drunk in school is pretty fucked up.” Stan waved him off. 

“Whatever, mom, I’ll sober up anyway .” Stan slurred, albeit less than he had before. He set aside the paper towel, turning on the faucet and splashing his face with water. Craig stood his ground behind him, even as Stan raised his head again and met his gaze through the mirror. 

“Y’know…” He began, nose still dripping slowly, “Kenny says we look alike,” Stan said, voice slowly droning into giggles. His shoulders shook as he laughed, hand gripping the sink before him. Craig, stunned, blinked slowly. Just how drunk was he?

“What the fuck are you even saying?” Craig asked, bringing a hand to rub at his face, slowly walking up to stand beside him. Stan only shrugged.

“ By the way … you really should go,” Stan said, changing the subject, “To Eastwood, I mean.” Craig stuffed his hands into his pockets exasperatedly. 

“I don’t know man,  it’s not really my thing.” He sighed. Stan smirked at him, turning to face him.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re such a party animal.” He said sarcastically, head swaying ever so slightly, “You’re just scared of actually having fun,” Stan shook his head. Craig stared at him blankly, before shuffling his feet impatiently. 

“Whatever, man, just stop bleeding already.” He said, Stan tipping his head back in laughter. Craig’s stomach twisted.

After a few minutes, Stan finally stopped bleeding. They began walking back to the classroom, taking a de-route in hopes of Stan sobering up along the way.

“You know, if Mr. Davis figures out you’re drunk then you’re screwed.” Craig said, glancing occasionally at Stan to be sure that he doesn’t stumble and fall. Stan made a noise,

“D’ya think I’m dumb?” He said, turning his head to face Craig. “I know how obvious I look.” Craig met his gaze, slowing his pace to a stop. Faint piano music filled the air once again. He willed himself not to get distracted. 

“Well, do you wanna go home then?” Craig offered, Stan giving him a puzzled look. “You could call your mom and tell her you’re sick… or something.” He trailed off. Stan raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll be fine dude, Mr. Davis… he knows about my...” Stan said, eyes defocusing and glazing over. Craig took a step closer, hovering a hand by Stan’s side, ready to catch him. It was a reflexive action, months of babysitting his drunk father imprinted permanently into his brain. The times he’d fainted, puked, cried. Craig pushed away the memory, but the smell of alcohol was still present. 

“Knows what?” He asked softly, silently begging Stan to stay with him. He stumbled over his feet again, despite standing still, Craig catching him by his side. Stan caught his gaze again, bringing a hand to rub at his forehead. 

“I dont know, man, I’m so fucking drunk…” He sounded distressed now, perhaps appalled at his own nonsensical words. Craig rolled his eyes, sighing. Stan wouldn’t last another hour like this – he either needed to make him throw up, or drink some water. Craig would much rather avoid the first option. He grabbed Stan by his hoodie, scanning the hallway for a drinking fountain. Spotting one by the auditorium doors, he tugged at Stan, guiding him to the fountain.

“Alright, we gotta sober you up before you start confessing your deepest, darkest secrets to me,” He said, tone tired. Stan made a noise of protest, making no move to drink water once they stopped in front of the drinking fountain. Instead, the two stared each other down, locked in a silent battle of whether or not Stan would drink water.

“I think I’ve drunk enough,” Stan tried to joke, shaking off Craig’s grip on his hoodie. Craig crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. He wasn’t having any of this. 

“I’ll tell Mr. Mackey.” He stated, voice flat but challenging. Stan's eyes widened.

“You wouldn’t ,” He said, Craig shooting him a look that could only be translated into “Try me.” Stan reluctantly turned on the faucet. He still made a point to glare at Craig, groaning like a child being told to do the dishes. As he drank from the fountain, Craig finally took a moment to relax. Doing so, he was made aware of the piano music again, much louder this time. One of the doors into the auditorium was open next to him, and he peeked inside. The sound was much louder inside, notes echoing off the walls. Moving his gaze up to the stage, he saw the piano. It was standing on the far right side of the stage, someone playing it in deep concentration. The longer he gazed at the person, the more familiar they seemed. Blonde, softly frazzled hair, knit sweater, the backpack resting against one of the piano legs. It dawned on him – It was Tweek. The song he was playing was different from the previous one, Craig recognized it as ‘ Color Me Blue ’. He became almost paralysed. The melody was pleasant on his ears, and Tweek’s soft but firm concentration fascinated him. Tweek had his eyes closed, playing with ease. Craig already liked the piece before, but now he felt a new sense of appreciation for it. He suddenly felt a new presence behind him, looking over his shoulder to see Stan sneaking a look into the auditorium. Startled out of his daze, he put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. 

“You done?” He asked, inspecting Stan’s expression. He nodded, chin dripping with water, and his eyes were the tiniest bit clearer. Craig let out a breath. Stan was a mess, but he wasn’t like his father.

“That's your crush?” Stan said, nodding towards the stage. “You’re starin’ an awful lot.” Craig grabbed him by the arm, dragging them towards their classroom. 

“No,” he said, tone tense, “That’s Tweek.” Stan freed himself out of Craig's grasp, walking beside him.

“So, your friend?” He asked, staring at Craig expectantly. He didn’t answer, biting his lip in frustration and continuing forward. 

…

The door opened, revealing Tweek on the other side. He looked the same as he did before, playing the piano. Except he was scowling, at Craig. 

“You’re late.” he said pointedly, blocking the entry to the group room. Craig put a hand against the doorframe, leaning against it.

“By how much…?” he asked. Tweek checked his phone, holding it up for Craig to see.

“ Five minutes .” Tweek said, deadpanning. Craig raised his eyebrows.

“That’s actually kinda good, bein’ me,” he said, standing up straight to step inside. Tweek seemed to hesitate, stalling by the door, but let Craig pass nonetheless. 

“You’re still fuckin’ late…” he muttered, closing the door behind him. Craig looked back at Tweek. His brows had a soft furrow to them, but despite that, he looked calmer than usual today. He’d gotten used to seeing Tweek fidget, tremble or even twitch. He wasn’t doing any of that today. Calm washed over him, similar to the one he’d felt watching Tweek play the piano. He approached the table, pulling out a chair. Before he could stop and think, the words were out of his mouth,

“I saw you playing the piano earlier,” he almost blurted, sitting down as heat rose to his neck. Tweek was surprised, eyes widening a little as he did the same, sitting down on a chair across the table. He brought a hand to his hair, carding through it in thought.

“I– What ? You saw me play?” he asked. Craig hummed and nodded. Tweek leaned back in his chair, hands flying to his face. He groaned, frustrated and embarrassed. Craig had to suppress a laugh. His reaction was weirdly endearing, being embarrassed when you really had nothing to be embarrassed about. He’d played well. Really well.

“ What ? Why are you–” He asked through giggles, resting his elbows against the table. 

“Because! Out of all people, it had to be you!” Tweek exclaimed frustratedly into his hands, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the table. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Craig asked. He got the urge to run his hands through Tweek’s hair, but pushed it away instantly.

“You’re probably the kind of guy who thinks music’s lame… or something like that” Tweek said, raising his head from the table. Something hit Craig’s chest. He almost laughed – That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Why would you say that?” He asked, defensive. They stared at each other for a beat.

“Well you don't seem like a music guy…” Tweek muttered, eyes narrowing. Craig scoffed. 

“Oh I’m a music guy, alright,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He immediately regretted his words – Tweek and Craig weren’t friends so he didn’t need to know things like this. 

“ Really ?” Tweek mused, staring at him thoughtfully. Craig scratched his neck awkwardly, averting his gaze away from Tweek. 

“Favorite band.” Tweek suddenly said, question landing like an accusation. Craig didn’t need to answer. Somewhere along the line, he’d decided that getting closer to Tweek would be bad, and answering a question about music was like bearing your soul. But, oh , Craig wanted to answer, and so he did.

“Radiohead.” he said bluntly, meeting Tweek’s eyes. Tweek blinked slowly, bringing his hand to his chin.

“That is a good band…” he said. Craig was unable to stop himself from smiling. 

“See? I know my stuff,” Craig said with a sarcastic proudness, then with a softer tone he added, “I didn’t bring up the piano to tease you, or anything.” Tweek perked up at that.

“No?” he asked.

“No,” Craig echoed. He brought a hand to his neck, thinking carefully about his next words. “You know, It–It didn’t sound bad, so…” he stammered. Fuck, what was he trying to say? He lifted his gaze to Tweek, who looked mildly shocked – eyes slightly widened, brows raised. Then, he smiled, cheeks the faintest of pink. Craig’s stomach did a thing. 

“Really?” Tweek said, tilting his head to the side. Like a puppy , Craig thought. He shrugged, as nonchalantly as he could muster.

“Yeah,” he said. Tweek nodded to himself.

“Do you play any instruments?” Tweek asked. Craig swallowed.

“Me?” he asked dumbly, Tweek rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you , music-man,” he said sarcastically, “Do you play an instrument?” Craig hesitated. 

“Well… I play guitar,” Craig started, still cautious. Tweek’s eyes lit up ever so slightly, encouraging Craig to continue, “And, I– uh… I sometimes sing… a little bit.” Craig was well aware of how stupid he sounded, and he briefly considered walking out in shame. Instead, he took in Tweek’s pleasantly surprised expression. Then, it morphed into a realization. He pointed at Craig.

“Wait – you should join Kenny’s band!” He exclaimed, eyes lighting up like he’d just solved a puzzle. Craig furrowed his eyebrows, immediately defensive again.

“Kenny has a band?” he asked sceptically. 

“Well, not yet , but he's probably gonna start it with Stan and Kyle.” He admitted, “He mentioned needing a singer.” Tweek looked at him expectantly, almost batting his eyelashes at him. Craig’s expression deepened into a scowl.

“No way dude,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. 

“What, why? If you can sing then why not?” Tweek said. Craig paused, fidgeting with his hat. 

“It’s just a hobby, I’m not any good,” He muttered, embarrassed, then quickly added, “And there's no way I’m in a band with Stan .” He wasn’t going to set himself up to be ridiculed. Besides, he’d never sung in front of anyone before – not even his own family. Craig planned on keeping it that way, just a simple hobby. Tweek tilted his head, looking at Craig as if trying to figure him out.

“Why is Stan a problem?” He asked. Craig stared at him, refusing to answer, so he pressed on, “I know he’s been a jerk and all, but he’s not like Cartman.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t like any of ‘em,” Craig retorted, then after thinking about it, he continued, “except for Kenny, he’s cool.” Tweek let out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“Why though?” he asked, smiling in an unsure way. Again, Craig found it weirdly endearing. 

“Why what?” He asked, shaking away his thoughts.

“Why do you hate Stan so much?” Tweek questioned him, grin widening. “I mean the two of you are almost the same person…” Craig shook his head, exasperated, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. 

“Okay– see , now you’ve insulted me. How could you?” He said sarcastically. Tweek laughed, Craig almost did the same. Tweek’s smile was contagious, he realized. He could control his laughter, but not his smile, almost daring to show his teeth. He ran his tongue over his teeth self-consciously, feeling the inconsistent ridges of them. It was a habit he’d picked up, whenever he felt himself smiling too much. He didn’t care, but braces were too expensive, that’s what his mother had told his father. Tweek’s laughter died down.

“Okay, but seriously – what’s the reason?” He asked curiously, looking at Craig patiently. Craig opened his mouth to begin his long-winded explanation, but no words came. He racked his mind for answers. He hated Stan because… because… He thought back to his earlier class with Stan, how he’d looked then. Did he hate Stan because he refused to take himself seriously, or because of the pitying glances he’d give him? Stan wasn’t fine, but he acted like Craig was the one who needed sympathy – It made him feel like an attention-seeker, for lack of a better word. He couldn’t tell Tweek this, so he settled for a lame, but simple answer:

“He’s annoying.” he said. Tweek raised an eyebrow.

"That's all you’ve got? ‘he's annoying’?” he asked. “That’s pretty weak dude.” 

“Well, no, he–” Craig stopped himself, swallowing, “I just don’t like him, okay?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, staring defiantly at the table. He heard Tweek chuckle lightly, before dipping down to open his backpack.

“Alright, fine,” He said, placing two books on the table, “but if you’re done dodging questions we actually have work to do.” Craig groaned.

…

They’d spent almost an hour studying before deciding to call it a day, leaving the warmth of the library behind and stepping out into the chilly night. The cold bit into Craig’s skin, and he welcomed it. He shoved his hands into his pockets, relishing in the sting of the wind, even though Tweek was clearly suffering. He’d been shivering and complaining the second they’d stepped outside, face pinched in discomfort. Craig gazed down at him as they walked across the parking lot.

“It’s not that cold,” he said. Tweek whipped his head to meet Craig’s gaze, appalled.

“It is ! I might actually freeze to death.” Tweek retorted, glaring at Craig. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you got that stupid hat on.” He added, eyes widening slightly as the words left his mouth. Craig raised an eyebrow, bringing a hand to his hat.

“What’s wrong with my hat?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Tweek exclaimed exasperatedly, “That wasn’t what I meant, I don’t know why I said that.” he said, tugging lightly at his hair with one hand. Craig looked away from Tweek, bringing his gaze forward. They were almost at the end of the parking lot, streetlamps shining down on them in the dark.

“So, uh…” Tweek started awkwardly, “What is the deal with the hat? Do you ever take it off?” Craig didn’t look down. He responded flatly,

“Nope. Never. It's glued to my head.” Tweek laughed, “You’re joking, right?” he said, and Craig could feel his gaze on him, warming his cheeks despite the cold. He turned his head, meeting Tweek’s gaze.

“Am I?” Craig said, expression blank. Slowly, Tweek’s smile began to fade, leaving him looking almost horrified.

“Oh my god, you’re serious?” He asked, genuinely disturbed. Despite himself, Craig smiled.

“No, I’m messing with you,” He chuckled, shifting his gaze forward again, “It would be weird to see me without it though, huh?” Tweek chuckled lightly.

“Yeah. You’d probably look… normal.” Tweek said, a smile evident in his voice. 

“ Normal ? Yeah, no thanks” Craig scoffed sarcastically. They passed the crosswalk, nearing Tweek’s house. Craig felt a pang of disappointment. A – rather huge – part of him wanted this to last longer, even if they weren’t talking about anything important. 

“It’s not bad though.” Tweek said, cutting through the silence. Slightly caught off-guard, Craig furrowed his brows.

“What’s not bad?” He asked. Their walk had slowed down significantly, to more of a leisurely stroll. Craig never remembered doing that. 

“Your hat.” Tweek replied, “I think it's nice, it suits you.” His tone was calm and patient, and Craig didn’t doubt for a second that those words were genuine. The small compliment burned something within him, and not in the passionate or positive way. It made him want to shrink away. He chose not to respond, changing the subject instead.

“So what’s your favorite band?” Craig asked, keeping his tone as nonchalant as possible. Tweek smirked at him, almost knowingly, before fully stopping mid-walk. His gaze unfocused, he was thinking. His brows softly furrowed when in thought, a habit Craig had picked up on. Tweek suddenly met his gaze, chewing on his lip. 

“Probably The Smiths,” He said shyly, “Or Deftones.” Craig blinked. 

“Those are like, polar opposites ” He laughed in disbelief. Tweek looked annoyed, but laughed anyway. 

“I don’t get why you’re judging – being a Radiohead enjoyer and all.” Tweek teased. They entered the neighborhood, Tweek’s house fully visible now. 

“I’m not judging! They’re good bands, just not what I expected you to listen to.” Craig defended, bringing a fist to cover his smile. 

“What did you expect me to listen to?” Tweek asked, eyes crinkled. Craig had to look away before he couldn’t.

“I don’t know,” He said, shrugging. They stopped in front of Tweek’s house. Craig directed his gaze elsewhere, shoving his hands into his pockets, Tweek did the same. They both stood there, in the cold, dark night – no one making a move to leave. Then, Tweek spoke up. 

“You know,” He began, making Craig look at him. Their eyes met, a gentle but pure happiness present in Tweek’s gaze. “You’re not so bad after all.” Craig’s heart dropped, guilt and joy simultaneously coursing through his veins. He chuckled lowly, looking down at his shoes. 

“You don’t mean that.” He said. Immediately he regretted it, cursing at himself. Just take the goddamned compliment, even if you don’t deserve it. He didn’t want to make Tweek uncomfortable with his own pessimism. Still, Tweek didn’t know what he was talking about – because he didn’t know Craig. Not even a little.  

“I do,” Tweek insisted, tone still so calm. “I’m entitled to my own opinion, actually.” Craig laughed again, softly. The back of his hand flew to cover his mouth. 

“Whatever.” He said, finally lifting his gaze. There was no pity or concern in Tweek’s eyes, only that captivating green color. His smile widened, slowly walking backwards to his house. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asked. Craig took a deep breath and swallowed, before nodding.

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

“Dude– shut up about Bebe Stevens.” Craig groaned, slumping down on the bleacher bench. The October air tugged at his hat, sending a shiver down his spine. Clyde shook his head frantically.

“No, c’mon, you don’t get it, we're soulmates, Craig! Like–” Clyde began,

“--Meant to be, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard enough of that.” Craig cut in, waving him off. Clyde plopped down next to him, sighing.

“Okay, but just trust me on this,” Clyde said, “I have a plan” Craig eyed him wearily, Clyde eyeing him back with conviction. 

“I’m listening,” He sighed, looking over the football field. 

“So, Camp Eastwood right? I’m gonna make sure we spend lots of time together, to build that closeness y’know?” Clyde said conspiratorially. Craig fought the urge to yawn

“...Right” He replied flatly, fingers tapping rhythmically against his knees. 

“Then, we’ll sneak out at night – maybe watch the stars – and then–” Clyde droned on, Craig gradually tuning him out. He’d heard Clyde’s hopeless rambles enough to know the general patterns by heart. His gaze drifted to the football field ahead of them, the distant hum of the wind filling his ears. The sound was almost melodic, reminding him of last night. He’d made progress on a song last night, after his tutoring session with Tweek. He didn’t know what had come over him, he’d been so transfixed on getting this one song right that he’d stayed up all night. Even now, he wanted to get home so he could play it. He needed to fix the wording of the second verse, maybe change it to something like–

“--Dude, Craig!” Clyde nudged him firmly, shaking him out of his thoughts. “Have you been listening to a word I said?” He accused Craig, glaring at him.

“Uh, sure.” Craig blinked, Clyde scoffing in response.

“I asked you a question.” He said, still staring at him. There was a beat of silence, Craig swallowed awkwardly.

“...What was the question?” He asked, steeling himself as Clyde lifted a hand to hit his shoulder. It didn’t hurt, and a small smile grew on his face as Clyde scowled and groaned.

“I asked you if you’re going on the school trip,” Clyde deadpanned, “I mean, everyone is going but, uh…” he trailed off, expression shifting to caution. 

“But what?” Craig asked. Clyde looked away awkwardly, but Craig kept his gaze on him. Clyde forced a soft cough.

“Well you’ve got some… shit going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t wanna go.” He finally responded, meeting Craig’s gaze. 

“There’s no shit going on,” Craig said. His leg bounced lightly against the wooden flooring. “I just don’t feel like going.” He muttered, tone constrained. Clyde’s expression deepened into concern, searching his face. Craig looked away, wiping a hand at his face. 

“C’mon dude,” Clyde said, voice softer than usual. He put a steady hand against Craig’s shoulder, taking a deep breath, “...You can talk to me. you know that, right?” He urged, albeit unsurely. The touch felt grounding, yet foreign at the same time. Clyde had always been caring, sure , but like most of Craig’s relationships they wouldn’t usually talk about feelings . A warm, yet uncomfortable feeling hit his chest. He looked down, before raising his head to meet Clyde’s gaze. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He said, tone weaker than he intended. Clyde searched his gaze again, eyes conflicted, before sighing softly. 

“Alright,” Clyde said, patting Craig’s shoulder. “How’s tutoring?” He asked, changing the subject. Craig eased, shoulders relaxing.

“Fine, actually,” He said, mind drifting back to the previous session he’d had with Tweek, and the walk back home. He bit back a smile. 

“Really? He didn’t try to sell you cocaine?” Clyde joked. Craig shot him a glare.

“No. Tweek’s a nice guy.” He said, Clyde’s eyebrows rising in bewilderment. The words surprised him as much as they had Clyde, unsure how he said it so naturally. Clyde’s expression slowly grew more and more mischievous, a wide grin settling on his face. Craig sighed, knowing where this was gonna go. 

“Dude–!” Clyde began, voice almost cooing. He grabbed Craig's shoulder again, beginning to shake him affectionately. “You’ve made a new friend!” he teased. 

“ Shut up,” He said flatly, showing Clyde away. Clyde threw his head back and laughed. Clyde was caring, and a jackass. Craig rolled his eyes before looking away, only to spot two people walking alongside the path next to the bleachers. It was Stan and Kyle, the two almost walking shoulder-to-shoulder. They had probably been somewhere behind the bleachers, Craig realized. Clyde’s laughter died down beside him, looking in the same direction as Craig. 

“Stan and Kyle,” Clyde remarked, almost dumbly. Craig watched as Kyle put an arm around Stan’s shoulder as they walked – supportively. 

“They’re always together, aren’t they?” Clyde mused. Craig hummed in agreement.

…

After his last class, Craig made his way through the cramped hallways to his locker. He had to nearly push through the crowd to get anywhere, but luckily, his locker was located around the corner away from the chaos. Someone bumped into his shoulder, angrily shouting “Hey!” before walking off. Craig paid no mind to it, finally free from the crowd and turning the corner to the calmer section of the hallway. When he did so, he noticed someone standing by the lockers. It was Tweek, his arms crossed and his back against the lockers. What was he doing here? Tweek was frowning and biting his lip, Craig noticed as he got closer. He tried his best to approach casually. 

“Hey,” He greeted, walking up to his locker next to Tweek. “Making sure I get to the library on time?” Tweek glanced at him nervously, tensing ever so slightly. Craig opened his locker but his attention remained on Tweek. He was trembling and paler than usual. Craig’s chest tightened, concerned. Had something happened? He hesitated before speaking, unsure if pressing would make things worse. He’d seen Tweek shake and twitch before, but not like this. This was different. 

“What’s up?” Craig asked, voice softer this time. Tweek looked down, eyes darting across the floor before meeting Craig’s gaze. 

“Can we… study at, uh, my place?” His voice wavered, glancing over his shoulder before lifting a hand to harshly card through his hair. Craig felt himself frown. 

“What’s going on?” He asked before he could stop himself, leaning closer to Tweek. He took a careful breath. 

“Has something happened?” he asked quietly. Tweek’s chest rose as he inhaled, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. 

“No– It’s just–” Tweek stammered, bringing a hand to his head. “I fucking forgot my medication, and–” he cut himself off, taking a shaky breath, “I really need to take them.” Craig blinked. He wasn’t sure how to reply – he wanted to ask about the medication, why he was taking it, but it wasn’t his place. Faint chatter still echoed off the walls, but it was much quieter. He looked at Tweek, who was gripping the strap of his backpack like a lifeline, and tried his best to relax his posture. Part of him wanted to take Tweek to the nurse, or to make him call his parents, but something in his eyes told him that Tweek knew what he was doing.  

“Alright,” Craig finally said, closing his locker, “Let’s go talk to the librarian.” 

Craig slowly began to walk away from his locker, Tweek following him. His energy went off like waves, only amplifying Craig’s concern. 

“Mr. Miller?” Tweek asked, Craig glancing back at him.

“What?” Craig asked back. Tweek frowned, then seemed to shiver lightly. 

“The librarian. Mr. Miller.” Tweek clarified, and Craig realized in embarrassment that Mr. Miller was the name of the librarian. He quickly forgot his embarrassment once he noticed the wobbly state Tweek was in. His walk was slightly unsteady, and Craig silently hoped that he wouldn’t faint. He was almost stumbling forward, gaze pinned forwards without focusing. Was he sick? 

“Do you feel lightheaded?” Craig asked abruptly, stopping as they passed the corner to gauge Tweek’s expression. He stood fully facing him, and slightly craned his neck downwards to make direct eye contact. Tweek was breathing small, shallow breaths, like he’d been running. 

“You look like you’re gonna…” He trailed off, swallowing, “Faint, or something.” Tweek shook his head.

“It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.” He said – probably more to himself than Craig – waving Craig off and walking forward. Then he stopped. Looking ahead, Craig saw that the hallway was still crowded. He hadn’t noticed the heightened level of noise, too focused on Tweek. If anything, even more students had filled the halls, noise offensive against Craig’s ears. He looked to Tweek again, who seemed to be shaking harder. 

“Tweek?” He called out, drawing his attention with ease. His anguished expression snapped something within Craig, and he immediately walked up to him. Without a word, he grabbed Tweek’s hand. 

“What–?” Tweek started, looking questioningly at Craig. He tried his best to give him a reassuring look, before dragging him into the crowd. Craig could feel Tweek tense up as they walked forward, but he kept his pace, holding onto Craig’s hand. Tweek’s hand was warm against his, and he made sure to hold on firmly so as to not lose him in the chaos. Shoulders bumped into his own as he pushed forward, the weight of the crowd pressing on him. He tugged Tweek closer, instinctively shielding. Why he was being this protective, he didn’t know, but he didn’t have time to think about that right now. Finally squeezing through, they got out of the crowd. Craig could finally take a breath of fresh air, glancing over his shoulder to check on Tweek. He had his free hand on his chest, breathing heavily now. Craig let go of his hand, putting an arm around his shoulder instead.

“You okay?” Craig asked in a hushed tone, leading Tweek towards the library door. Tweek nodded, but avoided Craig’s gaze as they walked. His eyes were firmly pinned to the floor, shoulders rigid under Craig’s arm. He looked so horribly small like this. Some twisted fondness settled in Craig’s chest, urging him to take care of this, take care of Tweek. Tweek had helped him enough, he deserved a shoulder to lean on. Literally. 

They approached the door, Craig pushing it open with his free arm. The silence washed over them like warm water, calming Craig’s own growing nerves. He moved his arm to give Tweek’s shoulder a firm squeeze, eyeing the librarian by the front desk. 

“I’ll go talk to him,” Craig said, trying to catch Tweek’s gaze, but failing. His breathing had steadied, but his chest still rose and fell too quickly. Tweek scowled and tried to shove at Craig who reluctantly let go. 

“I can handle it–” He began, voice low and wavering. 

“No, I’ll do it.” Craig insisted. Tweek shot him a weary look. “You should sit down, I’ll be quick.” He continued, guiding Tweek towards one of the tables tucked away in the corner. He moved slowly, keeping a steady hand on his shoulder as if he would collapse at any moment. The question hit him again – why was he doing all of this? Why did he care this much? This wasn’t his problem. He looked at Tweek, his pale complexion, glazed over eyes and labored breathing. This wasn’t his problem, but for now, he wanted it to be. With a final glance, he left Tweek by the table, walking up to the front desk. Mr. Miller was already looking at him, giving him a concerned glare. Craig sighed, rubbing at his chest to keep his composure. He would be lying if he said that this whole situation didn’t stress him out. 

“Is everything alright?” Mr. Miller asked, hands on his desk. His brows were furrowed, looking between Craig and Tweek. Craig swallowed.

“Uh, no, not really.” Craig admitted slowly. Mr. Miller’s frown deepened and he opened his mouth to speak, Craig cutting in before he had the chance.

“--But it’s going to be,” He said, “Alright… I mean.” Mr. Miller looked confused, bringing a hand to rub at his beard. 

“Okay,” he mused, “Can you tell me what’s going on?” Craig quickly glanced over his shoulder, checking on Tweek. He’s fine , Craig told himself, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. 

“He, uh…” Craig started, turning back to face Mr. Miller. “He told me that he forgot to bring his medication. I need to get him home to take it.” Craig said. Mr. Miller’s expression briefly morphed into skepticism. Craig shifted his weight from one leg to another, exasperated and at a loss of what to do. He scratched the back of his neck roughly, the sharp pain grounding him. 

“Look–” Craig started, dropping his hands at his sides. “He’s not doing so okay, and I think you can see that.” Craig said, vaguely gesturing in Tweek’s direction, “He told me that he needs his meds and that they’re at his place.” Craig finished, giving him a pointed look.

Mr. Miller was looking at Tweek, and his gaze seemed to soften. Craig followed his gaze, taking in Tweek’s slumped form. Their eyes met – he looked almost alarmed, yet so worn-out at the same time. He shook his head, mouthing “what?”, but Craig didn’t respond, instead turning back to Mr. Miller. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Craig, crossing his arms. 

“That sounds serious, I can't just let you boys leave – what if something happens along the way?” Craig clenched his fists, suppressing the urge to snap at him. 

“Nothing will happen, I’ll make sure of it,” he said firmly, “Please just trust me.” Please just let us go.

“Alright,” Mr. Miller finally said, allowing Craig to let out a sigh of relief, “I’ll let you go – But don’t make this a habit, alright?” He added, holding up a finger in the way adults always loved to do. 

“Thank you Mr. Miller,” Craig said, nodding curtly. But before he could leave, Mr. Miller spoke up again.

“What’s your name again?” He asked. Craig stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

“Craig… Tucker.” He replied. Mr. Miller nodded, as if recalling the name. “Alright, Craig. You make sure he gets home safe.” Mr. Miller said, giving him a pointed look. Craig nodded, turning to Tweek who was still sitting down. He found that his earlier nerves about Tweek condition had mellowed out, settling into something softer. He walked up to him, holding out a hand for Tweek to grab onto. Tweek glanced between Craig and the hand once or twice before taking it, allowing himself to be hoisted up from his seat. Once he was up, they let go, almost reluctantly. Craig placed his hand at Tweek’s shoulder again, guiding him to the library exit. 

“How are you feeling?” Craig asked in a hushed tone, looking down at Tweek. He didn’t answer at first, instead letting out a shaky breath. Then, he glanced up at Craig. 

“Bad.” He admitted, swallowing hard. His gaze flickered guiltily between Craig and the ground. Without thinking, Craig  gave Tweek’s shoulder a soft squeeze. They arrived at the door, Craig moving around Tweek to hold it open for him. A gust of icy air hit them as soon as the door opened, and Tweek shivered violently beside him.

They walked side by side in tense silence, a sharp contrast to their usual banter. Something else was different though – it hadn’t gotten dark yet. The sky was painted in a warm sunset, and Craig found himself gazing up to take it in. It itched the musical part of his brain for some reason, and it must’ve struck a creative nerve in Tweek as well, because he suddenly pulled his phone out to take a picture. Without a word, they slowed their pace to a stop. Craig observed silently as Tweek tried to take a picture. His hands trembled, his breathing getting rougher as he failed to get a good angle. He huffed and abruptly lowered his phone, staring down at his hands. Sympathy struck Craig square in the chest. 

“I could take it for you,” He offered. Tweek raised his gaze to look at him, staring at Craig for a few seconds before handing over the phone. Craig took it, holding it up like Tweek had done. Craig’s hands weren’t shaking, but he had next to no idea how Tweek wanted the picture taken. He hesitated for a few seconds.

“Uhm, how should I–?” He began, looking to Tweek for help. Tweek walked closer, leaning over Craig’s shoulder and shakily – but confidently – guiding him on how to hold the phone. Craig steadied the phone as Tweek helped him, snapping photos and adjusting the angles with quiet precision, even as his hands trembled against Craig’s. Craig could feel his neck warming at the closeness, but he didn’t feel agitated or offended by it. At some point today, they’d gotten more comfortable around each other, despite Tweek’s state. He didn’t totally hate the thought of getting closer to Tweek, he realized. 

Once satisfied, Tweek took the phone out of Craig’s grasp and began to swipe through them. 

“You like sunsets?” Craig asked after Tweek pocketed the phone, breaking through the quiet. Tweek hummed, clearing his throat when it came out slightly broken. 

“I kinda wanna paint it,” He murmured, almost to himself. Craig blinked, caught off-guard. He’d never guessed that Tweek painted, but he found that it strangely made sense. He could picture Tweek sitting by an easel, brows furrowing as he concentrated on his work. They resumed their walk, Craig glancing occasionally at Tweek as they moved, taking in his appearance. His breathing was still shallow, and his gaze seemed to focus on nothing at all. The setting sun shone down on him, obscuring all signs of fatigue and anxiety in a beautiful glow. He wanted to make him feel better, or at least make the walk more endurable for him. Craig brought his earbuds out of his pocket, nudging Tweek softly to get his attention. Music makes people calm down, right? Music had always helped him calm down; maybe it could help Tweek too. Tweek stopped, turning his head to look at him. Craig held the earbud out, silently offering it. He looked down at the earbud, then back up at Craig. 

“What?” Tweek asked. Craig let out a soft chuckle. 

“Listen to music with me,” He said, then after a beat of silence, he added, “It always makes me feel better, so…” Tweek’s face went blank. His eyes darted across Craig’s face, searching him for something . 

“You don’t want to?” Craig said, hand dropping slightly. 

“No–” Tweek blurted, snatching the earbud out of Craig’s hand.

“I want to.” He said slowly, putting in the earbud. He dropped his gaze, eyes darting across the pavement. Craig stood there, dumbly, before realizing that they needed to move. He cleared his throat.

“C’mon,” he patted Tweek’s back lightly, “We’re almost there.” 

…

As soon as they stepped inside, Tweek bolted ahead, his movements frantic. Craig was briefly left behind as the hum of the empty house was replaced by frantic footsteps bouncing off the stairs. He lingered behind for a while, eventually following Tweek up the stairs. Tweek’s desperation grew with every step, whole body shaking as he reached the bedroom door. With trembling hands, Tweek opened the door. Craig entered hesitantly, looking around the room in awe. He was momentarily distracted by the abundance of posters and paintings lining the walls, along with shelves stacked with books and trinkets. He closed the door behind him, noticing a piano standing by the wall as he did. A soft swear snapped him back to the moment. Craig turned to face Tweek, meeting his wide eyed gaze. Tweek froze, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as he gave his hair a tug harsh enough to  make Craig wince.

“Tweek, hey–stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Craig said, stepping closer to Tweek. He took Tweek’s hands in his own, gently removing them before they could do serious harm to his scalp. Tweek’s eyes wandered around his room in panic, brows furrowed in anguish. 

“I can’t find it,” He said hoarsely, beginning to pace in a small circle. “I’ve lost my fucking meds.” Craig began to look around the room from where he was standing as well. Tweek’s room was an organized mess, intentionally cluttered, so Craig wasn’t exactly surprised that Tweek would lose something in here. 

“What’s it look like?” Craig asked, wandering over to Tweek’s desk. 

“Small white bottle,”  Tweek said, sitting down on the bed. Craig nearly immediately spotted a small white bottle, picking it up from the desk.

“Sertraline?” Craig read aloud, casting a questioning glance at Tweek. 

“No, those are anti-depressants,” Tweek said, closing his eyes in what seemed like shame. 

“Okay,” Craig said, putting back the bottle. “What should the bottle say?” 

“Alprazolam,” Tweek replied, voice breaking. Craig whipped his head to look at Tweek, alarmed. There were no tears in his eyes or signs of sadness, but he was visibly more panicked. His eyes were tightly shut, and his hands clutched at his chest, as if he was in pain. He wanted to comfort him, but he knew that finding the medicine would contribute infinitely more comfort to Tweek, so he scanned the room. He recalled the name – alprazolam – in his head as he searched, the room scarily silent, safe for Tweek’s quiet but rugged breaths. 

Craig searched the desk, checking the messy surface and the bookshelf above it. Paint, books, CD’s and other random trinkets cluttered the shelf, and an open sketchbook along with a laptop lay on the desk surface. No bottle. Craig’s fingers brushed against the edges of the desk, feeling for anything hidden. His hand found the handle of a drawer, and he pulled it open. The sound was sharp in the quiet room, making him glance over his shoulder. Tweek was facedown on the bed, his muffled voice barely audible as he spoke.

“I already checked in there.” Craig brought his attention back to the drawer, checking it anyway. He dug through it, finding a notebook and some stationary. Reaching further into the drawer, he felt something small and cool to the touch. Craig pulled it out, realizing that he was holding a small white bottle in his hand. He blinked, puzzled. He examined the bottle. Alprazolam, it read. Had Tweek been so overwhelmed that he’d missed it entirely? Without a word, he walked over to the bed, sitting down. He gently laid a hand on Tweek’s back, feeling his worryingly fast heartbeat. 

“Hey,” he began softly, “I found it.” Tweek shot up instantly, meeting Craig’s eyes before shifting his gaze to the bottle Craig was holding. He took the bottle out of Craig’s palm, clumsily screwing it open and shaking out a pill into his open palm. Before Craig had a chance to ask if he needed some water to take it with, he’d already popped it into his mouth. Craig watched as he threw his head back, throat bobbing as he swallowed. The whole motion was so oddly captivating in the way that Tweek always was. Tweek never failed to surprise him. He felt his mouth go dry. Something sparked in Craig’s chest at the action, making him swallow hard. It wasn’t a negative emotion, Craig just couldn’t quite place it. They locked eyes for a moment, Tweek freezing mid motion. 

“What?” He asked, voice slightly shaky. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Craig blinked, startled. Heat rose to his neck, and he felt a bit silly, maybe even a little guilty. 

“No–uh, nothing, uhm…” Craig stamared, rubbing his neck. “What do we do now?” He questioned. Tweek huffed out a breath, flopping down on his back. 

“Just give me twenty,” Tweek said, his voice raw. 

Craig didn’t respond. He instead observed the room again, taking in all the details. Like Tweek, his room was like an open book. Examining the walls, he could gauge what kinds of movies and bands he liked, and the books strewn across various shelves clued him in on his interests. Occasionally, he would glance over at Tweek. He would be pointedly staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and glassy as his chest rose and fell in unpredictable patterns. Craig debated fishing out his earbuds again, the silence making his skin crawl. 

“Could you relax?” Tweek spoke up. Craig turned to look down at him, confused.

“I’m relaxed.” He said, tone questioning. Tweek looked at him with a tired expression.

“You’re bouncing your leg like you're trying to break the floor.” Tweek mumbled, rolling over to his side to face Craig. He gnawed at his lip anxiously, glancing up at Craig. 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” He said. “I’m clearly stressing you out.” Craig leaned closer, scowling. 

“You’re not. I’m fine, really,” Craig protested, trying his best to sound genuine. When Tweek pointedly glanced at Craig’s still bouncing knee, he sighed. 

“It just does that sometimes,” He set his foot down, forcing the movement to stop. “And this isn’t about me dude.” Tweek tilted his head. He was still so pale, and the light tremor hadn’t left his body yet, but he seemed to be calming down. 

“What was that?” Craig asked, tone more hushed than before. Tweek’s eyes set in a realization, glancing downwards. He shivered as he inhaled, looking like he might say something, but he stayed quiet. Craig let his gaze rest on him. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Craig began, “Seeing you like that just…” He trailed off. Seeing him like that made Craig worried, but he wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate thing to say – or if they were even close enough for that. Tweek met his gaze, a knowing glint in his eye. He rolled onto his back once again, staring up at the ceiling. 

“I…” Tweek started, hesitating. “I have a panic disorder.” Craig perked up at that, suddenly feeling more alert. He sat up straighter, keeping his movements slow as if to not intimidate Tweek, who laughed softly, “Type four, to be specific, since you insist on being nosy.” Tweek added, teasing. Craig had to roll his eyes, looking up as he cracked an involuntary smile.

“Great to have you back, man.” Craig teased back. Tweek chuckled, throwing an arm over his face. 

“Whatever,” He said, sitting up. “This doesn’t happen often, by the way,” Tweek gestured towards himself, “The panic attacks I mean.” Craig nodded thoughtfully.

“Are the meds for emergencies or is it like a regular thing?” he asked. He was genuinely curious – and concerned. 

“No, uh. I’m just supposed to take them when I need to, but I forgot to refill the case I have in my bag…” Tweek said, scratching his neck awkwardly. Craig blinked. 

“Has this happened before?” Craig could feel himself frown. Tweek almost looked surprised – It was kind of unusual for Craig to be asking so many questions. 

“Yeah.” Tweek responded, voice soft and low. “Few times.” Tweek’s expression almost looked pained, as if he was recalling bad memories. Craig’s heart hurt.

“What did you do then?” He asked, mirroring Tweek’s tone. Craig moved so that he was fully sitting on the bed, legs crossed in front of him. Tweek wringed his hands in his lap, looking down. He bit his lip before responding. 

“Just– I don’t know, lock myself in the bathroom? I kinda just let it happen.” He finally responded, voice slightly trembling. Tweek lifted his gaze, meeting Craig’s, and they just stared at each other. Craig wasn’t sure of what to say, he was speechless for all the wrong reasons. He thought back to what Clyde and Jimmy had said, about how people had seen Tweek acting weird. He’d been having panic attacks, with no one to turn to for help. Hell, Craig had even used those rumors against him, and Tweek had still helped him when he – even if he didn’t want to admit it – needed it. The thought made his heart ache. Craig sighed, shaking his head lightly.

“ God , that must be tough.” He said, holding his gaze, “I can’t believe you just– dealt with that alone…” Tweek’s shoulders slumped a little, as if the words had lifted some invisible weight off of him. His gaze softened into something between sadness and relief. He shifted uncomfortably, hesitating before speaking. 

“Yeah, it is, but…” Tweek began, lightly chuckling, “...You made it a little easier,” Tweek cracked a small smile, and Craig couldn’t help but do the same. “Thanks.” Tweek finally said, leaning back on the headboard. Craig didn’t respond, instead nodding to himself. They sat in silence for a while, Craig averting his gaze to look around the room again. He could feel Tweek’s eyes on him, warming his cheeks. He looked down at his hands, brushing a finger over his scabbed thumb. 

“You can talk to me,” Craig said, “if you feel bad, or…” the words landed awkwardly, and he brought his hands to cover his face. Craig groaned softly, smiling, Tweek laughing. Craig really wasn’t good with words, let alone supportive ones. 

“No, that was good,” He said, still laughing, “I feel really reassured!” Craig rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile as he put down his hands. Tweek made a noise, perking up. 

“Speaking of talking,” He began, fishing out his phone from his back pocket. “Could I get your number?” Craig, stunned, just stared at him. 

“Uh, what?” He asked dumbly. Tweek’s expression went blank, then mischievous. 

“Dude, I’m not asking you out if that’s what you’re thinking.” He smirked, holding out his phone for Craig to take. Craig scowled at him, taking the phone. Tweek cleared his throat.

“It would be easier for us to communicate… like if you’re late or need some notes or something.” Tweek went on, softer this time. After a beat, he glanced at Craig, adding, “Or if you just need to talk,” 

Craig looked at Tweek, swallowing as a hollow feeling burned into his chest. He wouldn’t need someone to talk to, he was fine. Besides, the mere idea of it almost made him nauseous. Tweek, noticing the shift in Craig, scoffed lightly. 

“If you feel bad, or–” He mocked, mimicking Craig’s earlier words. Craig pushed him away lightly, earning a giggle from Tweek. He bit his lip, trying not to smile at the sound. It was clear to Craig that Tweek hadn’t forgotten Craig’s ‘freak out’ by the backside, but he figured that bringing it up would just make things awkward, even if he wanted to clear things up. He was okay, nothing was going on. Craig sighed.

“Alright then,” He said, tapping out his phone number. He sent a text to himself, handing back the phone once he was done. Tweek put it away, clapping his hands together in an almost conclusive way. He met Craig’s eyes, looking at him expectantly.

“You’ve got an English test coming up,” Tweek said. Craig patted down his hat, confused. 

“Yeah?” Then, after a beat, he realized what Tweek was alluding to. “I don’t have to study for that, right?” Tweek gave him an incredulous look, moving to stand up from the bed. 

“Uh, yeah you have to.” He deadpanned, grabbing a notebook and a pen from the desk drawer before sitting down again. 

“But I have a B in english,” Craig reasoned. Tweek shot him a suspicious glare, before bursting into laughter. 

“How the hell do you have a B in english?” Craig threw a pillow at him, laughing. He could get used to this.

Chapter Text

Craig looks out the passenger window, fogged over from his own hot breath. It feels more ominous than he remembered, the sky an offensive orange color. There wasn’t a sunset or a sunrise, just the color orange. The harsh sounds of waves seemed to spill into the car, as if water was flowing inside of it. But that was silly. Wasn’t it? Where was he even headed? Who was driving?

“That was nice right?” A voice sounded from beside him. Turning his head, it was nearly impossible for him to not recognize who was driving. 

“What was?” Craig said, meeting his fathers glee filled eyes. He was so happy, eyes crinkled and everything. When had he last been this happy?

“The pizza.” His father answered, looking back to the road. They drove past a big sign, reading ‘CAMP EASTWOOD, TURN LEFT IN 15 MINUTES’. “Just like old times, right?” His father continued. Craig stared at him. His mouth hung open as he tried to find the words to respond, yet nothing came. His throat tightened and constricted, as if a cord had wrapped itself around it. Dad glanced at him with a knowing smirk. They drove past another sign, identical to the previous one. The radio played a song he knew. 

“ Dad, stop this.” He said. He could barely hear his own voice over the crashing waves, crisp against his ears. “ I wanna go home.” 

“We can’t.” He replied. Why , he wanted to ask. Why? Why can’t we just go home? They drove past the sign again. 

‘CAMP EASTWOOD, TURN LEFT IN 15 MINUTES’

“You know why, Craig.” He said. Craig could feel his skin burning, sizzling from the fire. What fire? He could only hear water, and the waves. He turned his head away from his Dad, watching the road instead. His heart sunk and sunk and sunk . He rubbed harshly at his face. 

“Dad, please I just want to go home.” Craig pleaded. 

“You chose this,” Dad went on, voice calm “You know what you did.” Craig could feel the chord tightening. He was right wasn’t he? He knew. He knew what he did. He shook his head.

‘CAMP EASTWOOD, TURN LEFT IN 15 MINUTES’

“I didn’t mean to–” Craig began, voice cracking. He could feel his whole body burning now, but when he looked down there was nothing. There was a lighter discarded on the floor of the car. His hands looked charred. He kept his gaze firmly on his feet. “I didn’t mean to.” He said in defeat. The car was quiet. The rumble of the car and the crashing waves had quieted. All he could hear was his own rough breathing. They’d stopped in front of the sign now, right by the edge. 

“ Craig, look at me.” Dad said. His chest heaved, almost with a sob. His arms and legs flared. Craig didn’t want to. His whole body shook. 

“Look. At. Me.”

Craig raised his gaze, mind soaring from the pain. He had to. What if it was the last time? With a pounding heart, he slowly turned his head to the driver's seat. He was scared to meet his fathers judgemental eyes, but as he faced him he found that there was no emotion to meet in those eyes. There was no life at all. He was dead. 

“You know what you did.”

Craig’s eyes flew open, tears flowing down his cheeks. He stared up at the ceiling, winded. Craig couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed. Hell, when was the last time he’d even properly slept? He let out a shaky breath, then coughed. He fought for air, heaving in breaths like he’d been drowning. Guilt clawed at his chest. No, fuck, don’t think about that.   Sitting up, he put a hand on his chest, trying to make himself calm down. Breathe. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. He wiped at his cheeks, wearily glancing around his bedroom. His guitar laid discarded on the floor as usual, clothes littered the floor like usual and a few of his post-it notes had fallen onto his bed from the wall. Like usual. Except he’d had a nightmare. That wasn’t usual. What time is it? 

He felt around his pillow for his phone, eventually feeling the cool screen against his fingers. The bright glare of the screen blinded Craig as he opened it, and he had to lower the screen brightness before he could even begin to decipher the numbers displayed. 3:54 am. Craig had given up on his guitar and went to bed at 2:30 am. He slept for less than two hours. What the fuck. What does he do now? Go back to bed? No – the mere idea of having another nightmare made his skin prickle with fear. You know what you did. Craig shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He’d slowly gotten used to the darkness of his room, eyes wandering around. Eventually, his gaze caught on one of the post-it notes lying on his bed. Whenever Craig gets an idea for a lyric, he writes it down on a sticky note and slaps it onto the wall over his bed. More often than not, he never ends up using them, and they eventually fall down. When they do, they expire. Craig moves to turn on his bedside lamp, grabbing the two expired notes from his bed. 

“I’ll always be your shadow,” and “Could you forgive me?” All he could think of as he read those notes was the voice of his father, and his glassed over eyes. “ You’re eyes are fucking, what? like–concrete! You don’t care anymore. You don’t give a shit about anything.” his own voice echoed in his ears. Craig scoffed. Standing up, he walked over to his desk, throwing the sticky notes in the trash can. What had he been thinking when he wrote that? He wasn’t someone's shadow, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve any forgiveness. If anything, he deserved whatever was coming for him. He shivered as he stood there, staring at the trash can under his desk. Placing a hand on his bare chest, he could feel how his skin was cool to the touch. He shivered, rubbing his arms for warmth, almost self soothingly. There was no way he was going to sleep – Craig doubted that he’d even be able to fall asleep again. Rubbing at his neck, he wearily glanced around his room. He sighed as he felt the clamminess of his skin. He might as well take a shower.

…

Craig thumped down the stairs with a brewing headache, fatigue already weighing him down to his core. The rest of the house was dimly lit, with soft scuffling noises flowing from the kitchen. Mom must be awake, he thought. He set down his backpack by the front door before walking towards the kitchen. 

"’Morning," Craig greeted. His mom turned around from the counter with a gasp, placing a hand on her chest in surprise. 

“ God , Craig, you scared me!” She exclaimed, letting out a chuckle. Craig muttered an apology and walked over to where she was standing so he could grab a cup. As he opened the cabinet, he felt his mother pause. Her gaze burned into him, sharp and unyielding – a look he’d learned to recognize. It was a habit of hers – staring at Craig for a beat before finally dropping the hammer. It was annoying and dramatic, but going back to her usual mannerisms and habits was a good sign. She was getting better. Craig relaxed his shoulders, staring back at his mom. 

“What?” He asked, moving to the sink. He turned on the faucet, and she continued to look at him, before drawing in a breath. Here it comes .

“The school’s got that trip to Camp Eastwood coming up, right?” She asked. Craig filled his glass with water and turned off the faucet. 

“Yeah?” He brought the glass to his lips, taking a big gulp of water before shifting his gaze to the window above the sink. It was still so dark out – the streetlamps were even on. 

“Well, weren't you gonna tell me about it?” She questioned, “It sounds like fun.” Craig glanced her way once before shrugging, taking another sip of water. 

“Don’t know,” He simply said. His mom raised her brows incredulously. “‘Don’t know?’” She echoed, then shook her head. “Good thing I signed that permission slip for you, then. Today was the deadline, you know.” Craig paused mid-sip, staring blankly at his mom.

“You what?”  He asked, voice sharper than he intended. He placed down the glass on the counter. His mom turned back to the coffee machine, pouring some in her favorite mug. 

“Signed the permission-slip?” She said, “I went by the counseling office yesterday – at your school – and Mr. Mackey mentioned that you hadn’t turned it in yet.” Craig was silent, irritation building. He drew in a sharp breath and wiped at his mouth. His mom had signed the permission slip, and talked with Mr. Mackey? Craig looked down at the sink, rubbing his forehead. Of Course Mr. Mackey wanted to talk about Craig. That old prick always had something to say about him. 

“I was going to call you, to see if you wanted me to drive you home,” She went on, taking a sip from her coffee, “But then I saw you walking with your friend.” Craig’s brows furrowed, before he realized who she was talking about. She’d seen him walking home with Tweek? He shook his head, looking down.

“Mom, I don’t wanna go to Eastwood.” He said, tugging on the hem of his hat. She frowned at him. 

“What? Why not?” She asked, setting down her mug. A vivid image flashed before Craig’s eyes. CAMP EASTWOOD, TURN LEFT IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. He blinked slowly, willing the image away. Thinking about that would only make him freak out. Craig shifted his gaze to the mug on the counter, instead focusing on the steam rising from the piping hot coffee. When Craig remained silent, his mom sighed, picking up the mug again. He followed it with his gaze and their eyes locked. 

“Well, you’re going,” She took a sip, “Whether you like it or not.” Craig’s stomach sank and he felt his face fall. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came. Instead, he schooled his face and began walking away. 

“Craig– aren’t you gonna eat something?” His mom called after him. He rolled his eyes, leaving the kitchen and entering the hallway. 

“I’m not hungry anymore.” Craig muttered, grabbing his jacket and the backpack. He pointedly avoided his fathers gaze from the wall. He heard footsteps behind him, and he turned around to face his mom. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed. 

“Why are you leaving so early? Bus doesn’t leave for another 40 minutes.” She asked. Craig sighed, kneeling down to tie his shoes. He just needed to get out of here. 

“I’m walking.” He quipped back, standing up and opening the door. 

“Bye mom,” Craig said, walking out the door before she could respond. The cold nipped at his skin almost instantly, making Craig involuntarily tense up. There was little to no wind, yet the freezing temperature was starkly present. Were they really supposed to stay at Camp Eastwood in this weather? Someone was bound to freeze themselves to death. He shoved his hands into his pockets, fishing out his earbuds and connecting them to his phone. 

Craig seriously started to regret skipping breakfast. He’d been doing that a lot lately, despite the fact that the outcome was always the same – extreme hunger, no energy and a strong hate for his past self. Past Craig and his stupid decisions. That was what that dream had been about, right? That dumb decision. He shivered and pulled his jacket further up his face. Stop thinking. Yet he couldn’t stop. It was almost as if the lack of sleep rendered him helpless to his own racing thoughts. But he didn’t think about the nightmare. Instead, the words of mother dearest echoed through his mind.  

“You’re going, whether you like it or not.” He scoffed under his breath. He hadn’t been to Camp Eastwood since… Craig abruptly stopped walking. Get yourself under control, Craig. Don’t go there. He clenched his fist inside his pocket, feeling the sting of his nails digging into his palms. CAMP EASTWOOD, TURN LEFT IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. He winced, harshly closing his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of the image. The memory of driving past that sign, and what happened after gave him the strange urge to bash his head against the pavement. But instead of doing that, he looked around, trying to find a distraction. Just anything to get his mind off that. He was by the town's park, mostly run down and abandoned. In the early morning gloom it almost creeped him out. He began walking again, opting for the sidewalk rather than walking through the park. He turned up the volume on his music and took a deep breath. He was fine, just a little hungry. Just a little hungry. Craig sighed. He was so fucking hungry. Ultimately, he only had himself to blame. He hadn’t been taking care of himself. He focused on the lyrics of the song blasting through his ears as he walked.

“I’m not here. This isn’t happening.”  

The chords and vocals matched his surroundings so well, gloomy and calming. Maybe he should take walks more often. His stomach grumbled, accompanied by a pang of hunger. This was getting ridiculous, he needed to eat something. There should be a 24 hr kiosk nearby, he recalled. The few times he and his friends had wanted to drink, they had bought some cheap alcohol from that kiosk. Craig had never enjoyed big parties, but hanging out and drinking with friends was cool. Just as he’d remembered, the kiosk appeared in the distance. The open sign flickered in the dark. Craig trudged towards it – like a moth drawn to a flame. He almost got sad, thinking about the previous trips to this same store. Things were so much simpler then. Buying alcohol and snacks, staying up all night, just doing dumb teenage stuff – he kind of missed it. Craig kinda missed normalcy. In his ears, the song continued.

“The moments’ already passed. Yeah, it’s gone.”

His lack of sleep must be what’s bothering him, really. He needed to stop thinking backwards. That moment has already passed. It’s gone. Just like that sign by the cliffside, and the uncanny sunset. 

He approached the kiosk, praying that it was open as he tugged on the door handle. It opened, and he stepped inside. The kiosk was small, and horribly stuffy. All of the tall shelves made the space incredibly cramped, even more so than he’d remembered. Either Craig had gotten bigger, or they’d simply shoved in more shelves. A bell rang above his head as he closed the door. A guy – who could barely be older than Craig – perked up from behind the counter, giving him a curt nod. 

“‘Morning,” he said, his attention drifting back to the phone in his hands. Craig didn’t respond, instead moving to find an aisle with something edible. Scanning what appeared to be a food aisle, he spotted a granola bar. He grabbed it and walked up to the counter, the guy putting down his phone to ring him up begrudgingly. As he did so, Craig’s eyes wandered around the cash register. Packets of cigarettes were lined up behind a pane of glass. Before he could stop himself, he spoke up. 

“I’ll take one of those too,” Craig said, pointing at one of the cigarette packs. It was the same brand as Kenny’s, just a different color. 

“Aren’t you too young to smoke?” The guy said, a smile in his voice. Craig said nothing, grabbing a lighter from a basket beneath the counter. He set it down next to the granola bar, shrugging. The guy shook his head, scanning a pack anyways. Craig grabbed his things, paid, and left the store. 

… 

Craig hates the cafeteria. Unfortunately, he’s hungry. Extremely so. He’d debated on napping  earlier during his very first period, but he wasn’t sure if he would have another nightmare. His fatigue was making him hungrier, and his hunger was draining his energy. And, god, he hadn’t even gotten through half of his school day – counting the hours he would spend studying with Tweek afterwards. The queue moved forward by a singular step. Today's study session would be tortuous. In front of him, Craig’s friends were chatting about something. He strained to pick up on the words – the collective noise of the cafeteria blurring everything together. He heard the words, but couldn’t comprehend them. Tuning out was easier. He let his vision unfocus, moving by instinct with the queue. He just needed food, then he’d be okay. Plus, the quicker he got his food, the quicker he could smoke. He hadn’t opened the pack yet. The thought almost made him excited. Almost. He hadn’t felt much of anything really, he realized. Other than irritation at his mom, there was nothing. It should’ve bothered him, but it didn’t. 

“Craig?” Tolkien said. Craig looked up, meeting Tolkien's gaze. 

“Yeah?” He answered flatly. Tolkien opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t, instead moving forwards with the crowd. Craig did the same, puzzled. Jimmy and Clyde were already paying for their food and bickering loudly. 

“What?” Craig asked Tolkien. He shook his head and motioned for him to follow. 

“Nothing,” Tolkien said, handing Craig a wrapped burger. He took it skeptically, but didn’t question him. After paying, they all grabbed a table, settling down. Jimmy and Clyde hadn’t stopped bickering. Their voices melted into the collective noise surrounding them, grating against Craig’s ears. He undid the wrapper of the burger lazily, taking a bite from it in hopes of distracting himself. It tasted like nothing. 

“Right, Craig?” Clyde called across the table. He looked up from his burger, meeting three expecting pairs of eyes. 

“Uh… What?” He asked, taking another bite. Clyde groaned in exasperation, Jimmy giggling. 

“That thing we talked about?” Clyde said, “How I’m getting with Bebe?” Tolkien shook his head with a sigh. 

“Dude, she doesn’t want you, just accept it and move on.” He said, rubbing his forehead. Clyde quipped back angrily, and the discussion continued. This was familiar – his friends talking without him. He was okay . Talking in this state was just incredibly draining, and required energy that Craig didn’t have. Clyde and Jimmy had gotten used to it, only being bothered by it once they needed Craig to answer some dumb question, but Tolkien hadn’t. Craig was tired, but he could still see the way Tolkien was glancing at him. Like something was wrong. Nothing was wrong. He was just tired. Craig hadn’t slept well. He hadn’t slept well because of a stupid nightmare. He took another bite of his burger, eyelids slightly drooping. How long would it take for him to begin hallucinating? He’d read on some website that after staying awake for a prolonged time, you would hallucinate. 

“You’re coming to Eastwood right?” Tolkien said, and it took a beat for Craig to realize he’d been speaking to him. Clyde interjected before he could answer. 

“ Craig doesn’t want to ,” Clyde said condescendingly. 

“Actually, moms forcing me to go,” He corrected, dusting off his hands after he finished his burger. He didn’t feel satiated, just empty. No one said anything. Looking up, Craig saw them exchange suspicious or… concerned glances? 

“What?” He said, voice coming out weaker than he intended. He cleared his throat. “I don’t wanna be stuck with you dumbasses – in a forest – for a week.” He deadpanned. “Someone’s gonna die, and it won't be me.” Clyde and Jimmy laughed all while Tolkien tried to suppress a smile. He shook his head. 

“No one’s gonna die, Craig.” Tolkien said, “Although, if we were going to die – Clyde would go first.” Clyde threw an insult at Tolkien, launching them into another debate. Craig sighed and sunk into his chair.

…

“Bad day, or is this your normal aesthetic?” Tweek said, leaning against the doorframe. Craig rolled his eyes. 

“Ha, funny.” He deadpanned. Craig was late, like he always was, but Tweek didn’t seem irritated. Something was different. Something Craig couldn’t quite place. He looked somewhat softer – more relaxed. His gaze drifted across Tweek’s face, all the way down to his shoes and up again. Was he staring? Tweek smiled mischievously. 

“You wanna come in, or…?” He teased. Craig blinked, but stepped into the group room after a beat. The door clicked shut behind him, and Craig dropped his bag next to one of the empty chairs. He slumped down on one of the chairs. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the surface of the table. It all made his skin itch – the white walls, fluorescent lighting, cardboard-esque smell. It made him restless, despite the fatigue. Tweek sat down across from him. Even without meeting his gaze, he could sense a carefulness in Tweek.

“You look like hell. Is–” he began softly, teasing tone from earlier abandoned. “I get it, Thanks.” Craig snapped, then, after a beat, he sighed. “I feel like hell.” He let his head loll back, closing his eyes. Silence followed. Not the comfortable silence they often shared, but more strained. Opening his eyes to glance at Tweek, he caught his conflicted gaze. Instantly, he felt bad for snapping at him. 

“I’m sorry–I…” He started, wiping at his face. “You look, um, good? Like–I mean, has something… happened today, or…” Craig felt heat rise up his neck with each word he spoke. What the fuck was he even trying to say? You look good? God, that's stupid. It wasn’t untrue, but– His train of thought was cut by the sound of disbelieving laughter. Looking up, Tweek held a hand over his eyes as he laughed. He'd never seen anyone do that before. 

“Thanks?” Tweek said with a smile, uncovering his eyes. They were crinkled at the edges. “My piano teacher really liked the piece I wrote,” he admitted. “I’ve been practicing a lot, so I guess I’m in a good mood today,” Craig nodded softly.

“Good for you,” He said, feigning indifference. Tweek scoffed and rolled his eyes, but he still smiled. Craig’s chest warmed. Weird. He liked this – talking, the easy back-and-forth. It made him feel better than he’d like to admit. He just wished he wasn’t so damn tired.  

“Alright then, how ‘bout we get to work now?” Tweek said, voice bright. Craig met his gaze, sighing.

“Sure.” 

After spending approximately 20 minutes on reading in his textbook, Craig had read a whopping total of 1.5 pages. His forehead rested against his palm, hat discarded on the table. He pressed his fingers into his temples, willing himself to focus. He read over a sentence, tracing it with his finger. Wait – Hadn't he read this before? He closed his eyes to breathe, opening them only to find the words still blurred together. Still, he tried. He kept reading, words skimming past a sentence when a single word hooked him. “Lake.” He felt his fingers tense at his temples. It wasn’t the same lake – it had nothing to do with anything.

“...Alright, I’m gonna need you to stay on the phone buddy,” The officer spoke through the phone, “Do you know where you are?” Craig looked around frantically, his eyes landing on the big sign. CAMP EASTWOOD, TURN LEFT IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. His eyes drifted to the lake, and the broken railing. 

“Lake Eastwood… I think.” 

Tweek’s voice cut through the silence.

“Hey…” he said, then hesitated. Craig raised his head to meet his gaze, waves crashing in his ears. “I’m sorry– you–” He cringed, running a hand through his blond hair. “You seem kinda off today,” Craig blinked, surprised. He leaned back in his chair, relieving his back from hunching over the book. Tweek looked at him expectantly – Craig glanced away. 

“I’m just tired. Didn’t sleep much.” He finally answered. Tweek frowned, tilting his head.

“Bad dream?” He guessed. Craig looked at Tweek. There was a pause, where Craig wanted to tell him everything. He was almost sure that he would condemn him for what he did. Why would you do that, Craig? You’re a bad person, Craig. Why would you say that, Craig? 

“Craig?” Tweek cut through his thoughts. He glanced down at his hands. The burn on his thumb had scabbed over. He felt his throat tighten. 

“Something like that,” He answered, glancing back up at him again. Tweek was silent for a moment. He warily chewed on his lip, taking a deep breath. 

“I could explain the chapter to you, if you would rather listen than read?” Tweek suggested. Craig thought it over, nodding eventually. The next 30 minutes consisted of Tweek rambling on about social sciences and communication – going beyond what the chapter contained. Craig barely processed the words. They blurred together, moving past him like a train he missed. He couldn’t catch up, but he didn’t mind it. He still heard Tweek, and his voice was steady, almost calming. He’d leaned back in his chair, watching quietly as Tweek had relocated to the whiteboard on the wall, writing words Craig still couldn’t read.

 Looking at him, Craig couldn’t help but feel like it was okay to care. But another part of him knew that it would be selfish of him. After what he’d done. 

Chapter Text

Almost all of the trees have turned orange by now. As autumn deepened, the weather grew gloomier, the sky rarely showing any blue. Craig was at the bus stop waiting for Clyde – who was late. He’d texted Craig multiple times, threatening him with absolute violence if he didn’t take the bus with him. That is, if he managed to get here before it left without him. He glanced at his phone, checking the time. Five minutes left. His hands froze as he brought them out of his pockets. He didn’t mind the cold, but it reminded him of Tweek – how much he’d hated it.

“Hey!” A voice called out. Craig turned over his shoulder, spotting a running Clyde. When he reached the bus stop, Clyde doubled over, placing his hands on his knees as he heaved for air. 

“You’ve got amazing stamina – being a football player and all,” Craig said sarcastically. Clyde raised his head to glare at Craig, dramatically dusting himself off. 

“At least I’m good at it,” He shot back in between breaths, “You don’t even do anything.” Craig rolled his eyes. “I’m plenty good at sports,” He argued, and when Clyde gave him an incredulous look, he added, “I beat you in basketball any day of the week.” Clyde scoffed.

“Whatever Mr. NBA, it's only ‘cause you’re taller,” He said, nudging Craig. He was about to argue back, before his phone buzzed in his pocket. He brought it out, phone buzzing a second time. Two texts lit up on his screen. 

Tweek (7:39 AM)

   It’s Tweek

  Good luck on ur test later

He read it once, then twice. He’d forgotten all about giving Tweek his number in the first place. Good luck on ur test later. Craig’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know whether to feel happy or annoyed. He should be annoyed, but he wasn’t. What should he reply? He hovered his thumb over the keyboard, hesitating. What could he say? Should he reply? Clyde suddenly jabbed at his side, bringing him back to the real world.

“C’mon, the bus is here,” He said. Craig dragged his gaze away from his phone, onto the road. The bus was approaching them, and multiple kids gathered closer to the edge of the sidewalk. 

“What’s with that look on your face?” Clyde asked from beside him. Craig turned to face him. 

“What?” He asked back, confused. Clyde chuckled hesitantly. The bus stopped in front of them and the door opened, allowing them to step inside. Clyde continued to talk behind him as they walked through the bus to find a seat.

“You were glaring at your phone like it punched you in the face or something,” He joked, patting Craig on the back as they walked. Clyde stopped walking as Craig continued towards the back, and as he sat down, Clyde stayed standing. Craig sighed, patting the seat next to him. 

“C’mon dude, sit down,” He urged. He was too exhausted to care about what Cartman and his gang would do about him taking “their spot” again. It was just a fucking seat. Clyde hesitated, still standing as the bus began to move forward. His eyes were glued to the floor. Then, he walked forward, plopping down on his seat with his arms crossed. 

“Whatever, just don’t get into trouble again.” He muttered, slightly surprising Craig. He’d assumed that Clyde was still afraid of Cartman – not wary of Craig doing something stupid. He stared forward as unusual silence stretched between them. Clyde had always been the talker. 

“Tweek texted me–” Craig almost blurted out. Clyde immediately leaned forward. “Wait, what?” Craig couldn’t tell if he was confused, curious, or amused. 

“ –uh, about, the… the test we have.” he continued cautiously, trying to search Clyde’s expression. 

“Well, what’d he say?” Clyde urged, eyebrows raised in anticipation. Anticipation? What about this was anticipating to Clyde?

“Why do you wanna know?” Craig asked, suspicious. He crossed his arms as Clyde opened and closed his mouth like a fish – searching for words. 

“ Because , Craig,” He began, tone teasing and giddy like a teenage girl. “You rarely mention him – and when you do – it’s all cryptic bullshit, like–” Craig groaned, cutting Clyde off. 

“He’s not my newest situationship , Clyde, it’s really not that deep.” He said, waving him off. 

“He could be for all I know! You never tell us anything, dude.” Clyde shot back, a tinge of hurt in his voice. Craig rolled his eyes, turning to look out the window. Despite it, he still felt a pang of guilt hit his chest. The trees and houses all passed them by in a hurried blur, even though Craig knew that they weren’t going that fast. In a way, it almost felt like the world was moving while they remained frozen in place. Clyde shifted beside him. 

“Come on man, indulge me,” He said, drawing irritably closer to Craig’s ear. “I won’t tell anyone if… you know …” Craig turned to face him. 

“If what?” He asked. Clyde waggled his eyebrows, Craig staring blankly back at him. He blinked, eyes narrowing. “What, Clyde? Spit it out.” 

“You really don’t get it?” Clyde sighed. When he was met with silence, he shook his head in disappointment. “ God , you’re hopeless.” 

“Fuck you, just explain it to me.” Craig retorted. Clyde laughed beside him. 

“Yeah, after you show me the text!” He said, nudging Craig lightly. He sighed in frustration. 

“Why? What is it you wanna see so bad?” He questioned. Clyde slightly froze, a guilty smile spreading across his face. “Craig, c’mon , we’re bros!” He said, “We’ve known eachother since what? Who knows ! You don’t need to hide your love life away from me,” Craig blinked, trying to process what Clyde was saying. Then it clicked. 

“Dude– I’m not–” Craig started, but the words caught in his throat. Fuck, it wasn’t like that . Obviously.

“You’re not what?” Clyde teased him. Craig only glared at him. Why did he feel the need to defend himself like this? Him and Tweek were obviously not like that . He was his tutor for fucks sake. Instead of trying to form a reply, Craig unlocked his phone and begrudgingly handed it over to Clyde, who eagerly opened the messages. 

“It’s Tweek, good luck on your test later?” He read aloud, sounding almost disappointed. “That’s it?” Craig took back his phone, not bothering to respond. “Well?” Clyde continued. 

“Well what?” Craig said, pocketing his phone. “Aren’t you gonna text him back?” He reasoned , leaning forward. 

“Clyde, it’s not like that–”  

“Ay!” A voice boomed from further down the bus. Craig hadn’t even noticed that the bus had stopped. Looking away from Clyde, his eyes landed on Cartman – who was glaring profusely at Craig from a distance. Fucking hell. Craig stared back at him as the behemoth that is Eric Cartman pounded down the bus aisle towards him and Clyde, who was growing increasingly uneasy. He leaned closer to Craig, talking lowly, 

“Don’t say anything stupid, alright?” He eyed him carefully. Craig met his gaze. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He said. Cartman stopped in front of them, leaning over the seat before them as the bus began moving again. Stan, Kyle and Kenny all sat down nearby, Stan wearily glancing at Craig as he did so. He looked normal. Normal being wrung out – as opposed to his drunken optimism. 

“Look who decided to take my seat again. You got a death wish, Tucker?” Cartman spat in his nasally voice, grating against Craig’s ears. He exhaled through his nose. It was too early for this bullshit. 

“It’s a seat, dude.” He said flatly, not breaking eye contact. Cartman snorted.

“Yeah! Well, that seat just so happens to be reserved for people who aren’t depressed, mopey, pussies like you, so unless you’re gonna pull a smile outta your ass–”  

Craig stared at him blankly. Don’t react. Kyle turned to look at Cartman, glaring daggers at him as he leaned in to whisper something in Stan’s ear. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Craig brought his gaze back to Cartman, “Did all that crying over daddy finally shut your smart ass up?” Cartman continued, Clyde shifting as if he was about to say something. Craig quickly nudged his foot, silently begging him to keep his mouth shut. Still, Craig clenched his fists as anger flared at his chest. He willed it away. His silence seemed to only agitate Cartman further, who pushed off the seat to shift restlessly on the spot. 

“Damn, nothing? Really? You’d think being the schools biggest buzzkill would at least give you some new material,” Cartman muttered. “Although, if I were a suicidal bitch like you I would’ve just gotten it over with already – no one gives a fuck about–” 

“Alright Cartman, I’ve had enough of your bullshit!” Kyle yelled, standing up from his seat. Some students had turned to sneak glances towards the back of the bus, chatter and whispers blending in with the constant hum of the road. He marched over to Cartman, grabbing his arm to drag him away from Craig and Clyde. Caught off guard by the outburst, Cartman was easily yanked away, finally giving them enough space to breathe. Clyde turned to him, hesitating. 

“Dude– you aren’t suicidal, right ?” He asked in a whisper. Craig shot him a glare, fishing out his phone. 

“What? No. Obviously not.” He muttered. “Don’t ask stupid questions” He opened up his messages, tapping away at his keyboard. Clyde’s gaze lingered on him for a moment. 

“Whatever man,” He said, tone almost suspicious. “Can never be too sure with you.” Craig didn’t bother responding as he deleted his message, and rewrote it, only to delete it again. Don't overthink it. It’s casual. It’s not like that. 

You (7:46 AM)

i saved ur number

thanks

…

Craig made the conscious decision to not be late for his class. It was test day. It wasn’t a full-blown GCSE, but it was still a test. An important one, Mr. Davis had said. Even now as Craig entered the classroom, Mr. Davis greeted him with a determined nod. What was this, the final showdown? He was clearly expecting something from him. Craig didn’t acknowledge the greeting. He’d probably been notified of Craig’s tutoring situation, but that didn’t matter. This test didn’t actually matter. Or, yes, it did, but– fuck. He chose a seat at the back of the classroom, knee bouncing as soon as he sat down. He was nervous. He’d been studying for this. Or trying to. God, Tweek had explained it all to him just days ago. Calm down. The door to the classroom shut. Looking around, everyone was here. Everyone… except for Stan. Where was he? Craig remembered spotting Stan on the bus, sitting next to Kyle. Did he skip?

"Alright, you’ve got an hour," Mr. Davis said, passing out papers. "If you finish early, you can hand it in—just wait at least 30 minutes, is that clear?" 

A collective, but small “yes” sounded from the students. Craig glanced at the clock, fist clenching and unclenching under the table. He had studied. He had studied. Trying to recall the information Tweek had nailed into his skull felt like diving into water, trying to reach the bottom, only to run out of air. 

No –don’t think about water right now. Think about social sciences, psychology… Mr. Davis reached Craig’s table, and handed him the test paper. He held it out for him to take, only to resist when Craig tried to do so. He looked up, meeting Mr. Davis’ gaze. He let go of the paper and winked playfully at Craig, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he walked past him to hand out the rest of the papers. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You may begin once you have the test paper,” Mr. Davis went on, reaching the front of the classroom. His eyes landed on Craig once again. “Good luck.” 

Immediately, the scratch of pens and rustling of paper filled the tense classroom air. He turned his attention towards the paper, writing down his name. At least he knew that, right? He scanned the front and back of the paper, noticing that there were only five questions, the last one marked with ‘ Optional – high level’. He shook his head in defeat, flipping back to the front. Then, as he read the first question, he let out a breath. He knew this. Craig instantly began writing across the lined space. At first, the words came naturally, like with lyrics. Gradually, it slowed down. He stared at the question. He’d almost filled the lined space. Maybe that was good? It didn’t feel good. Still, he moved on. 

He went through the same process for the other three questions. Write, think, doubt, move on. Write, think, doubt, move on. Write, think, doubt, move on. Until he was at the final question. ‘Optional – high level’

Should he go for it? He glanced at the clock. 36 minutes had passed, and no one had moved. No one would care if he didn’t do it. Hell, Mr. Davis wouldn’t even care, so long as Craig actually writes the test. Which he has. He's written a good amount. Whether or not whatever he has written is correct is a mystery. He tapped his pen against the table lightly. Tweek would probably care. Thinking back, Craig’s answers on the paper would probably disappoint him. So much wasted time. His heart sank. It didn’t matter. He was probably gonna fail anyways. It didn’t matter.  

As he stood up minutes later, the chair creaked against the floor. Multiple people turned to look at him, then turned back to feverishly scribble on their papers. It made him unsure – being the first one to leave. It also made him feel silly, because he’d never second-guessed himself like this over a singular test. He used to be able to score well on exams, even without studying. It was one of those things his father loved to brag about. “It’s like everything comes to him naturally!” he would say. Looking back, he couldn’t recall ever receiving that optimism behind closed doors. All he would get was a “whatever” and never “ good job, Craig” or “ I’m proud of you, Craig .”

There were moments where Craig was glad that his father wasn’t here to see him, and this was definitely one of them. His son. His naturally talented and smart son, fucking up so badly that he got assigned a tutor ? Craig could almost picture his disappointment. 

He directed his gaze to the floor, walking past the still writing students. He almost felt like a ghost, vision hazy as he moved forward. The classroom door felt miles away. Every step echoed agonizingly loud in his head. I need to get out of here . Reaching Mr. Davis, he held out his test paper, silently begging him to just take it. Take it before I change my mind. Mr. Davis didn’t hesitate, but still looked unsure. His brows furrowed as he met Craig’s gaze. The second the paper left his hand, Craig headed for the door. Wasting no time, he pushed it open as quietly as he could. The hallway did little to ease his restlessness. He could feel his pulse pounding in his neck. It was too quiet here. A distant hum came from the walls, and the fluorescent lights grated against his eyes. He pressed his fingers against his temple. Why is he this affected by a stupid test? He’d been failing like it was a sport for months now. What was different? Was it Tweek? He’d never been pressuring Craig. Sure, studying was boring – and mentally taxing – but Craig had never hated it. Hell, if anything, it had been calming. It’s not like Tweek, or anyone else, is expecting him to perform like he used to. 

Shaking himself out of the daze, Craig started walking. Where? He wasn’t sure. His feet moved on instinct, following the familiar path down the hall. The walls seemed to blur around him. Glancing around, he realized it was his vision. He sucked in a breath. He arrived at his locker. The hallway was still so empty.

Opening the locker, he immediately grabbed his jacket, hands digging into the pockets. He pulled out the still-new pack of cigarettes and stuffed it into his hoodie pocket. The lighter quickly followed. He shut his locker a little harder than necessary. He cursed as the sound echoed off the walls. Calm down. He exhaled, breath shaky. Was he going to freak out again? He inhaled sharply. It all felt too familiar. His mind was hazy, his chest felt heavy and he couldn’t seem to get enough air. Tweek’s voice echoed inside his head. 

“You gotta breathe in for 3 seconds, then breathe out for 5,” He’d said. The memory made him cringe. Still, he inhaled, counting the seconds. One, two, three. He exhaled. One, two, three, four, five. The process repeated as he glared at his locker. Calm down. You’re fine. He repeated it again. 

One. Two. Three. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. You’re fine. You’re calm. 

Craig glanced around. He hoped no one had spotted him. His neck itched. He still couldn’t breathe, but it was fine. It was okay. He brought a hand to his chest, rubbing it through his hoodie. It didn’t feel okay, but it was all in his head. Snap out of it. Stop it. 

He marched away from his locker, moving towards the nearest exit. It was fine, he just needed a distraction. The backside would probably be empty by now. He shoved his hands into his pockets. His fingers curled around the lighter. He needed a cigarette. 

…

He’d expected himself to feel something as he approached group room 4. Something like shame, fear, maybe even anger, but strangely enough there was nothing. The test was written. He fucked it up. That’s it. Nothing more can be done. Walking down the corridor, he could smell the cigarette smoke on himself. Tweek smoked, so he probably wouldn’t mind. He didn’t hesitate when he reached the door into the group room. He didn’t knock before pushing the door open. Inside, he’s met with a startled looking Tweek. As soon as they locked eyes, something softened in his expression, and he gave him a small smile. 

“You scared me,” he said, lightly chuckling. Craig pulled out a chair opposite of Tweek, plopping down onto it.

“Yeah?” Craig sighed. His gaze dropped, landing on the book in Tweek’s hands. His fingers fidgeted in his lap. 

“What’re you reading?” He asked, looking back up at Tweek, who was eyeing him wearily. He shut the book, sliding it towards Craig. 

“Just something I bought on whim, it’s nice.” Tweek said. Craig picked it up, pretending to read the back. All the words blurred together. It made him dizzy. He set the book down, sliding it back. 

“How’d the test go?” Tweek asked, tone so careful. The question made him want to curl up and hide forever, never to be seen again. It made him want to scream and hurl. But he didn’t do any of that. 

“Fine.” Craig said curtly. He wanted to leave it at that. He wanted to, but he knew that Tweek wouldn’t let him, hence the incredulous look now plastered across his face. 

“Fine?” He scoffed, “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.” Tweek smirked. He was teasing. Craig knew that, but he didn’t find it amusing at all. “No I’m not.” He responded flatly, crossing his arms. Tweek raised his brows, unimpressed. 

“What?” Craig asked, irritation seeping into his voice. Tweek frowned. “You don’t need to get all angry, I just–” 

“–What?” He interrupted, “You just what?” There was a beat of silence, Tweek’s frown turning into a glare. “I was just curious about how it went.” He said, voice low. Craig rolled his eyes. His stomach twisted uncomfortably. 

“Oh well if you must know, I totally aced the test,” He answered sarcastically. “Wrote my name and everything.” 

“Oh my god.” Tweek sighed, placing his fingers against his temple. Craig leaned back in his chair. “You’re totally impressed, I can tell.” He muttered. Tweek glared at him. 

“Why are you like this?” he asked. He almost sounded hurt. Craig was silent for a beat. He glared back at him. 

“Why do you care so much?” Craig retorted. Tweek shook his head, frustration clear. “Maybe ‘cause I spent so much time helping you study for it?” He spat, carding a hand through his hair. Craig opened his mouth to respond, but Tweek continued. 

“Craig, why do you do this?” He asked, gesturing between the two of them. “Do what?” He asked back, even though he knew what Tweek was referring to. He didn’t know the answer to it anyways. 

“I mean– We were getting along, and–” Tweek went on, Craig interrupting. “Were we?” Tweek’s face went slack, then tensed again, almost as if he was at a loss of what to feel. Craig felt a pang at his chest. He ignored it. 

“Yes!” He exclaimed in disbelief. “Aren’t we friends?” Tweek almost hissed the last word. Craig dropped his gaze. They were. They were friends. But at that moment, for some unfathomable reason, Craig couldn’t bring himself to confirm it out loud. The way Tweek was looking at him – actually hurt – made him regret ever coming here at all. They shouldn’t be friends. He was letting his own disappointment in himself hurt someone else, and he couldn’t stop it. Or, he probably could – he just didn’t have it in him to do so. It was fucked up. It was as simple as that. Taking a backseat in your own brain. 

“No.” he heard himself say. Silence. He looked up to Tweek hesitantly, who immediately averted his gaze. He scoffed to himself, almost laughing. Then, he stood up without another word. Craig watched as he collected his things. It all felt like slow motion to him. It was now that he should stand up as well, and apologize. He should tell Tweek that he’s sorry. He should tell him that he’s sorry, and that Craig’s just being an asshole. Craig is a bad person. Craig is a horrible human being. One by one, Tweek placed his things in his bag. He wasn’t in a rush to leave. He too was waiting for Craig to apologize, because who does that? He zipped his bag shut. Craig sat still, watching him silently. Tweek put on his jacket. Craig still did nothing . Tweek slung his bag over his shoulder, turning on his heel and exiting through the door. The sound of it shutting echoed through his head, even though Tweek didn’t slam it. Tweek wasn’t the type to slam doors, unlike Craig. That’s why he fucked it up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there – it could’ve been two minutes or two hours. It didn’t matter. Craig didn’t remember standing up. He didn’t remember grabbing his bag and walking out the door. He couldn’t even remember exiting the library, but suddenly, cold air was hitting his face. It snapped him out of the muddy daze he’d drowned himself in.

It was quiet out. More than it usually was. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, only a hollow one. His lone footsteps sounded off the pavement as he walked across the parking lot. Alone. He could’ve been walking home with Tweek, bickering about something stupid or just relishing in that comfortable silence. But he wasn’t. He tried to focus on the road ahead of him, but failed. Part of his mind was still left in group room four, still looking at Tweek’s hurt expression. He could’ve said something. He should’ve said something, but he didn’t. He chose not to. The words had been there, right at the back of his throat. I’m sorry. We are friends. I’m an asshole. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. It was too late for that. He’d fucked it up. Guilt clawed at chest. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked faster. His head buzzed. He wasn’t even sure where he was. The quiet around him felt too loud. There should be something there. Laughter, a half-hearted insult, the sound of footsteps that weren’t your own. In his pockets, he found his lighter. It was cool to the touch as his fingers curled around it. Something he could hold onto. 

Eventually, he reached his house. The lights were all off, safe for the ones in his sisters room. As he finally stepped inside, leaving the coldness behind, he found that it didn’t relieve him at all. If anything, the cold had been grounding. That all crushing guilt that always managed to linger in the back of his mind hit him full force. Each step up the stairs was fatiguing and unsteady, yet he felt like he was floating. 

“You know,” Tweek’s voice echoed through his ears, “You’re not so bad after all.” It was almost humorous. How he’d managed to befriend someone so bright, only to ruin it. He couldn’t even feel bad for himself. This was his fault. Like every other bad thing that has happened to him, it was all his fault. 

His own bedroom door felt foreign to him. Inwardly, Craig wanted to rip it open and hurry inside, skin crawling with frustration. Outwardly, he couldn’t be more sluggish. The door opened agonizingly slow, even as he had the urge to punch right through it. Once he got inside, the door was softly shut behind him. Like the cold air had startled him awake, the shutting door made him more aware than ever. He dropped his bag onto the floor and shrugged off his jacket, along with his hoodie. He rubbed his bare arms, ran a hand through his hair and paced around the room. He went round in laps. Once, twice, thrice. It didn’t help, it just made him dizzier. On his sixth lap, he stopped, eyes landing on his jacket lying discarded on the floor. He walked over to it, grabbing it. His hands had a slight tremor in them as he searched through his pockets. He tried to ignore it, finding his lighter as well as the cigarette box. He let his jacket fall to the ground again, and walked over to the window. As if on autopilot, he opened it, then moved to drag his desk chair towards the open window. 

Slumping down on the chair, he began to fiddle with the box. It shook in his hands. He picked a cigarette out of the box, discarding it on his bed. He put the cigarette in his mouth, clinking the lighter with his free hand. It was new, so it wasn’t difficult to get a light on it. Shielding the flame with a hand, he lit the cigarette in his mouth. As he inhaled, his shoulders sagged in relief. The smoke burned his throat, but it was nice. He exhaled slowly, making sure to blow the smoke outside. He watched it twist and turn in the dark. A breath he would never get back. 

Again, the quiet crawled back to bite at him. It was unbearable. It left room for his thoughts to actually sound real . Instead of letting himself hear those thoughts, he took another drag of his cigarette. He clicked the lighter in his hand, watching the flame go on and off. On and off. 

Another inhale, the light stayed on this time. He watched it flicker slightly before letting it go. He exhaled. The lighter flared to life again. He let the cigarette rest idly between his lips as he flicked his fingers through the flame, testing it. It didn’t burn, his skin not lingering long enough to actually hurt. Craig’s hands weren’t shaking anymore. Why had they even been shaking in the first place? He’d done this to himself. He turned his wrist, letting the flame trail along it. It was warm, and it stung a little. The glow of the lighter warmed up his dark room, and he watched it dance across his skin. His skin was pale in the light, his blue veins faintly visible. He trailed his gaze alongside them, following the lines. 

Then, it just happened. He didn’t think. He didn’t have to think. He knew what he needed to do. 

Turning on the lighter again, he held it under his wrist, letting the flame meet his skin. It burned, but he didn’t react. For a moment, everything was still. Then, it burned . Searing pain bloomed where the flame still licked at his skin, but all he did was move it further along his wrist. He watched as his skin reddened angrily. His pulse pounded against his ears. 

His jaw tightened and his fingers curled around the lighter, but he didn’t move it away. With each laboured breath, smoke seeped into his lungs, exiting through his nose. After what felt like a lifetime, he let the lighter click shut. His hand went slack, and the lighter fell to the floor. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Now, there was a large red spot painted across his wrist. The pain pounded against his skin like a heartbeat. It hurt too much. He curled his hand against his arm, flinching away when it only amplified. Fuck. He stood up, moving towards his bedroom door. Opening it quietly, he hurried carefully towards the bathroom down the hall, locking the door behind him. He breathed fast. His reflection in the mirror breathed back at him. Who are you? What the fuck is wrong with you? He exhaled, startling himself when smoke bounced off the mirror surface. The cigarette. Shit. He removed it from his mouth, putting it out on the sink. Shit, shit, shit. The last thing he needed was his mom catching him with a cigarette. Quickly – and rather clumsily – Craig opened the bathroom window. He waved his uninjured arm around wildly, trying to disperse the cloud of smoke still lingering above him. Then, there was a knock at the door. 

“Craig?” 

His blood ran cold. He inhaled sharply, turning on the faucet. Tricia. 

“Craig, why are you up?” she asked softly. She sounded tired, like she’d been asleep. Hadn’t her light been on when he went inside? He leaned against the sink, searching for something to say. He could feel her presence behind the door. Fuck. 

He cleared his throat, forcing his voice to steady. “Go to bed, Trish.”

 A pause, then, she spoke up again, “Are you okay?” It sounded too knowing. Like she knew what he’d done. She obviously didn’t, but the risk still lingered. He turned the knob on the faucet to the coldest setting, letting the cold water run down his searing arm. 

“Yeah,” he replied, voice dry, “I said go back to bed.” He was met with silence, but he could still feel her lingering – hesitating. Eventually, she did leave. He could hear her soft footsteps retreating.

Craig let out a slow sigh, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the cool mirror. Water still ran over his arm. It did nothing to wash away his shame. 

“Stupid.” he muttered to himself. But still, he knew that he would do it again. 

Chapter Text

Sickly warmth washes over him. The warmth of an overheated sauna, or burning tap water. It didn’t feel nice. Not at all. It wasn’t grounding either. If anything, it only made him feel more overwhelmed than ever before. Only darkness circled him. Black, inky darkness. It was kinda funny, how the sheer nothingness of everything here overwhelmed him. Was it possible to be overwhelmed by nothing? By the lack of everything? It pressed onto his chest, weighing him down. It suffocated him, leaving him heaving for too thin air. Was he drowning? Is this what drowning feels like? And yet, he felt nothing at all. Because there was nothing. Nothing but the dry heat of the still air, and the burn of his throat.

He couldn’t stay here. This place wasn’t safe, so he moved forward. Taking one blind step at a time. His legs felt heavy, and the steps echoed through the empty space. The echoes reverberated, twisting and distorting until they were completely unrecognizable. The volume never decreased, but increased with each echo, the metallic clang of noise banging against his eardrums. He needed to leave. Another step. Noise erupted around him. Was that sound even coming from him? A sound so offensive couldn’t possible come from the echo of a step. Maybe something else entirely was reacting to it — to his footsteps. He shook away the thought, letting the chaotic noises and vast nothingness around him suffocate his mind entirely. Just keep moving forward. A pearl of sweat trickled down his forehead. He took another step, bracing himself for the cacophony that would follow, only to be met with no noise. No sound. Just his own labored breathing. He paused, waiting for it to come. When it didn’t, he let himself breathe out. Great. Now he could move forward without—

Taking another step, the ground gave out from under him. He had no time to react before he was falling. Down, down, down, the sheer speed of it all winding him completely. He couldn’t even scream. He kept falling for what felt like lifetimes, before finally meeting the ground. Or — the water. It felt like hitting solid ground, but suddenly being engulfed by warm water told him otherwise. He didn’t die, but god did it hurt. He could feel himself sinking down, panic overtaking him. Swim. Swim goddammit. He flailed his arms around, trying his hardest to go what must be upwards. Towards the surface. He couldn’t breathe. Earlier, the air around him had been too hot, too dry. Now, he chastised himself for ever taking air for granted. Opening his eyes did nothing but make him spiral even further. There was still nothing. Black, all around him. He continued swimming upwards, chest growing tighter and heavier by the second. How long had he been underwater for? How much longer could he last? Then, suddenly, his arms broke the surface, quickly followed by his head. He gasped for air, coughing out water he never remembered swallowing. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, but he did none of those things. Instead, he regained his composure and swam forward. He needed to go somewhere, right? Wasn’t that why he was here?

As he swam, he gauged his surroundings. There was only water for as far as he could see, and a cloudless sky. Pale blues, pinks and purples all mixed together so beautifully, he could almost forget the pain in his limbs. There were no waves or currents, and there was no wind. The air was neither cold nor warm. Everything was so still. So peaceful. He could imagine falling asleep here, except that would be stupid. Peaceful or not, he would still drown. He turned his gaze forward, now seeing something ahead. It was just a black dot against the horizon, but it was still something. He continued swimming forward, more strongly this time despite his screaming muscles. One of his feet hit the ground, startling him. His other foot found purchase on something solid beneath the surface. Slowly, he lowered himself until he was standing in waist-deep water. The bottom felt smooth, almost glassy under his feet. He took a tentative step forward, then another. With each step, the water level decreased until only his knees were submerged. He looked to the dot. He could almost begin to make out its shape. It looked strangely human, maybe it was a person? Unease brewed at his chest.

Approaching the figure, he realized that it was a person, who looked like they were sitting down on a chair. He continued walking forward, steps agonizingly slow and heavy. He drew closer. Maybe they’ll know where I am, or what is going on, or— He stopped mid-step. Less than a few feet away from the person, he breathed out shakily. That couldn’t be possible. It was him. Black hair, deep eye bags, blank expression. Jesus, is that what he looks like? He, or— Craig, looks dead. Actually dead. Except he wasn’t dead — he was staring right at him, gaze unwavering. He didn’t know what to do. Frozen in place, he just stared back, mouth agape. Was that him? Was that really him? The thought made his stomach twist in disgust.

“Who—” He began, the sudden use of his voice sending him into a coughing fit. Craig looked unimpressed at the outburst, simply staring at him. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, cough finally settling. He paused for a moment, before continuing to speak.

“Who… are you?” His voice was hoarse, and he hated how weak he sounded. Craig rolled his eyes, head lolling to the side in exasperation.

“Are you seriously asking me that, Craig?” Craig said. The eye-contact remained unbroken. He couldn’t look away, even if he wanted to.

“No— but, like— what?” He gasped, hands finding his hair. “You’re… me?”

“No shit.” Craig replied, straightening in his seat. His hands were behind the back of the chair, most likely tied. He frowned. Craig looked strangely okay, being tied up in the middle of nowhere.

“Why are you here?” He asked. The question sounded stupid right as it rolled off his tongue, but Craig didn’t react. Instead, he leaned forward.

“Don’t you wanna know why you’re here?” Craig almost whispered. He didn’t smile, but there was a ghost of a smirk lingering across his face.

“No.” He said. Craig’s eyebrow twitched.

“What?” Craig said. “Why not?” He shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I just wanna leave,” He said, tone vulnerable. “I don’t wanna be here anymore.” He paced on the spot, feeling the water lap at his knees. He opened his eyes. Craig was still staring at him.

“Why?” Craig asked. Why? He could almost laugh at the absurdity of the question.

“Dude—” He began, “I almost died !” Craig didn’t react. 

“I know.” Craig sighed, though there was no real sympathy in his voice. He just sounded tired. Wrung out. They just stared at each other for a moment. He tried to make sense of it all – this other him, the water he stood in, nearly dying. Thrice. Suffocating, falling, drowning. He looked away, gazing out across the horizon. He wished the beautiful sky would comfort him, but it didn’t. He paced on the spot, water sloshing around him. I need to leave. This place was nice, sure, but it didn’t help him. He was still tired, and his muscles still ached. He wiped at his face, turning to face Craig again. He sucked in a breath. 

“Why are you here?” He asked again, “Really.” Craig was silent for a moment, but he didn’t look like he was thinking. He looked vaguely hesitant. 

“I’m waiting.” 

He paused, waiting for him to continue. Craig remained silent, the words remaining unclarified in the air. Then, a feeling of realization hit him. It hit him like a slow but heavy wave, crashing into him. His fingertips prickled, his arms beginning to burn. 

“No. You can’t.” He said, shaking his head, “ I can’t, alright?” He walked up to Craig, looking down at him, still as calm as ever. 

“Are you just gonna force me to sit here with you? Huh ? Is that why I’m here?” He poked his index against Craig’s chest accusingly, glaring at him. Craig closed his eyes and sighed. 

“I can’t force you to do anything,” Craig slowly said. There was a sense of defeat in his tone, like he already knew what was going to happen. “But at least think about it before you…” Craig’s gaze dropped downwards, landing on his closed fist. He followed Craig’s gaze, suddenly feeling a familiar coolness inside his grasp. Opening it, he saw a lighter. His lighter. He flicked his gaze between the lighter and Craig. 

“... before you kill me again.” Craig finished, sucking in a deep breath. He frowned, gripping the lighter tightly. 

“Again? What–” He exclaimed, then stopped himself. “You know what? I’m not even gonna ask.” Craig only stared at him. 

“So, instead of thinking about it, you’re just taking the easy way out?” Craig asked. He held his gaze, thumb tracing the wheel of the lighter. 

“Can’t you just let go for a moment?” Craig said, tone suddenly pleading. “ Let go . Just appreciate the view while you’re here.” He scoffed and tilted back his head, looking at the sky. 

“Appreciate the view?” He mocked, looking back at Craig. “No. I don’t think so.” He clinked the lighter to life in his hand, raising it to Craig’s eye level. “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard.”  

“I know,” Craig sighed, “You say it every time.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Every time?” 

Craig only nodded. His gaze flickered to the flame mere inches from his face, reflection dancing in his irises like something he’d seen before. Done before. Frustration bubbled in his stomach. 

“Then why the hell are we still here?” He snapped, voice rising. “If I’ve already done this – if we’ve already done this – why does it keep happening?” 

Craig exhaled slowly, letting his head fall backwards against the chair. “Because you never listen.” 

His stomach twisted at the words. “ Fuck you .” He spat, ready to end whatever this was, before Craig snapped back. 

“No– Fuck you.” It was the first time Craig raised his voice, making him freeze. “You never listen, you never care, and you never think .” He recoiled. He let his arms drop, the flame disappearing. 

“You’re wrong.” He said through gritted teeth. 

Craig scoffed. “Really? What about Tweek? Did you care about him?” He froze. The name made his stomach settle ominously. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about him. Before he had the chance to retort, Craig continued to speak.

 “Look at me. I’m still here – I’m tied up for fucks sake!” He exclaimed, struggling against his chair as if to prove a point. The water splashed around him. “But I can’t have my peace, because you’re still too scared to face everything–” 

“Shut up.” He snapped, letting the lighter spark back to life in his hand. That was it. He was done. He tensed his grip on the lighter, and brought it towards Craig’s chest, letting him catch fire. In an instant, flames engulfed him. Wild and ugly. He expected to see anguish, pain or anger in Craig’s expression. Instead, he saw understanding. Defeat. Grief. 

Nothing changed as Craig burned. The water remained, and the sky still stood. As he stared at his burning body, he had to remind himself that it wasn’t him, even as he felt his own body burn. Craig didn’t fight it. Didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t even flinch . He just continued to stare at him as his flesh burned, eyes hauntingly hollow. 

Craig woke up to the taste of smoke. 

PART ONE COMPLETE 

Chapter Text

The parking lot was a mess of duffel bags, shouting and Mr. Mackey trying – and failing – to keep things in order. Craig and his friends leaned against the side of the bus, waiting idly for their names to be called. It was too early for all this. Craig kept his eyes on the pavement. Tolkien and Clyde were arguing about who was getting the window seat while Jimmy chimed in occasionally for a snide remark. He knew Tweek was somewhere nearby—he just hadn’t seen him yet. Not that he wanted to. He still had that weird stomach ache – similar to the ones you’d get after breathing in too much smoke. Just get through the trip. It’s only two days. 

“Craig Tucker?” Mr. Mackey shouted. He answered without looking up. 

“Here,” Craig muttered. He raised his hand just enough for Mr. Mackey to see, before he called out another name, scribbling furiously onto a clipboard. The chatter and shuffling around settled against his ears like white noise, but before he had the chance to zone out, someone clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Come on, Mr. Davis told us we can get on,” Clyde said, nodding his head towards the bus. Craig followed wordlessly. 

“Tweek Tweak?” Mr. Mackey called out. His stomach dropped. He tightened his grip on the strap of his duffel bag, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. He had to suppress the urge to turn around and look for him. Tweek. Was he still upset? Probably. 

Craig exhaled slowly through his nose, forcing his legs to move forward as he moved to step onto the bus. Just get through this. Only two days. 

The four of them walked down the bus aisle, separating in pairs into two rows as they sat down. Craig didn’t argue when Clyde took the window seat. If anything, he would want to avoid the window.  

Craig slumped into the aisle seat, pulling his hat over his eyes. He didn’t want to sleep. He kept having weird dreams, and waking up in a cold sweat on the bus wasn’t exactly ideal. 

“Hey. Dude,” Clyde nudged his shoulder. Craig grunted in response, not bothering to uncover his eyes. Maybe if he stayed still enough, he’d lose interest. 

“You won’t guess what happened last night,” Clyde went on. 

No such luck. 

The sound of the bus motor coming to life rattled beneath them, and the bus began to move forward. 

Craig exhaled, “What.” There was a pause where Craig could feel him shifting beside him, clearly holding in excitement, before leaning in closer. 

“Bebe texted me !” Clyde half hissed, half whispered. Craig blinked and sat up straighter, pulling his hat up. 

“What? Really ?” He asked. He was genuinely surprised – he’d gotten the impression that Bebe never really cared for Clyde. One of the reasons he didn’t like her. 

“Yeah, man! We were texting all night.” He shook his head, as if recalling it all. Craig felt himself frown. 

“What were you talking about?” He asked, trying not to sound too suspicious. He clearly failed, as Clyde turned to frown back at him. 

“I dunno man… just normal stuff?” Clyde said, crossing his arms. Looking through the window behind him, Craig could see them leave the neighborhood. “Why are you making that face, man?” 

Craig sighed, leaning back against the seat. “I’m not, I just–” He hesitated. Clyde gave him an incredulous look, waiting. 

“You shouldn’t, like, get your hopes up with her,” He said, “You know what she’s like.” 

Clyde rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on.” He groaned. “Are you jealous? Because if you are–” 

“No–what? I don’t care about girls, Clyde.” Craig said, wiping a hand over his face. Clyde snorted beside him, leaning his back against the window to fully face Craig. 

“Right, I’m sorry. I forgot about your boyfriend ,” Clyde teased, poking at Craig’s shoulder. Instead of feeling annoyed, Craig felt guilt pool in his stomach. He swallowed hard. He could feel Clyde eyeing him expectantly, before he dropped his voice carefully. 

“You’re making a face again.” 

Craig rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to snap at him before something outside the window caught his attention. 

‘CAMP EASTWOOD, TURN LEFT IN FIFTEEN MINUTES’ 

Shit. The sudden realization hit him like ice cold water, heavy and unforgiving. He’d somehow forgotten about this. He shouldn’t have. He should have expected it. But now, faced with it, he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t look away from the glittering lake outside the window.

“Hey.” Clyde said softly, catching Craig’s attention. “You don’t have to think about that.” 

Craig swallowed, turning to look ahead instead. He wanted to say that he wasn’t thinking about that , but he couldn’t. Clyde would know. He was the one who picked him up after it happened. 

“Speaking of Tweek,” Clyde began, changing the subject. Craig sighed, silently thanking him. “Are you two gonna be hanging out at all? While we’re here, I mean.” 

Craig shifted slightly in his seat, “No, uh…” He took a deep breath, glancing at Clyde. “We’re not exactly on… speaking terms, really.” 

"What?" Clyde frowned, scratching his head, “Why’s that?” Craig sighed. He tried to find the words to describe what had happened. Had it been any other person, he wouldn’t have cared, but him and Tweek… There had been a quiet understanding between them. It was clearly more than mutual respect, so why would he ruin it like that? The conversation replayed in his head, like a broken record. 

“Aren’t we friends?” He’d asked. There had been something so raw in his eyes – not just hurt, but shame . He felt his chest twist painfully. 

“No.” He’d answered. So final. Too final. And it was a lie. At least it felt like one. As soon as the word had left his mouth, he’d regretted ever opening it in the first place. He liked Tweek, so why would he say that?

Craig rubbed at his forehead exasperatedly, looking down at his lap. 

“I said something stupid, and…” He began, but even as Clyde listened intently, he found it difficult to continue. He felt ashamed. “And I…” he struggled. The words got lost in his throat. Clyde dropped his gaze for a moment, as if in thought, before he sucked in a breath. 

“Well. Whatever you said, it couldn’t have been that bad.” He reasoned. “Go apologize. Stand tall. Be a man .” He paused. “Like… Abraham Lincoln or something.” He hissed out the last bit for dramatic effect, nudging Craig lightly. Craig raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. 

“You know,” Clyde went on, “ Take responsibility .” 

“Whatever, man.” Craig sighed and slumped further into his seat. Take responsibility. He tried to ignore the way his stomach sank at the words. 

…

The relief of finally being able to stand up was understated to say the least. Craig fought the urge to groan as his muscles stretched out. Clyde on the other hand, unabashedly vocalized his relief as he stretched out his arms, even bumping Craig’s head in the process. 

“Shit, sorry,” Clyde giggled, placing a comforting hand on Craig’s shoulder. Craig shot him a look that should’ve left him dead on the floor.

“Alright,” Mr. Davis’ voice bounced off the walls, “We meet outside, don’t forget your stuff!” 

Everyone began messily moving towards the bus exit. The aisle was far too narrow, bags smacked against shoulders and one step forwards seemed to take forever. Once outside, they were hit with a cold – but welcome – breeze. Craig allowed his shoulders to relax, taking a deep breath in. 

“Attention please, mmkay ? Everyone gather ‘round.” Mr. Mackey droned from across the parking lot, already red in the face. No other cars were parked around them,except for the ones in the staff-only spots. 

“Wanna bet how long we’ll be standing here?” Tolkien muttered. Clyde scoffed, tugging his bag further up his shoulder. “That old fart could bitch and moan all day – we’ll have frozen our asses off before we even get a cabin.” 

They joined the crowd but kept a safe distance. 

“Mmkay, so, as you all should know, we will be staying here for the next three days…” Mr. Mackey began, the words that followed going completely over Craig’s head. Three days? God. He couldn’t decide whether it was a relief or a pain. At least he’d be free from school. And his home. Hell, his mom sent him here thinking it might help somehow. In what twisted world would staying at a summer camp in the autumn help anyone? 

“...And that’s all you’ll need to know, mmkay ?” Craig blinked, snapping back to reality just in time to hear the end of Mackey’s speech. “Now, if you have any other questions you can go to your assigned cabin-manager, who will be your guide while we’re here, mmkay ? I will tell you who you have been assigned, as well as what cabin you will be staying in so pay attention, mmkay ?” Some of the chatter seemed to die down at the words. Craig’s curiosity piqued – this would obviously dictate who you would get to spend time with. He silently prayed to have at least one of his friends with him. 

“Mmkay, so…” Mr. Mackey fumbled with his clipboard, licking his finger before turning the page. “Cabins one, two, three will all be with Mr. Davis – In cabin one we have Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Craig, Clyde and Tweek…” Craig’s breath hitched. Tweek? No way. That had to be a mistake. Mr. Mackey continued listing the other cabins. This was reality. Not only would he be stuck with Tweek – who hated him – but Kyle and Stan as well. A hand waved in front of him. He turned his head, facing his mildly concerned but also somewhat amused friends. 

“Earth to Craig?” Tolkien said, then turned to Clyde. “Why does he look like that?” 

“Y-yeah? Y-your best friends Stan and K-kyle will be staying with you!” Jimmy stammered sarcastically, remaining unphased when no one laughed at his joke. Craig dragged a hand down his face, thinking. Mr. Davis did like him, right? Maybe he could get him to change the groups. Maybe he and Clyde could switch into whatever cabin Tolkien and Jimmy got assigned. No. That was a stupid idea, he decided. 

The crowd had mostly dispersed. Craig had no idea where they were going, or what they were doing. Shit. He opened his eyes, not realizing they’d ever closed. Tolkien met his gaze, giving him a ‘what the hell’ look. Clyde looked impatient, and Jimmy wore an uneasy smile. Great, Craig – everyone’s uncomfortable now. Such a great friend . 

“What the fuck are you looking at?” He muttered, “Let’s go.” Great, great friend. 

No one answered him, but they followed him when he began walking towards the camp entrance. 

…

“Hey,” Clyde called from behind him. “Are you going top or bottom?” Craig whipped his head around, frowning. 

“What, you mean like beds?” He asked. Clyde wheezed. “Yeah, man – the bunk beds – top or bottom?” 

Craig rolled his eyes. “Bottom.” 

After finally eating something and checking in with Mr. Davis, everyone had been sent to their cabins – tasked with getting familiar with their cabin mates. Stupid . 

“Really? You sure?” Clyde said, “‘Cause top’s the best one.” Craig turned around once again. 

“No, it’s not.” He said flatly. He didn’t care for Clyde’s “ rage-bait ” at the moment. Not when he was about to spend three nights and days with an alcoholic, a drug addict, South Park's dumbest debater and the guy he could’ve been friends with if he wasn’t such a dick all the time. Then, he instantly cursed himself for calling Stan and Kenny alcoholic and addicts, even if he didn’t say it aloud. Kenny wasn’t an addict, and Stan wasn’t okay. He needed help. Professional help. He nudged the strap of his duffel bag further up his shoulder, holding it tighter. 

“Craig.” Clyde’s serious tone startled him out of his head. He glanced at him. “Don’t go quiet on me, man.” He half-teased, lightly pushing Craig to the side. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes briefly. 

"Yeah," he muttered, exhaling. "Sorry."

“Just–you know, look on the bright side!” Clyde chirped, practically bouncing up and down. "Maybe this is your chance to talk to him. Sort things out.” 

Craig gave him a look. “Tweek?” 

“Yeah man. Who else?” He deadpanned. Craig sighed. They were approaching their cabin, and the other seemed to have already arrived – evidenced by the half-open door. 

“I don’t know…” Craig mused dejectedly. Clyde glanced at him like he was about to say something, but didn’t. 

As they got closer, Craig could begin to make out the irritated voice of Kyle, yelling something unintelligible. Clyde skipped ahead of him, knocking against the back of the door before stepping inside. The noise briefly stopped, before that same heated voice spoke up again. 

“Oh my god .” Kyle groaned loudly. Craig followed after Clyde, stepping inside and letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. It was much larger than he would’ve expected from the outside, with the typical wooden flooring and walls. It smelled like firewood. Three bunk beds were pushed against three of the walls, two of the bottom bunks already cluttered with bags. 

“Well that’s not a very warm welcome.” Kenny teased Kyle. Craig didn’t even recognize him at first, his orange jacket discarded on the floor. He had to take a moment to understand what was happening in here. Stan and Kyle were standing, facing each other somewhat threateningly. Stan had his fist clenched like he was about to play rock-paper-scissors. Kyle too. Maybe they were? 

Kenny was sitting on the bunk bed next to what appeared to be the bathroom door, shit-eating grin on his face. Craig looked away, suddenly locking eyes with Tweek. Shit . He looked away—too fast. 

“God– Shut up, Kenny!” Kyle yelled. “I’m trying to concentrate!” 

“It’s rock-paper-scissors , fuck you gotta concentrate for?” Kenny mocked. A familiar, breathy laugh sounded from his direction. Craig forced himself to not look. Instead, he walked past Clyde and dumped his duffel bag onto the free bottom-bunk, then plopping down onto it. Clyde followed suit, cautiously. 

“Alright, let’s just do it, c’mon.” Stan ushered impatiently, reading himself. Kyle sighed and mirrored his stance. 

“Okay. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot !” Kyle drew scissors, Stan drew paper. 

“...Best of three?” Stan mumbled. 

Kyle scoffed. “Hell no, man. I get the bottom.”  

Craig laid down face down on the pillow and sighed into it. This was going to be hell. Kyle and Stan continued their loud bickering, Kenny throwing in snide comments. It all melted into white-noise. He could still feel the familiar presence of Clyde by his feet, quiet but steady. A wave of gratitude and shame hit him. Throughout this whole ordeal – not just the trip, but the past few months as a whole – he’d been nothing but patient. Sometimes, he’d be too overbearing, sure, but that was just who he was. He cared. And yet, Craig still acted like an asshole. 

Amidst the blinding lights a familiar car pulled up, parking next to one of the cop cars. Craig held his arms tighter around him. It was so cold. He’d been here for a while. The car door flew open, and Clyde stepped out. His best friend. Clyde ran up to him, a poorly-contained frantic expression on his face. 

“Hey, dude,” He said, grabbing onto Craig’s shoulders. He began tugging him forwards, urging him to move. “You okay? You’re not hurt?” 

Craig resisted, standing firmly. Clyde frowned, trying to catch his gaze but failing. He couldn’t look away from the water. 

“Come on, let’s get you home–” 

“No.” 

Silence. 

“...What?”

“They haven’t pulled him out yet.” 

A knock pounded at the door. Craig drew in a sharp breath. 

“Hey boys, are you settling in well?” He recognized Mr. Davis’ voice. “...Getting along?” 

Begrudging mutters ensued.

“Alright, well, uh… that’s great!” Mr. Davis said, obviously trying to sound optimistic. “I just came to tell you who your camp-buddy will be,” 

Craig raised his head from the pillow, shooting Mr. Davis a confused look. Mr. Davis raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Mackey wouldn’t shut up about it,” Clyde said, poking Craig’s leg absentmindedly. “Remember? At the parking lot?” 

Craig racked his brain for the memory, but found it empty. He slowly lowered his head onto the pillow again. “Yeah.” 

“ Whatever ,” Kyle began, “Do we have a say in it or…?”

Kenny huffed out a laugh “Yeah, I don’t wanna be stuck with the ginger for the–” 

“Shut up, asshole!” Kyle retorted, only fueling Kenny’s amusement. Then, seeming to remember the presence of their teacher, he mumbled a quick sorry, to which Mr. Davis only waved off. 

“We’ve put you with someone we know you work well with, so don’t worry about that,” Before he could stop himself, Craig’s gaze landed on Tweek. He was already looking at him.

“Craig and Tweek, you two are already working together so you’ll be camp-buddies,” Craig looked to Mr. Davis in surprise, but didn’t object. He could feel Clyde glancing at him, but he remained silent as well. 

“Then, Stan and Kyle, and Clyde and Kenny,” Stan nudged Kyle playfully. “You’ll be working together during our activities, since most of them need to be done in pairs, otherwise that’s all!” Mr. Davis went on, clapping his hands together. “Any questions?” 

Tweek opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

“Alright, well you know where to find me.” Mr. Davis patted the doorframe, stepped outside and closed the door behind him. 

“No we don’t?” Kenny muttered. Tweek chuckled beside him. Craig watched him. 

Time passed and everyone decided to actually start packing up. Halfway through unloading their bags, they realized that there weren't any dressers or wardrobes in the cabin, so their clothes remained stacked on the ground by their beds. Kenny and Clyde were knocked out cold on their top bunks while Stan and Kyle decided to explore camp. 

Craig fished his phone out of his pocket, not surprised when he saw that it was almost out of battery. With a sigh, he slid out his duffel bag from under the bed. He zipped it open and began digging around for a charger. The sleeve of his hoodie caught on the zipper, tugging harshly against it. He sucked in a breath as the fabric grated against his skin. It only got worse when he tried to free himself. He muttered a curse under his breath. He tried to tug from a different angle, but it didn’t work. In fact, it hurt even more . Great. Just great. 

A shadow passed over him, and before he could react, Tweek was kneeling beside him. Without so much as a glance, he grabbed onto Craig’s sleeve. The touch felt strangely vacant . Impersonal. He quickly worked the fabric free, standing back up again without a word. Craig, briefly stunned, swallowed. Hard. 

“...Thanks,” He said with an exhale. His arm burned. God, did it hurt. Tweek didn’t answer. He felt a knot turn in his stomach. Swiftly, he snatched the charger out of his bag and kicked it under the bed again. He bent down, trying to find a socket. 

He glanced at Tweek. “Do you see a socket anywhere?” 

Tweek turned around, barely locking eyes for more than a millisecond before nodding vaguely towards a wall. Then, he turned back around. That was it. Craig shifted uncomfortably on the spot. He couldn’t help but feel like he should be saying something. He should be saying something . 

“Hey, uh,” He began awkwardly, cutting himself off when Tweek whipped his head around with a huff. Stunned, they just looked at each other. Tweek quirked a brow, setting down whatever piece of clothing he’d been folding. 

“ What ?” He asked impatiently. “I told you it’s over there,” He gestured towards the same wall. 

“No–I just…” Craig began, trailing off. It was the way that Tweek was looking at him – it made him want to crawl into a hole. “...I just wanted to say I–” 

“Don’t.” Tweek cut him off. Craig blinked. “But–” 

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” 

There was something so final in his words. He swallowed. “Like, ever ?” 

Tweek didn’t answer him. Instead, he went back to folding his clothes. Why he was still folding them was beyond him. Craig opened his mouth, then shut it. Tweek wasn’t just brushing him off—he meant it. No room for argument. He felt frustration bubble at his skin, mixing with the still searing pain coming from his arm. He shook his head in exasperation, marching over to the socket to plug in the charger. 

“Fuck you too, then.” He muttered, letting his phone drop to the floor. Tweek turned to him, shocked. 

“What–?” He gasped, but before he could finish, Craig was moving right past him. Without another word, he left the cabin, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t bring a jacket, or his hat. 

“Dude–” Craig turned around mid-walk, seeing Kenny jogging up to him. He turned back around, keeping a fast pace. 

“Don’t follow me.” He said flatly, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. His fingers found his lighter, curling around it. He heard Kenny scoff behind him, then, he was beside him, matching his pace. 

“Where are we going?” Kenny chirped. 

Craig sighed. “ I’m going for a smoke.” Kenny made a noise. “What? You got cigarettes?”  Craig shot him a look. Then, he let himself relax. He did owe Kenny a few cigarettes. 

“Yeah. Sure.” 

After walking around, they settled on a bench behind the camp cafeteria. Craig shoved a hand into his jean pocket, fishing out his cigarette box. He handed one to Kenny and put one in his own mouth. As he dug for his lighter, Kenny spoke up. 

“So, what happened?” He asked. Craig froze, then went back to his lighter. He motioner for Kenny to hold out his cigarette. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” He mumbled, lighting Kenny’s cigarette, then his own. He took a drag. 

“But you were an asshole, you know that right?” Kenny pressed, taking a drag himself. Craig blew out the smoke slowly, trying to remain composed. 

He shook his head. “I don’t care.” Kenny raised his eyebrows. 

“Well, for a guy who doesn’t care, you sure left in a hurry,” He retorted, tone ever so casual. Craig rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond. 

“I know you give a shit.” Kenny suddenly said pointedly. “You look like you’re about to crack wide open.” 

Craig scoffed. “Jesus. What, you’re gonna analyze me now?” Inhale. Exhale. “Why did you even follow me? I thought you were asleep.” 

Now it was Kenny’s turn to scoff. “ I was . Until you almost broke the damn door. ” 

“Okay, well I’m sorry about that,” Craig muttered. “But I don’t get why he’d acting like that when.. .” He stopped, mouth dry. 

“When what? Someone you thought was your friend tells you to fuck off?” Kenny almost laughed. “I’d be pissed too – but not for the same reason.” 

Craig frowned, then took a drag of his cigarette. “What do you mean?” 

Kenny exhaled, letting the smoke spiral from his mouth into the air. “Tweek’s only pissed ‘cause he gives a shit.” He finally said, turning his head to look at Craig. “He cares for people. And himself. That’s just the way he is.” 

Craig held his gaze before turning forward again, facing the forest in front of them. They remained silent after that, just smoking. Kenny never questioned when or why Craig had bought cigarettes, but he could feel him holding back. He took one last drag before putting it out on the bench. 

“So what’re you gonna do?” Kenny asked, leaning back. Craig tapped his fingers against the wood underneath them. He shrugged. 

…

The fire crackled, occasionally sending stray sparks flying. Mr. Davis’ cabin groups had been called to gather for a campfire. He’d been telling scary stories and jokes for awhile, but Craig hadn’t been listening. His mind felt foggy. Occasionally, some of the girls would squeal, or Clyde would join in the laughter after a punchline. The laughter around him felt distant, like it was happening in another room. He kept his gaze on the fire, or the dirt ground. If he didn’t, it almost always wandered to Tweek – who was sitting on the other side of the fire, face lit from the glow. He was sitting with Kenny, who was talking to Heidi, one of the popular girls. He didn’t look like he was a part of the conversation though, as his eyes were trained on the flames. Until they weren’t. As soon as their eyes locked, Craig realized he’d been staring again. He looked downwards.

“Okay, no but really, everybody–” Mr. Davis laughed. He found himself suddenly aware of the chatter around him. “You really shouldn’t mess with that stuff,” 

“We live in South Park, where the hell are we even supposed to get drugs?” Bebe quipped. Craig turned towards her voice, realizing she was sitting next to Clyde. Huh . 

“Yeah, if anyone knows where please do share!” Kenny said, earning a few giggles and laughs. Mr. Davis only shook his head and smiled. 

“You don’t wanna get involved with that shit,” he began, sending a pointed look at Kenny. “You know, I had a student your age once – a few years back – whom I was really close with,” 

“He was a really smart kid. Good grades, friends, hobbies, the whole package,” The chatter had completely died down, everyone intently listening. “He used to come to my office every wednesday afternoon – to show me what he’d been writing. He had some real talent. And passion.” Mr. Davis paused, then sighed. “But he had his troubles. Granted, we all do, but he bore it all in silence – though, sometimes I’d see it through what he would write,” 

“One morning, he showed up to my English class a whopping 30 minutes late… with a bruised jaw and a broken nose.” 

The atmosphere shifted then. Literally. Everyone around the campfire seemed to shift where they were sitting. They were either uncomfortable with the story or from sitting on a log for too long. Maybe both. Mr. Davis’ expression had settled into something softer now – what Craig would imagine as ‘fatherly’. 

Craig could recall him doing something similar for him when he’d showed up to class with a bruise on his cheek. 

“I pulled him aside and asked him what happened. He told me he fell. I kept pressing him, and he just lashed out. It’s none of your damn business, leave me the fuck alone,” Normally, hearing a teacher swear would’ve been jarring. Now, it only made Craig’s heart sink further down. “So I did. I left him alone.”

Silence. 

“Then, what happened?” Kyle asked, even though he sounded like he didn’t want to know. Mr. Davis met his gaze. “He started showing up drunk, high , with new bruises and cuts every day. Sometimes they were self-inflicted.” Craig gripped his own wrist tightly, suddenly feeling exposed. “I still met with him outside of class, but it never ended well. He got so…” He brought a hand to his chin. “So angry… His father… He eventually got in trouble for possession and use of heroin… and for stabbing the kid.” Clyde muttered something under his breath. 

“...That’s fucked up,” Kenny mumbled. 

Stan coughed, “Did he die?” Kyle cursed and elbowed him, Stan elbowing him back. Mr Davis shook his head.  

“No. He survived, thankfully, but he needed a new home,” Craig shifted his gaze to the crackling fire. Beyond it, he saw Tweek, already looking at him. Craig didn’t look away this time, but Tweek did. “Naturally… I stepped up. I volunteered to be a foster parent to him until he could be adopted, but truthfully – I wanted to adopt him. I tried to be there for him. To be what he needed. And I guess, at some point, he just was my son.” 

“I tried to help him get clean. He’d picked up heroin from his father, he got so sick without it–it was horrid. In the end, he didn’t make it.” He said it so casually. Mr. Davis exhaled slowly, gaze distant. He still had that fondness in his eyes. Then, he looked at the students.

“I’m sorry you guys, I didn’t mean to bring the mood down like that–” He began, everyone immediately telling him no, it’s alright, that’s okay. Clyde gave him a nudge, leaning down to catch his gaze. Craig cursed himself internally before nodding wordlessly. I’m okay. This isn’t about me. Clyde frowned. 

People began to talk again, filling the previously somber silence with warmth. Someone tossed a few packages of marshmallows, crackers and chocolate onto the ground, and people began to make smores. He thought about the kid, and how he’d pushed Mr. Davis away. Was that how he’d been acting? But the kid, he’d just been a victim of unfortunate circumstances. Craig wasn’t a victim. He’d deserved everything. Clyde let him go, turning back to Bebe instead. Furthermore, he didn’t want anyone to know. No one wants to hear about stuff like that . He looked up to see Tweek glancing at him. He was talking to Kenny. There was no irritation or anger left in his eyes. Just weariness. 

“Alright kids, I’m off,” Mr. Davis stood up with a huff, dusting off his pants. “You can stay out for longer if you’d like, just don’t tell Mr. Mackey, okay?” Craig didn’t look away from Tweek. If he hadn’t been such an asshole, they probably would’ve been sitting next to each other by now. Having fun. Kenny patted Tweek on the shoulder before standing up and walking over to someone else. Tweek remained in his seat, eyes trained on the fire. Some students left with Mr. Davis, probably tired from the long day. Craig stayed where he was, even as his fingers itched. He needed something to do, to distract himself, so he picked up a marshmallow and a stick. It was silly. He knew that he wouldn’t be eating it. He glanced back up at Tweek. It was now or never. 

Craig passed the campfire, walking up to Tweek. Then, cautiously, he sat down next to him. Not once did Tweek glance at him. He just kept his gaze locked on the fire. Craig tried his best to be casual, sticking the marshmallow onto the stick and holding it out over the flames. Beside him, Tweek remained so eerily still, but Craig could feel his gaze drift to the marshmallow. A bridge. He sucked in a breath. 

“...I’m an asshole.” He blurted quietly. All the noise around them blurred. He turned the marshmallow. At first, Tweek was silent. Then he let out a slow breath, like he’d been holding it for too long. 

“No shit.” He said, shifting ever so slightly. Not away, or closer, just on the spot. He rubbed his arms. “Craig, what do you want?”

He turned his head to look at him. People had dispersed into tiny groups around the fire. They weren’t alone, but it still felt like it. Tweek met his gaze. His shoulders relaxed. 

“I’m sorry.” He began. “Really. I didn’t mean it, I just—” He stopped himself. Too much information. “I’m sorry.” 

Tweek held his gaze. Gradually, something shifted. He softened, and Craig still couldn’t handle it. He leaned forward, reaching for the crackers and chocolate before beginning to awkwardly assemble a smore. He held it out to Tweek, silently offering it. The fire crackled loudly as Tweek’s gaze flicked between Craig and the smore. He blinked. Slowly, he took it from Craig’s hand, nearly grazing the scab on his thumb. He turned towards the fire. Bebe was laughing with Clyde, Wendy and Heidi each grilled their own marshmallows and Kyle glanced at Craig as he said something to Stan. He sighed, pulling out the now battered cigarette box from his pocket. He could feel Tweek staring. Lazily, he reached forward to light the cigarette using the flames of the campfire, bringing it to his mouth. 

“...Okay.” Tweek said quietly. Craig turned to look at him, blowing the smoke downwards. “Okay?” he echoed. Tweek just shrugged, taking a hesitant bite out of the smore. He chewed slowly, like he was thinking. 

“I mean, yeah , it hurt. But I believe you,” He said, foot tapping against the dirt. “It’s stupid, but I believe you.” 

Craig, stunned, let the cigarette rest in his mouth. Tweek only swallowed hard as he watched him. “You don’t get to do that again though,” He added.

Craig nodded. “I know.” Tweek gave him an incredulous look. He rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I won’t , alright?” He took another drag of his cigarette. 

Tweek almost smiled back at him. “Good.” He reached over Craig, gently taking the cigarette out of his hand. Craig let him, watching intently as Tweek brought it to his lips and inhaled. 

“So, uh… we’re…?” Craig hesitated, unsure why his mouth felt so dry. Tweek exhaled. He handed him back the cigarette. “Yeah.” He simply answered. It was just one word, but it lifted a weight he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. “But you owe me. Big time. ” 

Craig suppressed a smile, looking at his feet. He felt warmer. It was probably from the fire. “Yeah, alright.” 

Chapter Text

"Wake up, fuckers. If you’re not up in two minutes, we’re eating without you." Kenny said from the cabin door. Craig was awake. He'd been awake for a long time – he just didn’t have it in him to move. Without turning around, he sighed. 

“Just go. I’ll come in a minute.” Craig grumbled. 

“ Alright , but don’t leave without Tweek,” He said, closing the door before Craig could question him. Tweek ? Was he still asleep? He raised his head, turning to look at the bunk bed across the room. Sure enough, peeking from underneath the covers, was a mop of blonde hair. Craig almost felt envious. He’d woken up in the middle of the night, then been unable to fall back asleep – a regular occurrence by now. 

He sat up slightly, leaning his weight against his arms. Tweek looked so peaceful like this. No furrowed brow or frown, no twitching or tremors, just stillness. A different kind of stillness. Not like last night. This wasn’t like holding a breath or not wanting to move – it was peace. He thought back to the way Tweek had acted. He was never hostile, or outright unfriendly, just distant. 

“I mean, yeah, it hurt. But I believe you,” he’d said. It hurt. It had hurt Craig too—but that was no one’s fault but his own. And somehow, that made it worse. A soft sigh from Tweek broke him out of his thoughts, but he didn’t look away. Don’t fuck it up again . 

With a heaviness that threatened to crush him entirely, he slowly slung his legs over the edge of the bed. He exhaled, gazing down at his feet. He rubbed a hand over his face. Through the brain-fog, he debated on whether or not he should wake up Tweek. Before he could make a decision, he heard the sheets rustle slightly, followed by a small groan. He looked up, meeting Tweek’s barely-open eyes. 

“... mmnh ...Craig?” Tweek grumbled, voice hoarce. Craig, caught off guard, awkwardly nodded in greeting. Tweek sighed, long . “What time is it?” 

Craig looked to the window. “Dunno. Morning?” He felt strangely out of place. Almost like he was intruding on something, or seeing something he shouldn’t. Maybe it was the way Tweek looked – soft and relaxed. Drooping eyelids, tousled hair. It was bizarre, but Craig felt the sudden urge to tuck him right back into bed. Tweek slowly let his eyes flutter shut again. 

He hesitated, before muttering, “Kenny told me to bring you.” That got him to move. Tweek raised his head, brows furrowed in confusion. “What, for breakfast?” he said, words slurring together lazily. When Craig nodded, he scoffed. “He’s not my fucking mom .”

Craig snorted despite himself, “ You tell him .” Tweek made a noise before yawning. He rubbed at his face with his sleeve. Now sitting upright, he looked even more disheveled – not in a bad way, though . His hair stuck out at awkward angles, and his t-shirt somehow rode up his stomach, exposing his skin. Craig pointedly avoided that last part. 

For a moment, Tweek just sat there, knees now pushed up against his stomach. Craig dared to glance his way again. Tweek was already looking at him. It reminded him of the campfire, but Tweek was looking at him differently now. And he wasn’t looking away. Then, he sucked in a breath. 

“What even is for breakfast?” He rested his head against his knees, tilting it slightly. Craig’s jaw twitched before he responded.

“Pinecones and squirrels, probably.” He grunted as he rose to his feet, looking for his phone. Tweek huffed out a breath that was probably meant to be a scoff. “ Awesome .” 

“Yeah. Get yourself together so we can go,” Craig responded, tossing aside the covers. Spotting the phone, he reached for it, hitting his head on the bunk above him in the process. The arm underneath him gave way rather pathetically, and he landed on it harshly. Sharp pain erupted from his arm. A noise similar to a groan and a yelp escaped from him, and he buried his face into the mattress. 

“Graceful.” Tweek commented from behind him. Craig gradually crawled off the bed and stood up, pocketing his phone and nonchalantly clutching his arm. Tweek frowned at him. 

“Did you twist it or something?” He sent a pointed look to Craig’s arm. Oh shit.

“...I think so.” Craig awkwardly muttered in response, then lightly shook it. “It’s fine though.” 

Tweek raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push it. Instead, he stretched his arms above his head, yawning wide. 

“M’ going to the bathroom.” Tweek announced, not waiting for a response before doing just that. Going to the bathroom. The door shut softly behind him. Left alone in the cabin, Craig turned his attention back to his arm. Carefully, he drew back the sleeve of his hoodie. The sight alone made him wince. 

The burns had turned an irritated red, stinging from the sudden exposure to air. He pushed down the stuttering hollow feeling in his chest. Maybe he should’ve slapped a band-aid on these a while ago. His stomach sank with shame, but he pushed that away too. It's not a big deal, it'll scab over.  

He walked back over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. He played some games on his phone in an attempt to ignore what he’d very obviously done to himself. It would probably happen again tonight, he predicted. Craig already felt the steady itch for his lighter right now, but he knew better. 

The bathroom door opened, Tweek stepping outside. He froze when his eyes met Craig’s. 

He blinked. “You waited?” Craig blinked back. Huh. I guess so. He shrugged. “Why? did you expect me to just leave without you?” He shot back. Tweek shifted by the doorframe, cautious. 

“ Well… ” He said, raising his eyebrows in implication. “I mean– you are …” 

“An asshole?” Craig finished flatly. Tweek let out a laugh. “No, Jesus , Craig,” he huffed, walking back to his bed. “What I’m trying to say is I just didn’t peg you as the type to wait .” 

Craig paused, then nodded slowly. “Okay…” He scratched his neck. “Let’s go?” 

Tweek pursed his lips together as if he was fighting back a smile. “Yeah.” 

The skin on Craig’s neck prickled lightly. 

…

Craig barely had time to sit down before Tweek scuttered away somewhere else, quickly saying something along the lines of “...see if they have coffee…” He plopped down by the table they chose, staring at his tray. A plate of scrambled eggs, an apple and chocolate milk. Even though his stomach grumbled, he didn’t really want to eat anything. It wasn’t the food – it actually looked more appetizing than what they’d get at school – he just didn’t want to. Still, he picked up his fork. 

All of a sudden, someone sat down next to him. Raising his head, he realized it was Mr. Davis. 

“Good morning,” Mr. Davis greeted. Craig puzzled, chewed slowly. “Morning–?” 

Mr. Davis slid a piece of paper onto the table. It was the test. 

Craig groaned. “It’s too early for this,” 

Mr. Davis raised his brows. “70, Craig.” He blinked, then slowly sat up straighter in his seat. “...What?”

Mr. Davis nodded, tapping the paper. “Yep. Not bad. But that final question? Really not bad.” Craig shifted uncomfortably. The final question. He’d forgotten about writing it entirely. 

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure of what else to say at that moment. Was he happy about the result? It was better than he – or anyone – expected of him at the moment. 

“ Oh ?” Mr. Davis echoed. “This is great Craig! Is writing a hobby of yours or…?” he trailed off, gesturing with his hands. Craig opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. He’d never thought about it before – whether or not he liked to write. He wrote disjointed and mismatched lyrics on sticky notes, sure, but that was mostly out of habit. Then, there was his notebook. Fully written songs live there – but they’re probably just bad. He shook his head slowly, swallowing. 

“Not really ?” He said, grimacing once he realized how vague it sounded. Mr. Davis was about to speak, before his gaze landed on something behind Craig. He turned around, facing a mildly confused Tweek. He must’ve found his coffee, as he nursed a cheap-looking mug in his hands, steam rising steadily from it. 

“Uh–what…?” He began, but Mr. Davis stood up, holding up a palm. 

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving now,” He smiled. As he walked past Craig, he stopped and put a hand on his shoulder. “Great job.” Then he walked away. 

Craig looked back to Tweek, who now moved to sit down across from Craig. He sat down the mug on the table and ran a hand through his hair. Poor guy looked like a fish out of water. Craig quirked a brow.

“Are you still not awake?” He almost laughed. Tweek sighed and looked down on his own tray. “No – hence the coffee,” He picked at the food with his spoon gingerly, then looked back up at Craig. 

“What was that about?” He asked, almost sounding concerned. Craig let out a breath and waved him off. “Nothing,” he paused, shoveling more eggs into his mouth. Tweek began eating as well; a bowl of oatmeal covered in nuts and berries. It felt strangely fitting – Tweek eating oatmeal. It reminded him of when Kenny had told him about him playing the piano. It fit. He swallowed, then cleared his throat. 

“He did give me the test result though.” Tweek dramatically paused mid-bite, lowering the spoon and giving Craig his full attention. 

“And?” He questioned. 

Craig hesitated briefly. “...Seventy.” Tweek’s eyes widened a little, and a lazy smile slowly crept onto his face. “Seventy? Dude, that’s good!” He coughed slightly, clearly still groggy. “I mean, that's like a C+,”

Craig screwed a little in his seat, using his breakfast as an excuse to not reply. Again, he wasn’t sure what to say. It almost felt overwhelming, receiving praise like that. Maybe he wasn’t used to it? Not in a depressing way. Really .

He glanced at Tweek as he blew at his coffee, carefully testing the temperature. They ate in silence – but it was nice. He could hear murmurs of conversation and clinking of cutlery here and there, but it wasn’t too much. It was nice. 

“Wait.” Tweek suddenly spoke up, frowning as Craig met his gaze. “Dude– if the test actually went well, why didn’t you just say so ?” 

Craig frowned back. “What do you mean?” 

“When you got all defensive and angry with me for asking about it?” Tweek deadpanned. “I mean, the whole reason why we argued?” 

Oh . Craig chewed slowly as he thought about it. He chewed some more. Maybe if he chewed long enough he wouldn’t need to–

“You’re not gonna answer that, are you?” Tweek asked, a smile seeping through his tone. 

Craig swallowed. “Nope.” 

Tweek scoffed lightly, taking a sip from his coffee. He quirked his brow, “You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges…” 

“Oh yeah?” Craig mused. 

“Yeah,” Tweek shot back, “And that I feel bad for you – cause you’re dumb and all–”

He rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and eat your food.” Tweek laughed, leaning forward a little to contain himself. Craig couldn’t help but smile a little too. 

…

After spending the day canoeing and walking through the forest, Craig and the others had settled inside their cabin – positively exhausted. At some point, everyone had gathered on the floor with a pack of cards. 

“Alright, what should we play?” Kenny asked, shuffling the deck between his hands. Stan immediately shot up, “Poker, please ,” but Craig shook his head absentmindedly. 

“No? Why not?” Kyle asked. Craig kept his gaze on the cards still being shuffled, then he sighed. “I don’t know how to play,” He admitted, “And I’m not in the mood to learn it.” He sent a pointed look to Stan, who looked like he was just about to suggest explaining the rules. 

“Well, what do you know?” Kenny asked. 

“Go fish.” He answered flatly. Kenny nodded. “Yeah alright, what else?” 

Craig met his gaze. “Go fish.” Kenny stopped mid shuffle, dropping some cards in the process. “That’s it ?” He glanced at Tweek, who was silently chuckling. “Yep.” 

“You only know Go fish?” Kyle said in disbelief. “What are you? Five ?”

Craig flipped him the bird, earning more laughter from Tweek. Stan and Clyde lost it as well. 

“Fuck off, we’ll just explain the rules to you–” Kyle began, taking the deck from Kenny. 

Craig scoffed. “Hell no, dude. You can play cards without me.” 

“Oh my god, it takes five minutes .” Kyle exclaimed, growing more and more impatient. “I don’t care dude, Go fish or Go nothin’ ” Craig stated matter-of-factly. 

Kyle groaned dramatically, a complete contrast to the laughter that erupted inside the cabin. 

“What’s your problem, man? He only knows Go fish so let’s play Go fish?” Kenny said as he laughed, putting a hand on his chest to support himself. “It ain’t that hard,” 

“My problem is that he’s dumb!” Kyle nearly yelled. “I mean who the fuck only knows Go fish?”

“Hey, don’t call Craig dumb!” Clyde said, wrapping an arm protectively around Craig’s shoulders. Then, smugly, he added, “Not his fault he was born different,” Craig shoved him away with a smile, muttering. 

“Plus,” Tweek spoke up, still red in the face from laughing. “Didn’t you come into school on a holiday ? Now that’s dumb.” 

Stan giggled in recollection. “Yeah, oh my god I remember that! You asked your mom to drive you and everyth–” Kyle shot him a murderous look, shutting him up effectively. 

“That happened once .” He stated. Kenny snorted. “ So ? Still dumb.”

“ So ? Craig’s entire legacy is dumb shit after dumb shit,” Kyle retorted, gesturing wildly in Craig’s direction. 

“Yeah? Like what ?” Craig challenged, looking him square in the eye. Kyle actually paused. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He almost looked weary when he spoke again. “I mean, you know what people say about you,” 

Craig raised an eyebrow. “What do they say about me?” 

Everyone went quiet, the deck of cards laid forgotten on the carpet. Craig glanced over to see Tweek biting the corner of his lip. The urge to tell him to stop was strong, but he pushed it away. 

“It’s just rumors,” Tweek mumbled. “Doesn’t mean it’s true…” 

“Yeah, I mean…” Kenny began, “We all have our rumors, but we do know what’s true.” Then, he looked at Craig. “ Right ?”

“...Right.” He responded. 

“Okay–but, for the record,” Stan spluttered, pointing at Craig. “You’re not the one who beat up Malcolm Mill last year?”

Craig physically recoiled at the question. “What? No.” He hissed, glaring at Stan. “How dare you ask me that? He was raped, man!” 

He saw Tweek shift uncomfortably in the corner of his eye, but didn’t linger on it. Stan shrugged. “Sorry, I just heard you were questioned and all,” 

“I wasn’t.” He spat. Clyde put a hand on his back, silently willing him to stay seated. He did. The room grew silent again. Then, Craig sighed. 

“Anyone else wanna question me?” He asked dryly. “ For the record?” 

“Your dad…” Kyle started, almost immediately. As if he’d been waiting to ask, “Did you do it?”  

“Your dad–what? You’re gonna have to–”

                                                “He just (unintelligible), I don’t know what to do,

I can’t get down there, I– (unintelligible)”

 “(unintelligible)”

“What?”

“I said your gonna have to slow down, and listen to me–”

“Yes, okay, I’m sorry–”

“That’s okay, just tell me where you are okay, and so–”

“Yes, yes, Lake Eastwood, (unintelligible), I saw a sign, (unintelligible)”

Craig blinked, ears ringing. “What?” 

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Nancy. Did you fuck her?” At first, Craig just stared at him. He shook his head – both to deny the ‘Nancy-rumor’, and to shake away the sound of the 911-operator's voice. “No… God, she’s just saying that.” 

He slowly stood up. As if on autopilot, he felt his pockets, checking for the familiar outlines of the cigarettes and the lighter. 

“What? Man, why not ?” Kenny groaned, “ I’d fuck her,” 

Clyde responded with something snarky, but Craig wasn’t listening anymore. He grabbed his jacket from his bed and moved towards the door. 

“Where are you goin’?” Stan asked from the floor. Craig didn’t bother turning around and he opened the door. 

“Smoke.” The door slammed shut behind him. 

…

He didn’t know how long he’d been pacing around outside the cabin, smoking the same cigarette until it was impossible to hold onto. It didn’t make him feel less restless. He’d come out here because he needed to do something. But out here, he had space to think. Too much space. He clasped his hands against the back of his neck. Maybe he should just go back inside. 

“Craig? Would you come back inside for a moment?” Mr. Davis called from the classroom door. Craig didn’t respond, but turned around and walked back to the classroom he’d been so happy to escape from just 5 seconds ago. 

Mr. Davis shut the door behind them and smiled. “I heard it’s your birthday, thirteen, huh? Big age.” 

Craig nodded sheepishly, looking down at his feet. There was a pause. Mr. Davis sighed. Not in a frustrated or disappointed way, but more softer-sounding. 

“Look, son, I don’t want you to think I’m prying – but did something happen?” 

Craig looked up, and immediately regretted it. His eyes were filled with so much concern it made his skin crawl. 

“No.” He mumbled, tightening his grip on his backpack. 

“Then what happened to your neck?” 

The door softly clicked open behind him. He turned around, expecting Clyde to be standing by the door. Except it wasn’t. 

“Hey,” Tweek said. He stepped outside completely, leaning his back against the door after shutting it. “You good?” 

Craig didn’t remove his hands from his neck, but exhaled and nodded anyway. He looked to his feet.

He couldn’t answer the question. He didn’t know how. Mr. Davis sighed again. 

“If something is going on, I’m gonna need you to promise me that you’ll tell me.” 

“Why can’t you just mind your own–” 

“It wasn’t cool for them to ask you that,” Tweek mumbled. Craig found himself caught off-guard by their sudden proximity. He was standing in front of him now. The wind blew his hair slightly. 

Craig shook his head and lowered his gaze again. “Whatever…” 

“No,” Tweek said, “It’s not whatever.” Craig looked up, then completely stilled. For a moment, they just stared at each other, before Tweek glanced away wearily. “And stop rubbing your neck like that. You’re gonna get a friction burn… or something…”  

Craig raised his eyebrows. “Oh.” Hesitating, he dropped his hands. That must’ve looked weird. Tweek glanced at him. Once, twice, before clearing his throat. 

“You don’t have your hat.” he remarked plainly. A hand flew to his head. He, in fact, did not have his hat on.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess.” He remembered one of the conversations him and Tweek had while they’d walked home, weeks ago. A smile slowly grew on his face. 

“D’you think I look normal ?” Craig asked, trying his best to contain his amusement. Tweek turned to look at him. Confused. Then, slowly, realization hit him. 

“ Oh my god ,” He laughed. “I’d forgotten about that.” Craig covered his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“You look…” Tweek began, collecting himself. “ Craig .” He stilled, staring at Tweek dumbly. 

“...What?” Craig chuckled. “I look… Craig ? What does that mean ?” 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Tweek said, waving him off jokingly. Craig rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to reply with something sarcastic, but he found himself speechless. Which was stupid, because Tweek was just smiling at him – a gentle, satisfied smile. Like he had nothing to worry about. Tweek exhaled, then turned to look ahead. “We both know you're the hottest shit in school anyways.” 

Craig frowned. The sentence had sounded sarcastic, but his tone was just too soft. “What do you mean?” He asked quietly. Tweek glanced at him incredulously. 

“You don’t know?” Craig shook his head. A gust of cold air hit them, making him shiver. “Dude,” Tweek sighed, “You’re like, all the girls talk about.”

Craig let out a breath. “They don’t talk about you ?” 

“God, no,” Tweek chuckled, looking away. “How do you know?” Craig challenged. 

“Well, that’s just cause I’m–” He trailed off, shoulders drooping slightly. One of the streetlamps casted a dim light across his face. Craig stared. How could he be insecure?

“You’re good-looking, Tweek.” He stated flatly, earning a snort from Tweek. “It’s not that . I’m just not exactly for the girls. ” 

Craig blinked. “Oh.” Tweek nodded awkwardly, mouthing a small “Yep.”

“So you’re into guys?” Tweek nodded again, then chuckled. “Don’t say something stupid, please .” 

“Okay,” Craig laughed. He kicked his foot against the dirt, glancing around. The conversation was dying down, but he didn’t feel like going back inside. 

“Come on,” He said, walking forward. Tweek spluttered behind him, “What, where are you going?” 

Craig shrugged. “I dunno. Let’s just go on a walk, or something.” Tweek rubbed his arms hesitantly, but followed him anyway. 

“Where are we going then?” He asked once he’d catched up with Craig. He was rubbing his hands together, trying to warm them up. He shoved his own into his pockets. “Just, wherever,” He answered. 

“That’s not an answer,” Tweek huffed, shivering slightly. Craig eyed him slightly, then began shrugging off his jacket. Without a word – or thought, really – he held out his jacket for Tweek to take. 

“Uh–what’re you…?” Tweek questioned, raising an eyebrow. Craig just held it out closer, urging him to take it. “You’re cold.” 

“Yeah, but,” He hesitated, “It’s yours–you’ll be cold without–” 

“You’re overthinking it.” Craig smiled slightly. “Just–” He opened the jacket and slung it across Tweek’s shoulders, who remained dead-still through the process. He patted down the fabric onto Tweek’s shoulders, stepping back once he was satisfied. The look Tweek gave him was both suspicious and bewildered. Craig ignored it and kept on walking. They were just walking past all of the cabins, but at night, the camp looked so different. Flickering street lamps and the soft glow from the still-awake cabins was the only source of light, making it feel eerily empty. It also felt like the rows of cabins could go on forever. 

He felt a nudge on his shoulder. “So, ‘good-looking’ huh? Should I be flattered?”

Craig groaned, throwing his head back, “I take it back.” 

“At least I’m not insecure,” Tweek zipped up the jacket. “Could you imagine that? Crippling anxiety and hating yourself?” Craig shook his head in muted amusement. “Gotta be one or the other, huh?”

He could feel Tweek eyeing him, but he didn’t mention it. Craig stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. 

“What about you?” Tweek asked. “What about me?” He shot back. 

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Is there something you're insecure about?” Craig looked at him briefly. “Why would I tell you that?”

“So I can debunk it,” He chuckled. A smile creeped onto his face. 

“Alright, um…” Craig began. “I… My–uh, my teeth.” He almost forced out the words, then the familiar shame washed over him. What was he even doing? 

“What? Your teeth?” Tweek gaped. “I haven’t even noticed them, like– I don’t think I’ve even seen them–”

“Exactly.” 

The air between them stilled. They went quiet, but still continued walking. Craig wasn’t even sure of where they were at the moment. Somehow, they’d ended up on a cycling – or walking – trail. Further ahead, the foliage thinned out, revealing the night sky. 

“They’re probably not that bad.”  Tweek suddenly said. “Your teeth.” 

Craig didn’t respond, simply humming non-committedly. Tweek tapped his shoulder, pointing to something on the right side of the trail. A few feet ahead, a park bench was placed next to a street light. It faced away from the trail though, peaking his curiosity. 

“Let’s sit down for a bit?” Tweek asked, even though he was already walking over to the bench. 

“Sure.” He exhaled, following. As he got closer, he began to understand why it was so dark up ahead. The bench was facing the lake. 

“Lake Eastwood.” Tweek remarked. Craig could feel his steps slowing down in defiance, but he forced himself forward. This is not even where it happened. It's just a lake. He sat down next to Tweek. 

“So how did you know?” Craig was surprised to hear his own voice asking the question. Tweek looked at him. “Know what?” 

He paused. “That you like guys.” 

Tweek looked away for a moment, either trying to find and answer or trying to decide whether or not to answer. Then, he crossed his arms. “I don’t know, I think… God, it might be a long story,” 

“That’s okay.” Craig said, almost too quickly. Tweek looked at him then. Really looked. For what, Craig didn’t know. 

“Well, when I was a kid, I had this friend…” He began, “He was my best friend, and we were really close. We’d known each other since kindergarten.” Craig listened intently.

“And, you know, I really cared about him, but it was never like that – at least that's what I thought .” Tweek turned to look ahead, across the lake. Craig wished he could do the same. “One time, I was practicing my piano – some bullshit piece I’d been assigned with that was so difficult –” He closed his eyes and gestured with his hands on the last words, earning a small smile from Craig. “And I played it for him, because he wanted me to, and I thought It sounded like shit, but he just…” He trailed off. 

“What?” Craig urged softly. Tweek sighed. “He just looked at me, put a hand on my shoulder and said ‘that was beautiful’, and I just remember… At that moment I just wanted to, like, kiss him, you know?” He slumped against the bench. “And, yeah, that’s how I knew.” 

Craig just breathed for a moment, processing the words. “That wasn’t too long,” He mused, glancing between Tweek’s hand and his face. His fingers had turned pinkish from the cold. 

“...I guess it sounds simpler than it felt.” Tweek said. Craig’s fingers itched then. Not for closeness, or his lighter even, but for a pen and paper. He wanted to write down that sentence, like he’d do with his lyrics. I guess it sounds simpler than it feels. 

“What about you?” Tweek asked. “Have you ever felt like that?” He smiled. Craig shook his head. “No… I guess I've never really thought about someone like that before.” Something in Tweek’s eyes made him look away then, his gaze landing on the lake. A small pang hit his chest, but he didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. He breathed out, and wondered if it was his imagination, or if he really was shaking the tiniest bit. 

“But, I mean… I think I’d like to. It feels nice, right?” He felt Tweek’s gaze on him. “Yeah. Most of the time, yeah.” 

He took a deep breath, and tore his gaze away, lowering it to his lap. “Are you two still friends?” He asked. 

“He moved away.” Tweek admitted. 

“Oh, well–” Craig’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, opening it to be met with texts from Clyde. 

Clyde (9:48 PM)

   u okay? 

Clyde (10:12 PM)

  where did u guys go?

  i saw tweek go out

Clyde (10:37 PM)

  idk where u are

  pls answer

“Clyde?” Tweek asked from beside him. Craig nodded, then grumbled, “He sent me like fifteen texts…” 

Tweek chuckled softly. It was such a light sound. Like it belonged with the gentle breeze coming from the water. 

“I’m sorry,” He sighed. “I think we need to head back.” 

Tweek raised an eyebrow. “What’re you sorry for?” Craig closed his phone and looked at him. It was a good question. Why was he sorry? 

“I dunno, uhm…” He thought about it, clicking his tongue. “I dunno–I really… I liked this. It was nice.” He closed his eyes, inwardly cursing himself for how dumb it sounded. When he opened them again, Tweek was smiling again. He smiled with pursed lips, like he was trying to contain himself. Then, he stood up with a hop, hands stuffed inside the pockets of the jacket. Craig’s jacket. He tried to ignore the swelling of his chest. 

“Come on then,” He urged. “It’s not over yet – we’ve still got the walk back.” 

Craig let the faintest hint of a smile shine through as he stood up with a sigh, leading the way back toward the trail. It wasn’t until they’d gotten on the trail again that he remembered the lake. His hand was still trembling, but it was faint and light. It didn’t bother him. That feeling still sat with him. But for a moment, just a little moment, he’d forgotten all about it. Even sitting face-to-face with the lake, he’d forgotten about it. He turned to glance at Tweek. He’d made him forget about it. 

Craig’s foot caught on a bump in the ground, sending him stumbling forward. He felt a hand clasp around his forearm, saving him from landing on his face. Searing pain. Searing, burning pain erupted from his arm. Of-fucking-course. He couldn’t stop himself from hissing harshly. As quickly as he could, he regained his balance, shaking off Tweek’s firm grip on his arm. Keep your composure. It’s not that bad. He could practically hear Tweek staring. 

“...Are you okay?” He asked slowly. Craig caught his gaze, meeting his concerned eyes. 

“Yeah,” He gritted, “Let’s just go, alright.” He continued walking.

Tweek made a noise, but walked after him anyway. “Are you sure, cause—” 

“Yes, Tweek.” Craig made a full stop, held his gaze. He pushed down the pain, and the fact that Tweek might’ve just tore open his blisters. He shouldn't worry. 

“I’m fine.” He said gently. He took a few slow steps forward, urging Tweek to follow. He complied, albeit with hesitance. Tweek’s gaze flickered between Craig’s face and his arm. He swallowed. 

“Okay, let’s hurry before Clyde freaks out.” 

Craig huffed in amusement. “ Too late .”

Chapter Text

He’d dreaded coming to Camp Eastwood, but now he was almost sad to leave. Or, well – maybe not sad, but he definitely felt a tug at his chest as he stood on the camp parking lot, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The trip had been mostly uneventful, but something had changed. He just couldn’t place what that was. 

“ God… ” Tweek groaned beside him. He was hunched over in a way that looked painful. “I think they hate us.” 

Craig frowned and swayed closer. “Who? The teachers?” 

“The camp people.” Tweek deadpanned. He clasped his hands over his face and yawned loudly. He dropped them dramatically and slowly looked towards Craig. “They say the coffee machine was broken.”

“I got two words for you,” Craig snorted, “ Caffeine addiction .” 

“ Ughh , whatever man.” Tweek groaned, throwing his head back. The sunlight hit his face as he did so, casting his face in a golden glow. He looked so soft like that, as opposed to constantly looking like he was about to combust. The sun even brought out his freckles. Small frayed dots dusted across the center of his face. Craig had the fleeting thought that they suited him. It was weird—he’d completely forgotten about them. It had always been that one particular thing he’d found so pleasant about Tweek. Not that it was the only pleasant aspect of him. He pushed the thought away before he could think about it too much.

“You good?” He asked instead, shifting on the spot. 

Tweek made a noise. “No, but I’m healing.” He hadn’t moved his head away from the sunlight. 

“Good for you.” Craig was only half-listening, gaze fixated on Tweek’s jaw, of all things. He sighed deeply. It was annoying how nice he looked like this. Wait. 

Tweek cracked an eye open, catching Craig’s lingering gaze. Craig looked away immediately, resisting the urge to clear his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tweek tilting his head back down, leaning in like he was about to say something. 

“Dude, I can’t believe we’re finally going home,” Clyde’s voice cut through the morning haze. Craig silently thanked him. 

“I thought you were enjoying yourself,” Tweek snorted sarcastically. Clyde greeted Craig by lazily bumping into him, all while shooting Tweek a confused look. Tweek deadpanned and nodded towards something behind him. Turning to look, he spotted some of the girls from their year chatting by one of the buses. Among them was Bebe Stevens. Clyde chuckled sheepishly. 

“I guess it hasn’t been all bad… ” He admitted, shifting the weight of his bag. “Same thing goes for you, huh?” Clyde nudged Craig with his elbow. He frowned.

“I don’t think I’ve said a single word to a girl since coming here.” Craig said flatly, elbowing him back. 

“I know.” Clyde said, then before Craig could question him, he went on, “Actually, can you do me a favor?” 

Craig narrowed his eyes. “Depends.” He felt Tweek silently observing from beside him. 

“It’s not actually a favor– I just–” Clyde sighed, “Is it alright with you if I sit with Bebe on the bus?” 

Craig blinked. “Did you ask her?” 

“No, dude, she–” Clyde took a deep breath, then leaned in closer. Tweek did the same beside him, clearly just as invested.

“She asked me !” he hissed in contained excitement. Craig glanced over at Bebe again, then back to Clyde. He could not not smile. He patted his arm. 

“What’re you standing here for then? Go talk to her,” He urged. Clyde grinned at him, then began walking away. He held up two crossed fingers before turning to face Bebe. Tweek hummed beside him. 

“Guess all his pining did amount to something after all,” he mused. Craig glanced at him. 

“How do you even know about this?” He nodded his head towards where Clyde and Bebe were talking now. It felt weird. He was happy for him. They weren’t getting married or anything, but it felt huge. He could still see little seven-year old Clyde, trying desperately to get the attention from a much taller Bebe Stevens. 

“Bebe and I are friends,” Tweek said, running a hand through his hair. He met his gaze. 

“Really?” Craig mused, curious. “‘Cause you’re gay?” 

Tweek rolled his eyes, but smiled. “ Partially . I’m also kind of a cool guy,” He looked him up and down. For a moment, Craig didn’t know what to do with himself. “But that’s just my opinion, maybe you secretly hate my guts or something,” 

“Secretly?” Craig said, “I think I’m pretty open.”

Tweek raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You’re not.”

Craig hesitated. There wasn’t any bite to Tweek’s voice, but something about the way he said it made Craig feel like he was missing something.

“Well, if I hated you, I wouldn’t be standing here.” He shot back, but the words landed softly. It didn’t even sound sarcastic. Tweek just giggled. “Alright man,” 

A teacher opened the bottom compartment of the bus, allowing some of the students to unload their luggage into it. Craig and Tweek did the same, then moved as quickly as possible onto the bus. By some extreme luck, they managed to be one of the first people on the bus, granting them seats all the way at the back. Tweek waited for Craig to sit down, giving him the window seat. 

“You don’t wanna sit by the window?” He asked, settling down. Tweek slumped down next to him. 

“Nah, kinda suffocating,” Tweek sighed, “God, how long d’ya think this is going to take?” 

“What, the bus ride? Two hours I think,” Craig answered, to which Tweek groaned in response. He let his head hit the back of the seat as he watched Tweek get progressively more annoyed. 

“I mean, Jesus , why take us this far away? Isn’t there some highschool-friendly destination in South Park?” He cupped both hands over his face, tone pained. 

Craig’s jaw flexed. “Why’d you sign up for it then?” 

“ I don’t know… ” He dropped his hands and glanced at Craig. “I thought it would be good to get away a little, or…” He shifted his gaze forwards. Craig didn’t. “I don’t know man,”

“What do you know?” Craig teased. Tweek rolled his eyes. Then, he glanced at Craig again. An unsure smirk grew on his face. 

“Do I have something on my face?” 

Craig blinked. “No.” 

Tweek raised a brow. “Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”  Before he could stop himself, Craig looked away, turning to fully face the front. “Shut up,” 

Tweek let out an airy chuckle, but didn’t say anything else. 

The bus rumbled to life beneath them. It broke the stillness between them, almost like having cold water poured over you. God, what was wrong with him? Why was he being all weird about Tweek? Mr. Davis had begun speaking through some bus microphone, mentioning something about ‘calling your parents’ and ‘make sure you have a pick-up’ . Tweek perked up – or perked down – at those words, making him look smaller. Again, Craig. Stop being so weird. 

He dug through his pocket for his phone, opening it to text his mom. 

You (7:57 AM)

im at school in 2 hrs

can you pick me up

“Hey mom,” Craig turned to see Tweek speaking into his phone. He eyed him back, but there was no bite or annoyance in his eyes. He just looked disturbed and awkward. 

“Yeah– Can you… No, I–” A voice interrupted him on the other line, words unintelligible. “I don’t need to see him, he’s been here for two months alrea–” A sigh. “Whatever, I’ll just— No, I wasn’t, I’m sorry…” 

Despite his curiosity, Craig tried his best to tune out the rest, more or less out of respect for Tweek’s privacy. He wouldn’t have liked it if someone listened in on him during a phone call. He turned towards the window, watching the pine trees blur together. Part of him wished he’d taken a longer walk out in the forest. Tweek murmured a goodbye before sighing softly. He could feel him hesitate beside him. It was weird. After spending time with him – not just at the camp, but studying as well – he’d concluded that Tweek wasn’t the type to be unsure of himself. He might be careful, and sometimes anxious, but rarely insecure. 

“Hey, Craig…” He turned away from the window. “This might be weird, but, uhh…” 

Craig furrowed a brow. “What?” 

Tweek averted his gaze for a moment, before locking eyes again. “Could I maybe come over to yours? Like just for a while?” 

He blinked, then without much thought, answered, “Sure.” 

Tweek’s shoulders sagged, as if in relief. “It’s okay?” 

“Yeah,” The phone call echoed in his head. He replayed it – how Tweek had sounded. How he couldn’t seem to get a word in. He obviously didn’t have the full context, but it was clear that he didn’t want to be home right now. He wasn’t too eager to return himself. There wasn’t a single place that made him feel at ease, but somehow, being with Tweek seemed to help. Maybe this wasn’t just for Tweek. In a way, he was being selfish, but screw it .

“...You could spend the night. If you want.” He finished. Tweek’s face went slack in mild surprise. It made him rethink. Had he read him wrong? Craig’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, searching for a justification. 

“I mean my mom probably wouldn’t mind,” 

Tweek laughed. “Yeah–I’m sorry, I just–” He brought a hand to cover his mouth. “That’s cool, I’d like that,” 

“Then what’s so funny?” Craig smirked. His laughter died down, but pink lightly dusted his cheeks. “I dunno, I’m just not sure I’ll get used to you being nice. ” 

Craig raised his eyebrows. “I’m nice? I think I’m plenty nice!” He defended himself, tone mock-offended. 

Tweek just waved him off, but Craig could feel his chest swelling. This was nice. Maybe he could get used to this.

The phone buzzed on his lap. 

Mom (8:19 AM)

I’m sorry I can’t. I have to take your sister to practice.

Are you fine walking?

You (8:19 AM)

that’s okay

my friend is staying over

Mom (8:20 AM)

Who?

You (8:21 AM)

tweek

is that okay

Mom (8:22 AM)

Yes, that's alright. 

Craig closed his phone with the faintest hint of a smile.

…

Closing the door behind him felt so final, Craig almost considered going back on his offer. It felt too real. Now that Tweek was standing in his hallway, he knew that this was it . What it was, he didn’t know. He wouldn’t mind getting closer to Tweek, but he did mind getting personal . Did that make any sense? Maybe it didn’t, but there were certain things he couldn’t know about. Ever. He itched his arm self-consciously. 

“Where can I… put away my stuff?” Tweek asked, holding onto his bag and jacket like they would bite him at any moment. Craig shook away his caution. 

“My room, obviously .” He began walking out the hallway, and to his relief, footsteps followed behind him. They walked up the stairs, past the photos on the wall. He silently prayed that Tweek didn’t linger too much on them. Then, he remembered where they were going. Just how messy did he leave his room? He couldn’t recall ever cleaning it before leaving for Camp Eastwood. The fact that he was even worried about the state of his room concerned him even more. Why should he care what Tweek thinks? 

He opened the door as casually as he could muster, awaiting the worst. He entered first, scanning for the expected mess. A crumpled up shirt lay by his bed, which was unmade. His guitar lay discarded on the floor as well, along with a notebook and at least ten wrinkled and folded sticky notes. He sighed. 

“This…” Tweek began, still lingering by the doorway. Craig turned to face him. “Is cleaner than I expected.” 

He scoffed. “Did you think I lived in a dumpster?” 

“No,” He scoffed back, rolling his eyes. “I hoped you didn’t. It’s different.”

" Sure ," Craig mumbled sarcastically. He let his bag and jacket drop to the floor. Tweek did the same, eyeing the guitar and the scattered paper on the floor. Craig tensed. 

Tweek picked one up. “Is this—” He paused, tilting his head. “Are these… song lyrics?” 

Craig froze. “Don’t touch that.” 

Tweek met his gaze, raising an eyebrow, but complied. He placed the note delicately back onto the floor. “I never pegged you as the poetic type, but I guess it makes sense.” 

Craig sighed through his nose and settled onto the bed. “How does it make sense?” 

Tweek shrugged. “Sometimes you just go all quiet and stare at nothing like you’re thinking about something deep .” 

Craig frowned. Did he really do that? “Maybe I just zone out,” 

“Or maybe you’re just a tortured artist,” Tweek pointed at him like he’d made some big revelation. Craig only stared back at him incredulously. “Whatever you say, man ,” 

Tweek walked over to where Craig was sitting on the bed and plopped down right next to him, back hitting the mattress with a soft ‘thump’ . He gazed down at him. Tweek had his eyes shut peacefully. It was the sunlight all over again. 

“Making yourself right at home, aren’t you?” Craig remarked. At first, Tweek didn’t react or reply. Almost as if he were taking in the sheer atmosphere of the room through closed eyes. His hand twitched with the urge to cover Tweek’s eyelids. So strange. 

“Play something,” Tweek suddenly hummed. Taken slightly aback, Craig nearly scoffed and leaned back on his palms. The thought unsettled him. Playing his instrument in front of someone. For someone . He couldn’t even envision himself playing the guitar in front of anyone, let alone Tweek. Upon receiving no reply, Tweek opened his eyes. He sat up and leaned against his elbows to face Craig. 

“The guitar,” He clarified, as if Craig played any other instruments, “Can’t you play it?” He glanced over to the instrument still discarded on the floor. Sunlight reflected off of the cool wood. He shook his head.

“ Pfft , uhh, yeah.” Craig tried to play it off, hoping Tweek would drop it. 

“Come on, you know what I mean,” Tweek tilted his head. “Play something for me.” 

The smile Craig hadn’t even noticed faded off his face. “I don’t do that.” The response was immediate, like a reflex. Craig hated himself for that. 

Tweek frowned. “What do you mean ‘ you don't do that ’?” He dropped his voice into a lower tone as he echoed Craig’s voice. Was that supposed to be an impression of me? If he didn’t feel so awkward right now, he probably would have found it endearing. Still, he couldn’t do it.

“It means I won’t be playing.” He stated, tilting his head back at Tweek, whose frown only deepened. “ Ever ?”

The blood in his veins melted . Would he ever let Tweek hear that part of him? If he let him know about that, would he still be able to keep himself from revealing too much? It could all go so wrong, so ugly. He couldn’t mess it up again. Not one more thing. 

For a moment, they just looked at each other; Tweek making sad-puppy eyes and Craig trying his hardest not to promise anything he couldn’t keep. Instead, he exhaled through his nose and changed the subject. 

“What’s up with you?” Craig asked. Tweek recoiled with a frown. Shit. Had that sounded accusatory? 

“What the fucks up with you, I just wanted to hear–” 

“ –No, I mean, what’s up with you? Like, what’s going on?” He clarified. Tweek just blinked in confusion. "I'm… good ?” 

Craig bit his lip lightly. “You didn’t wanna go home today.” 

Tweek’s eyes almost glazed over at that, not really looking at Craig anymore. He stayed like that for a moment. Such a long moment, that Craig began to worry if he’d maybe overstepped a boundary. He fidgeted with the blanket. 

“You don’t have to tell me. If you don’t wanna.” He tried his best to soften his voice. Tweek slowly perked up at that, raising his gaze from where it had slowly fallen. Light streamed in through the window behind him. 

“My cousin’s been staying with us. For a while.” He finally said. He looked away and breathed for a second, before continuing. “I guess I’m just… tired of being around him.” 

“Is he an asshole?” Craig asked. Tweek huffed out a breath that was probably supposed to be a laugh, before looking back at Craig again. “That would be an understatement. But my parents insist on letting him stay until my aunt gets her shit together.” He grimaced. “It’s so weird, I can’t help but feel bad for him. Like– It’s not his fault he grew up in such a shitty environment, but…” He trailed off, head twitching to the side.

“That’s what makes you better than him,” Craig said, surprising himself. Tweek was silent, almost urging him to continue. “I mean,” He scratched the back of his neck, “I obviously don’t know everything about you, but you’ve probably had shitty things happen to you, and you’re probably one of the most level-headed people I know.” At some point, he’d shifted his gaze to his hands, still fidgeting and picking at the light blue blanket beneath him. He wasn’t sure where the words had come from, but he knew that they were true. Tweek had forgiven him for being an asshole, helped him through a rather embarrassing – but scary – freak-out, and overall just been… nice to him. It’s more than Craig had ever done for anyone, but if he tried to compare himself to the average person everyday, let alone Tweek, he’d probably only come to the conclusion that he deserved to be put down for the things he’d done. Which was an exaggeration. Probably. 

“...Did you fall and hit your head or something?” Tweek asked, a smile evident in his tone. When Craig looked up, he’d laid back down onto his side. “You’re being all nice again.” 

Craig scoffed, but there was no bite in it. “Don’t get used to it.” 

…

Soft laugh tracks trailed from the TV. Craig was half-asleep, back against the headboard of the bed. Tweek was sprawled out across the bed next to him, blanket over him. After stealing a pizza each from Trisha and his mom, they’d put on some comedy show as, mostly for white-noise. They’d been chatting idly through mouthfuls of food, but now, they’d grown quiet. Craig didn’t even have the energy to think, but Tweek showed no signs of falling asleep – he’d been softly sighing and silently complaining after every bad joke. It wasn’t annoying though. It was more entertaining than the show itself; waiting for the punchline, then listening to Tweek cursing or flatly uttering a ‘ Ha. ha. ’ 

Almost as if on cue, another laugh track played, followed by a groan. “Oh my god .”

Craig shifted, mostly to keep himself awake, and crossed his arms. It stung, but he let them sit that way. “I didn’t hear the joke,” He grumbled, voice hoarse. 

“Something about a banana and a horse, don’t even worry ‘bout it,” Tweek said into his hands. Craig looked down at him, mumbling a ‘ what?, but Tweek waved him off. 

A long moment passed where no one said anything at all. Craig couldn’t make out the words coming out of the comedian’s mouth, and Tweek stopped reacting. For a moment, he wondered if he fell asleep after all, before he made a sound. 

“Isn’t it weird how it’s all just dead people laughing. Like we’re just listening to it?” Tweek said. Craig strangely felt more awake at that, and turned to look at him. “ The fuck ?”

“No–but like– these recordings are old, like really old, so all those people must be dead by now.” He tried to reason. Craig just shook his head in exasperation. 

“You’re weird dude,” He pushed off the headboard and rubbed at his shoulder. It was getting warm in here. He felt the mattress move beneath him as Tweek turned to look at him. “Yeah, but it’s true. It’s not weird to say something that’s true.”  

Craig sighed at him, eyelids drooping. He briefly wondered if it would be safe to sleep tonight. No weird dreams or anything. Then, he began tugging off his hoodie. “It’s still a really morbid thing to say…” He mumbled tiredly, pulling his hoodie completely off. He stood up from the bed, and tossed the hoodie on the floor, searching for a t-shirt to wear. He felt the cold air, and Tweek’s gaze nipped against his back, and against his better judgement, he turned to glance at him. His face warmed. Tweek wasn’t really looking at him, but at his now exposed chest. Tiredness must be catching up to him, because he just laid there. Head against the pillow. Craig froze awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what to do, even though he knew he needed to find something to put on. Then, Tweek met his eyes. His eyes widened slightly in realization before he glanced downwards again, like he’d been caught. Then, he frowned. It deepened, and his face fell. Confused, Craig tried to figure out what he was looking at. He followed his gaze, until it landed on… oh.

Oh no . 

“Craig.” 

All humor and drowsiness – and even the weird warmth in his face – was completely sucked out of the room, leaving Craig a deer in headlights. His arms. The burns. 

Immediately, he moved to pick the hoodie back up from the floor. Tweek shot up, no longer relaxed. 

“ Don’t .” He uttered, and Craig didn’t. He froze again. His hands almost shook. Shame overwhelmed him. God. How could he be so stupid ? He scanned the room, eyes landing on the shirt he’d slept in the night before the trip. He walked over to it, willing his legs to carry him forward. 

“Craig– wha–” Tweek spluttered, still on the bed. “What is that ?”

Craig tried to ignore him. He grabbed the shirt and pulled it hesitantly over him. It didn’t cover his arms. He covered his face with his hands, rubbing slowly but harshly. He sucked in a breath, before dropping them and looking at Tweek. 

“Nothing. It’s old.” He tried, but Tweek’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t look angry, or sad, or even surprised. Just… disturbed? Worried? Craig couldn’t really tell. 

“It’s not nothing, and they’re clearly not old.” He said, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. Craig clenched his jaw, swallowing. Hard. He didn’t answer, because what could he even say? Now, they just stared at each other. It was clear that Tweek was trying his hardest not to look at his arms, but ultimately, he failed. He let out a breath. “Let me see.” 

“No.” Craig reacted immediately. Yet again, his voice sounded softer than he’d intended. No firmness or finality, just gentle exhaustion. He’d expected himself to be angry, or run away in a situation like this, but he didn’t. For some reason he didn’t . 

“Can you at least sit back down?” Tweek plead quietly. His words almost got swallowed up by laughter from the TV. Dead people. Laughing at nothing at all. 

Craig complied, dragging his feet towards the edge of the bed. He sat down heavily, mattress dipping. 

Once he sat down fully, he found that he wasn’t sure what to do or where to put his hands. They just hovered unsurely over the blanket Tweek had tossed over his legs. A hand clasped around his wrist. Not harshly, or carefully. 

Gently. 

Even though he didn’t want to, he let Tweek have a look at his arms. He looked with him. It was ugly. And disgusting. Some burns were scabbed over. Others were red and irritated from the friction of his clothes. Some had blisters on the edges of the marks. Disgusting. 

Tweek’s hand didn’t shake or tremble around his, contrary to Craig. He wanted to pull away. The touch almost burned him as harshly as the lighter had. In the end, he let him hold him. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted Tweek to be the one to let go. Would he miss the warmth if he wasn’t the one to let go? This was embarrassing. 

“ Why ?” Tweek whispered, still focused on the arm. “Why would you do this?” 

Craig sighed out a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. He didn’t answer. Tweek didn’t seem to care. “ Craig .”

“Look–I don’t know what you want me to say,” He tried to hiss, but it fell flat. He moved his hand away, Tweek’s fingered uncurling just as lightly as they’d clasped. “I want you to stop.” 

Craig rolled his eyes. “I have .” 

“ Oh yeah ? For how long?” He challenged. Craig met his eyes. He looked real. Whatever emotion he was feeling was real. He clamped his mouth shut, because he couldn’t lie. 

“I don’t care.” He said instead. Because that wasn’t a lie. 

“I do.” Tweek said. Craig felt his throat tightening, because of course it did. 

“No you don–” 

“Yes, I do.” Tweek interrupted. “We are not doing this again, Craig.”

Silence. Long, unbearable silence. The show had frozen on the TV. Or maybe Tweek had paused it. He wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. He sunk further into the mattress. Why did he have to fuck it all up. He just wanted to go back. Before he’d taken his stupid hoodie off. Maybe he could’ve fallen asleep to the sound of laughter, and Tweek’s annoyed mumbles and rants. It could’ve been okay. 

“Bet you regret ever coming here now.” He tried to half-joke. He ignored the way Tweek looked at him too. 

“I’m serious.” 

Okay then . 

Tweek sighed. “Look,” He began slowly, “I’m not trying to force or fix you or anything I just…” Craig looked up. “Can’t you just… Can’t you just try? Don’t do it again?” 

Craig swallowed. “How?” 

“I-I don’t know, maybe…” He trailed off, biting his lip. “Dunno. Call me. When you feel like doing it again just call me?” 

He thought about it. For a while.

“Is that okay?” Tweek tried again, softly desperate. He must be tired. So tired. The whole reason he was here was so he could escape another bad situation. Guilt flooded him. 

“Yeah… Okay.” He murmured. His throat hurt, but he continued anyway. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He murmured back. “Let’s just sleep, okay?” The air between them warmed. Just the tiniest bit. Craig could pretend it was enough. Just for now. 

Craig nodded. 

Chapter Text

His eyes opened. Again. It wasn’t dramatic or anything – they just opened. Like he’d just blinked. Maybe he had. He could never be sure. All he knew right now was that he wanted to sleep. So badly. He wanted to sleep without waking up ten times in a single night. It wasn’t even like he was being disturbed. Everything was quiet around him. His room was still dark. The bed was comfortable, and warm. Warmer than usual, actually… 

Turning his head to the right, he understood why. A light-blonde mop of hair peeked out from under the covers beside him. Tweek. He seemed to be sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling gently. Envy didn’t spark at his chest like he’d expected it would. Maybe he was too tired for that, but it did make him feel something, seeing Tweek sleep. Like… good. Good for him. Was that what he was feeling? Or was it something else? 

God, what time was it? He rubbed at his eyes and simultaneously felt around for his phone, careful not to accidentally jab at Tweek. The bed was – thankfully – large enough to fit two people without them touching, but he was still within less of an arm's reach of him. It did make the night feel better though. Or, at least better than most nights. Sure, he couldn’t sleep or even feel rested – but knowing someone else was there with him was nice. Calming.  

The light from the screen blinded him as he unlocked his phone. He closed his eyes against it, but adjusted quickly. 3:09 AM. Just great. The mattress stirred lightly. Craig turned to his right, watching as Tweek turned to his side. Still fast asleep. Now face to face, he could take in Tweek’s expression. Still and peaceful. He almost looked angel-like, blonde hair softly frayed around his head like a halo. Craig sighed, sinking into his pillow. He should try to sleep again. He closed his phone and set it down, tucking himself further into the sheets. When he closed his eyes, he tried his best not to think about his bare arms painfully grazing the fabric. He could worry about that in the morning. 

…

When he woke up again, he could immediately sense that something was missing. Maybe it was the lack of second-hand warmth, or some strange obsession; He sat up and looked to his right. Tweek was gone. A wave of unease hit him. Where had he gone? Bathroom? Downstairs? Craig rubbed at his eyes. Relax. He let his torso fold over with his head in his hands. He inhaled, exhaled, then sighed. He hadn’t even tried standing up yet and he could already feel how his body was not ready for the day. Still, he raised his head and moved to crawl out of bed. Get yourself together. 

Cool air brushed against his arms and neck as he stood up. It made him pause mid-step. His arms were uncovered. Out in the open. It didn’t hit him all at once—more like a slow, creeping realization, starting in his chest and working its way up to his throat. The blankets on Tweek’s side were still slightly rumpled, peeled back just enough, like he’d hesitated before getting up. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d sat there for a second, watching, debating whether to wake Craig up. Whether to say something else. Maybe he’d left quietly on purpose.

Craig swallowed hard. His arms. The burns. Tweek had seen them. Nearly touched them, even. A dull throb spread under his skin, like the memory alone was enough to bring the pain back. He cringed inwardly, shame pooling in his stomach. If he’d slept any less, it would’ve probably knocked him over. 

How could he be so fucking stupid? It was weird. For some reason, he hadn’t really thought about it at any point during the night. How exposed he really was. But either way, he felt it now. A familiar, dull ache crawled up his arms, raw and unpleasant. Fingers ghosted over his skin, tracing over the tender and ugly marks he – for some reason – had never bothered to patch up. The thought felt contradictory. Wasn’t the whole point of doing this to hurt? He wasn’t trying to fix himself, or take care of himself. Not at all. And why was that? 

“Why?” Tweek had asked. “Why would you do this?” 

Craig closed his eyes and swallowed. Hard. He couldn’t just stand here and think about this. There was no point. What’s done is done. Maybe he could act like it never happened. Maybe that would be for the better – if neither him or Tweek had to think or speak about this ever again. Tweek could continue being his friend without any of his baggage, and Craig could continue just… A spot on his arm throbbed. 

He exhaled. He could continue like this. It didn’t matter, in fact, he should continue like this. It was right. It was right. 

Craig picked up the hoodie he’d worn last night up from the floor. It still laid on the very same spot he’d carelessly tossed it to. He pulled it over his head. 

There was no use in standing here, thinking. He forced himself forward, one foot in front of the other, out of his room. Even though he tried to leave his thoughts behind him, they still trailed after him. He still felt the same. Maybe even worse. Moving through the hallway felt like wading through water. Walking down the stairs made him feel as if he was sinking. Down, down, down.

And somewhere, tangled in the fog of half-forgotten dreams, he remembered– 

A beautiful sunset. Someone waiting. 

He shivered. Focus on walking without face-planting, Craig. Eyes hollow and bones heavy, he took on the final steps down. 

Making his way through the living room, he began to make out a sound coming from the kitchen. Sizzles and clinking of utensils. Two familiar voices, speaking softly to one another. He slowed to a stop by the doorway. Tweek and Tricia. He blinked, and almost debated whether or not to rub at his eyes – as if what he was seeing was impossible. Realistically, it wasn’t, he knew that. It still left him surprised. 

Tricia was standing by the stove, seemingly cooking something, while Tweek sat by the kitchen table. He still looked sleepy as he nursed a mug between his hands. They were talking. Getting along, even. Sure , Tweek looked tired, but he also looked relaxed . Comfortable. He raised his eyebrows sarcastically at something Trisha said, before bringing the mug to his lips. As he took a sip, their eyes met. Tweek nearly froze mid-motion, before humming. 

“You’re up,” He said, placing the mug back down. Craig wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, but he could swear he saw Tweek’s graze flutter downwards – to his arms. Hesitantly.

Trisha turned to face him. “You’re alive.” She remarked, eyeing him up and down. Unlike Tweek, she actually wasn’t looking for something. She was just being her snarky self. Craig found himself thinking that he would never want that to change. He would never want his sister to look at him with pity. Ever. 

“Unfortunately,” He grunted sarcastically in response. Tweek gave him a frown once he sat down across the table. 

“Mom left us some money,” Trisha said as she stirred on the pan. 

“For what?” He asked, puzzled. He let his arms rest against the table. Come to think of it, she would usually be here in the morning, making breakfast for herself. 

“Get lunch. I’m going out with Karen.” She hummed. “She texted me that she had to head to the office.” 

Craig blinked. “Oh.” Tweek’s head twitched to the side sharply, before he brought the mug back to his mouth. Two of his fingers trembled against the porcelain. Was he nervous? Craig caught his gaze. The faintest flicker of worry flashed in his eyes before he averted his eyes again. Down to Craig’s covered arms. His stomach churned. Probably because he hadn’t eaten yet. Tweek closed his eyes with a soft inhale before looking away completely, towards Trisha. 

“Karen? Isn’t that Kenny’s sister?” It was a clear attempt at distraction, but Trisha didn’t seem to notice, and Craig didn’t mind. 

“Yeah, but I'm not going out with her to feel better about myself,” She stated, turning off the stove. “She's my best friend.”

Tweek chuckled, “I figured,” he paused. He looked like he was about to look towards Craig again, but didn’t. “I mean… I’ve tried to pay for Kenny at lunch a few times, but he just tells me to ‘ fuck off’ ”

Craig scoffed lightly, not at all surprised. Tweek glanced at him. “I kinda just wish he would, like… let us support him a little.” The way he trailed off and lowered his gaze did not sit right with Craig at all, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he again tried to ignore Tweeks nearly-pitying expression. 

“ I wouldn’t wanna leech off my friends,” Craig muttered. It wasn’t crazy or weird for Kenny to deny money or help – even though he shouldn’t. Craig would do the same. 

“Yeah, well you do care about him, right? You’re friends?” Tweek bit back. Craig blinked. “Sure…?” 

“So you should be on my side then.” He raised his mug and took a defiant gulp from it, all while glaring at Craig. He got the impression that Tweek wasn’t actually mad, just tired, as evidenced by his hoarse tone, and the way he clung to the mug in his hands. Presumably filled with coffee. 

He drummed his fingers against the wooden table. “You’re right… my bad.” 

They held eye contact for a moment, before Tweek sighed and muttered something about “going to the bathroom”. He rose from his seat and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Trisha and Craig alone. He watched her plate whatever food she’d been cooking. It smelled good. Maybe he should eat something. He didn’t feel hungry. Or – rather – he wasn’t in a mood to eat. Breakfast felt unnecessary. Did Tweek eat? He frowned to himself before humming, “Trish,” 

“Yeah?” She grabbed a spoon and turned to face him. 

“Did Tweek eat anything?” He asked. He regretted the question when she raised an eyebrow in response. 

“ No… ” She mused, eyeing him suspiciously, “But you can tell him to have what’s left in the pan. I made scrambled eggs.” 

He nodded and averted his gaze. That was a weird thing to ask. Or was it? God, he wasn’t sure. For some reason he never really was sure when it came to Tweek – what was alright and what was not. What was bad and what was good.

“You know,” Trisha’s slightly muffled voice broke through his thoughts. She chewed slowly with her brows furrowed, as if thinking hard. “I like this one.” 

Craig blinked. “Who? Tweek ?” 

“ M’yeah ,” She mumbled through the food in her mouth. Swallowing, she added, “I mean, he’s kinda nice.” Before Craig could even register the words she was saying, Trisha left the kitchen, leaving him alone. I like this one? Did she not like any of his other friends? Then again, the only one of his friends who had actually been to his place, let alone slept over , was Clyde. He hadn’t hung out with him in a while. Maybe that should’ve made him feel bad. Or guilty, because Clyde is his best friend. He’s been his best friend. Still, the thought of spending more than an hour with him could be likened to torture. That thought should’ve made him feel guilty, but it didn’t. He didn’t know why. 

He slid his hand under his sleeve to scratch at an itch, only to pull back with a hiss. What would’ve happened if Clyde had been to one to see what he’d done? How would he have reacted? His hands clutched against the wood. Disgust? Anger? Disappointment ? He pushed the image aside before it could overwhelm him. He hadn’t even been able to understand what Tweek had felt. 

A door clicked open and shut in the distance, followed by soft footsteps. Tweek predictably peeked through the kitchen door. Craig watched as he looked around, before sitting down on the same spot. He seemed to note Trishas absence, but didn’t say anything. The coffee didn’t steam anymore. 

“There’s scrambled eggs left in the pan,” Craig murmured, “If you're hungry.” 

…

The cigarette burned between his lips. They’d decided to head out – do something, Tweek had nagged. Craig didn’t really understand, because there was nothing to do in South Park. Absolutely nothing. So they’d headed for one of the many run-down playgrounds in the neighborhood, and shared a cigarette. It was Tweek’s, but he’d offered to share it. He knew that Craig had his own. Craig knew that he knew that. They both understood , but it still made him confused. Life gets you twisted like that . 

“Could you imagine seeing a teacher here?” Craig mused as he passed the cigarette. Soft wind made the swings creak unpleasantly. Tweek shot him a look. “No, and I don’t want to.” He took a drag, holding his gaze as if he was about to say something. 

Fun fact, he thought to himself – Tweek almost always exhaled the smoke through gritted teeth. He couldn’t recall ever seeing someone else doing that, ever. It was a Tweek thing. Like the way he fidgeted was a Tweek thing. 

“Knock on wood?” Tweek piped, holding out the cigarette. 

Craig hesitated. “Huh?” 

“You knock on wood right? Like, to not jinx it?” He clarified. Craig took the cigarette, inhaled the smoke. He exhaled through his nose, with his mouth shut. “I guess.” 

“So why aren’t you doing it?” Tweek said, almost sounding accusatory. Craig frowned, inspecting the lit end of the cigarette. “Kinda feels too late now…”

Tweek glared. “Is there a time limit?” 

“Well, I–” Craig stammared, then stopped. Where was this even heading? “What’s up with you ?” He challenged, handing him back the cigarette. His fingers itched to put it out, but he didn’t. Besides, they weren’t done smoking it. 

“Jesus, nothing !” Tweek snatched the cigarette from his fingers. “I just feel like you’re jinxing me right now…” 

Craig could only stare at him dumbly as he smoked. “Did you not sleep well, or is something actually up?” He obviously knew about Tweek’s panic disorder, but he’d never heard about his mundane, and underlying troubles. Judging by his grogginess and the almost purple skin under his eyes, Tweek probably wasn’t a good sleeper – but he wanted to hear it from him. He just wanted to listen. To distract himself from the urge to press the cigarette bum against his skin. 

Tweek looked down, to his hands, before sighing. He held his left leg against his chest, and leaned his head against his knee. He looked comfortable. Physically. Maybe not mentally. 

“Both, if we’re being honest here.” He mumbled, taking a drag. Inhale. Exhale. Craig watched as he parted his lips, gritted his teeth. “I mean, I sleep my eight hours or whatever… But it’s never enough.” 

Craig gnawed at the inside of his cheek. “Maybe you should get off school for a week – let yourself catch up?” It must’ve been a stupid suggestion, because Tweek snorted. He almost choked on the smoke. 

“Skip school for a week? My parents would rather have me kill myself over that.” He shook his head with a smile. It didn’t sit right, but Craig didn’t say anything. He lowered his gaze and watched as Tweek brought the cigarette to his lips again. He caught his gaze, then perked up. 

“Shit, I’m hogging it–” He hissed out the smoke before offering Craig what was left of the cigarette. “Take the rest,” 

Craig raised a brow. “You know it’s your cigarette, right?” He pressed it between his lips, as opposed to his knuckles. God, what are you? An addict? Surely you can go more than twenty-four hours without burning your skin off. 

“Yeah, well I wanted to share it,” Tweek nearly whined – like a little kid, he thought. “It’s nicer that way…” 

For a moment, he just looked at Tweek. Looked at him as he looked at the forgotten playground before them. Their surroundings almost seemed to pale in comparison to the boy he was looking at. He could feel himself paling too – into nothing. It wouldn’t surprise him if he was slowly turning opaque, because at that moment, all he could think of was ‘ why?’

Why would Tweak out of all people, want to spend time with Craig? They weren’t studying, or even talking about school, neither were they doing anything cool or exciting. They were just… hanging out. Tweek was hanging out at the most boring playground ever, with the most boring guy ever. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, fidgeted. 

He looked away from Tweek, his blonde hair and the light blue sweater peeking out from under his jacket. He wished he had his notebook with him. Craig didn’t have any words in mind, but he knew that there was something he wanted to write down. 

The urge to write did not drown out his previous thoughts. The hot end of the cigarette trailed dangerously close to the delicate skin of his palm, and he debated on letting it scorch him. He could blame it on clumsiness, say “I dropped it,” and let it be the end of that. He wanted to do it, he needed to do it. Therefore, it’s fine. Once more wouldn’t hurt–

“Don’t even think about it.” Tweek tone, previously light and airy, had flipped. He didn’t sound angry or accusatory, but softly assertive. Craig tightened his grip around the cigarette. 

“What’re you talking about…” He said. The sentence didn’t really sound like a question, because he knew what Tweek was talking about. Obviously. 

“Don’t bullshit me, dude,” Tweek scoffed. He didn’t look at him, but Craig could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. Like he was holding back. “I know you don’t want to, but I don’t care–we gotta talk about this.” 

Craig closed his eyes and turned away. He slumped against the bench. “We did.” 

“ Oh , you can hardly count that as a conversation,” Tweek argued. 

Craig whipped his head to glare at him. “What, you want a fucking PowerPoint?”

“Oh my god , you’re unbelievable.” Tweek rolled his eyes and sighed, the ghost of a smile only momentarily visible. Craig’s entry to the panic room – and he ran for it. “C’mon, I’ll even add in a little animation; Slide in from left: ‘ Craig is perfectly fine actually!’”

“But you’re not.” 

Tweek held his gaze. Firmly. “Come on,” There was no easy escape. No excuse. “ Talk to me .” 

Craig bounced his knee, rubbed his thigh, then up his forearms. It burned and it cleared his mind. Cleared it from thoughts of giving in – talking about it. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing. 

“Are you hungry?” He didn’t wait for Tweek to respond, or even react, before he stood up. “Let’s grab a bite somewhere.” 

Tweek hesitated. He looked sad, but not obviously so. There was the slightest shine in his eyes, the smallest furrow in his brow. Craig couldn’t bear it, so he looked away. 

“Sure.” Tweek sighed. 

Chapter Text

The only logical place to “grab a bite” in South Park was Hank’s burger. A shitty, old and dirty burger joint that probably should’ve shut down five years ago – but it was cheap, and at the end of the day a burger was a burger. It was also the place most highschoolers of South Park went to hang out, other than The Studio or Sycamore street. 

The Studio and Sycamore street were two sides of the same coin. You went there to party, which is why Craig steered clear of them. He’d been to a party at Sycamore street once. Just once – and it made him determined to never return again. 

Tweek was unusually quiet next to him as they walked. He kept his gaze straight ahead, or on the pavement. He’s just hungry, Craig told himself. It had been a while since they last ate. Things would go back to normal soon again. Tweek would go back to normal. Still, he knew it wasn’t true. Even if Tweek was hungry, he would’ve been whining and complaining by now. Not dragging his feet behind him. 

Craig’s heart hurt.

When had they even gotten close to the point of hanging out like this? Or even close enough for Craig to feel this guilty over… what? Something he chose to do to himself?

It’s what he wants to do, so why should he care what Tweek thinks?

Tweek suddenly stopped walking. Craig did the same, looking over his shoulder. Tweek was grimacing, but it wasn’t directed towards Craig. Rather, he was looking past him. He followed his gaze to a dull, ratty building with a flickering sign above it: Hank’s Burger.

“Are we really eating there ?” Tweek asked. Craig turned back to him. “You know a better place?” 

Craig expected – or hoped – Tweek would argue back. Throw in a snide remark, either towards the diner or Craig himself, but none came. He was silent. Tweek gave him a look—quiet, unreadable—and sighed, the sound barely audible over the wind. Like he’d given up. 

They crossed the parking lot. Even Tweek’s footsteps were quiet. 

Once they stepped inside the burger joint, the atmosphere instantly flipped on its head. The quiet, gloomy nothingness of the outside turned into stiff air, loud chatter and the smell of grease. It wasn’t an appealing or appetizing smell, but it reminded Craig that he had in fact skipped breakfast this morning. Again. He felt his stomach rumble, the noise thankfully getting lost in the murmurs and laughs before him. 

They walked up to the front, facing the menu. Craig glanced sideways to see Tweek squinting as he read. Then, he glanced back at him. 

“What, you already know what you’re getting?” Tweek frowned. 

Craig only shrugged. “I’ve been here enough times with Clyde that I could probably recite the whole menu.” 

“Oh.” Tweek quirked his brows, then turned to continue analyzing the menu. 

Oh? That's it? Craig pushed away his – completely absurd – disappointment, and turned to scan for an empty booth. Most of them were already filled, except for one in the–

“Yo!” 

Kenny’s voice cut through the clatter of utensils and chatter. He was sitting with Stan and Kyle near the back, wedged into a booth that looked like it might collapse if someone so much as breathed wrong. 

Stan raised his hand in a lazy wave. Kyle just stared. Tweek perked up a little. Hesitated. Craig did the same. 

“You wanna go sit?” His voice came out lower than intended. Careful. Like he didn’t want to spook him. 

Tweek’s eyes flickered between him and the others. He shrugged. “Sure.” 

They slid into the booth. Craig next to Tweek, across from Stan and Kyle. Kenny sat wedged into a corner, picking on a small plate of fries. The three of them seemed to still be in the middle of eating, but Stan and Kyle had both ordered full meals, compared to Kenny. 

“I’m not sure I ever expected seeing the two of you together,” Stan remarked. 

Craig quirked a brow. “ Really ?” He said sarcastically. Tweek shifted beside him with a scoff. 

“That’s ‘cause he’s holding me hostage.” He matched Craig’s tone. It alleviated some of his unease. Kenny snickered, slapping Stan’s shoulder lightly in a ‘ see? I told you’ kind of way. Kyle, on the other hand, wasn’t amused. He kept chewing, eyes locked on Craig like he was waiting to say something. Maybe ask what his problem was. But before he could, Stan raised his hand, calling for a waiter. 

It was a girl, probably not much older than themselves. 

“These guys would like to order,” Stan informed her with a smile, almost sounding cheery. Craig looked up at him. He looked relaxed. Too relaxed. His gaze flickered to Kenny, who’s smile seemed to falter a little. Did he know about Stan? Was he aware of what was going on, right now? The half empty plastic bottle in Stan’s grasp screamed at him. 

“And you?” 

Craig’s head snapped up, meeting the eyes of the waitress. 

“Oh–uh…” He stammered, briefly staring down at the menu on the table before shaking his head. “I’ll have the same as him,” He gestured towards Tweek. 

The waitress nodded and excused herself. He felt Tweek shake beside him. Turning his head, he saw that it was laughter . Tweek was laughing – probably at his expense, but still . He was finally easing up. 

“Real smooth of you,” Tweek said through giggles. 

Craig frowned, but his mouth still quirked. “ What ?” 

“Oh- uh -uh–” Kenny mocked from across the table. Stan almost choked on his water–or–whatever as he drank from the bottle. “Didn’t know you were into blondes,” Kenny teased. Craig could’ve sworn that his gaze flickered to Tweek as he said that. Blondes.

“I’m not. She wasn’t even blonde.” He flatly said. 

“Alright, you know what?” Kenny raised his hands in mock surrender, “My bad. You’re right, brunettes do it better,” 

Craig rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.” But there was no real venom behind his words. 

Tweek nudged him lightly, grinning “See, now you’re being mean,” 

“Well I didn’t sit down here just for you guys to shit on me,” He shot back. Kenny perked up, pointing a fry at him. “You’re absolutely right, but we actually do have something to discuss.” 

Stan’s face lit up in recognition. “Yes! I nearly forgot.”

Craig cautiously glanced between them. “...What?” 

Kenny chewed slowly, then cleared his throat. “Our band – Spar – we need a singer–.” 

“-- and another guitarist,” Stan cut in. 

Kenny nodded, then shrugged. “That too. You should come rehearse with us sometime.” 

Craig blinked. “No.” 

Tweek kicked his foot under the table, making him flinch. He shot a frown at Tweek, who just gave him an insistent look. Come on, he seemed to say.  When his foot didn’t move away, he sighed, turning back to the others. “Look, I’ve–” 

“I told you . Just move on, alright?” Kyle snapped, turning to Kenny and Stan. Stan looked like he was about to say something, but Tweek was faster. 

“What’s your problem?” Now it was Craig’s turn to kick him. 

“My problem is I don’t like the guy – never have. I don’t want him in the band.” Kyle argued, crossing his arms. 

In his peripheral vision, Craig saw the waitress return with two plates, silently placing them down in front of him and Tweek. She swiftly moved away, probably sensing the tension at the table. Smart move. 

“What have I ever done to you ?” Craig asked. Kyle’s gaze shot towards him, mouth opening. Nothing came out. 

Craig sighed. “Okay–look. I don’t even know what kind of band you’re supposed to be, what you’re playing or whatever, but I’m really not a great singer.” 

“Well you don’t have to be great,” Kenny interjected, “You just have to be better than Stanley over here.” He gestured to Stan, who was in the middle of taking another swig from his bottle. Craig felt himself grow uneasy watching him. He was just drinking. Water. Hopefully. 

Craig looked away from Stan’s bottle, to his own plate instead. He wasn’t even hungry. Tweek brought his own plate closer, stabbing his fork into something green. 

“We don’t need Elton John,” Kenny insisted, leaning over the table slightly. “We just need someone who can hold a note without sounding like they’re dying.” 

Stan scoffed, setting down the bottle. “I’m sitting right here,” 

“Yeah, I know.” Kenny said sympathetically, patting Stan’s arm almost comfortingly. 

Kyle scoffed. “We’re not seriously considering this? He’s not even played with us once.” 

“That’s kind of the point of a rehearsal, dude.” Tweek said after swallowing. 

Kyle recoiled with a disgusted expression. “You don’t even know him–” 

“Do you? ” Tweek countered, and it landed heavier than expected. Kyle’s jaw twitched. Still, Tweek continued. “You don’t even have a reason to hate him so much, just back off.” 

Kyle just opened and closed his mouth, scoffing. There hadn’t even been any bite to Tweek’s words – he just spoke matter-of-factly. Craig felt the need to do something – so he nudged Tweek’s foot again. This time softly, a way of saying ‘ thanks, it’s no big deal’. Tweek turned to nod towards Craig’s plate – ‘ yeah, eat your food’ .

Silence settled over the table. He looked down at his plate again. Picking up his burger, he sighed. “Look, let's not argue, that’s not why we’re here.” He took a bite, just to do something. It tasted dry in his mouth. 

“Good,” Kenny said. “Because I wasn’t asking earlier. Rehearsals on Saturday.” 

Craig nearly choked, then snorted. “Yeah, sure.” He felt Tweek’s leg press next to his insistently. He didn’t turn to look at him. 

“Craig we’re despe… rate,” Stan said slowly, nearly stumbling over his words. “And you’re good.” 

Craig automatically glanced at Tweek, who gave him a small shrug. Why not? Just try it. 

He rested his head against his palm. Ran his fingers through his hair. 

“I don’t know–I’ll… I’ll think about it.”  

…

The air outside had cooled since they last went in. The sky was a pale slate, dusk brimming on its edges, and a soft breeze blew past them. Craig shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. He liked the cold. It was quiet, in a good way. He knew by now that Tweek didn’t. He was shivering and huffing in displeasure as they walked. Sometimes their shoulders would brush. Neither moved away. 

“I pretty much agreed to that rehearsal, didn’t I?” He muttered, kicking a stray rock on the ground. 

Tweek breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, I mean…” He paused, clearing his throat. “You said ‘I’ll think about it’ but you sounded pretty sure.” 

Craig shot him a look. “I’m blaming you when it all goes to shit.” Tweek laughed, eyes crinkled. Familiar warmth bubbled in his chest. 

“Maybe it won’t,” Tweek shrugged. “Maybe–you know… I think that this would be good for you.”

Craig blinked. Not because he didn’t hear him, or because what he said surprised him. He just… paused. 

“...Is this about last night?” He asked cautiously. Tweek glanced at him, before sighing. “I don’t know how you could expect me to not think about it.” 

“No, It’s not that–I’m not–” He shook his head. “You know what? You think too much.” 

Tweek scoffed. “No shit, It’s almost like I’m medicated for it.” He turned to look at Craig, who shied away from his gaze. A pause stretched between them where no one said anything. It wasn’t awkward, it was just… full. It was just them, and the scratching of their feet against the pavement. Until Tweek sighed. 

“You’re hurting yourself.” He stated. “I mean, fuck – you’re burning yourself, Craig. And I don’t get why–or even how– you would do that to yourself.” Craig looked up, meeting his eyes. He looked pained, as if Craig had burned him. He swallowed. Hard. 

Tweek shook his head. “And I guess you don’t need to explain yourself, but the thought of you doing it again, I just–” He paused, taking a breath. “It’s sickening.” 

Craig looked at his shoes. The frayed laces. He wasn’t sure he understood it all either. 

“You really care about me, huh?” He mumbled sarcastically, trying his hardest to keep his tone casual. Careful not to let him hear how his voice shook. 

He could almost hear Tweek rolling his eyes. “I do actually. Deal with it.” 

Chapter Text

Tweek (8:26 AM)

Hey, can’t study this evening

Something came up

Craig shut his locker, not bothering to grab his textbooks. He didn’t feel like going to class. Not because of the text – he’d known this would be a bad day from the moment he woke up. The text was just further proof of his gut feeling being right. He opened his phone, tapping out a response. 

You (8:27 AM)

why

something happen?

“Yo, Craig!” Kenny’s voice echoed across the empty hallway. He walked with his hands stuffed in his pockets, demeanor completely relaxed. “You skippin’?”

Craig shut his phone and pocketed it, shrugging. “Kinda,” he said, falling into step next to Kenny. 

They walked in silence for a moment. It was quiet, safe for the faint sounds of conversation coming from the bathrooms – other kids skipping. Craig could make out what sounded like a movie playing from one of the classrooms. 

“So what’s up? You alright?” Kenny asked casually. 

Craig felt his phone buzz in his pocket, but he ignored it. “What do you mean?” 

“I thought your days of skipping classes were over. And…” He trailed off, eyeing Craig with an unreadable expression. “I dunno. You look tired.” 

He paused to glance at Kenny, who looked back at him. Blank expression. It wasn’t threatening or unfriendly, just patient and unfeeling. 

“I am tired.” Craig responded flatly.

“Yeah, I know,” Kenny breathed out, patting Craig lightly on the back. “Have a smoke with me and you’ll feel better.” 

They ended up on the bleachers by the football field. It was empty, save for two girls running laps on the track. Craig twirled the cigarette in his hand gingerly between his fingers. 

“So what’s up?” Craig asked. The words hung in the air for a moment, before Kenny cleared his throat. 

“Nothin’, nothin’...” He mumbled, trailing off at the end. Then, abruptly, he added: “Stan’s been drinking. A lot.” He wiped at his mouth quickly before taking another drag from his cigarette, as if he surprised himself with the confession. Even his fingers trembled ever so slightly. 

Craig frowned. “...I know.” 

Kenny frowned harder. “You do? Since when?” 

“I dunno, a week or two ago? It’s pretty fucking obvious.” Craig exhaled, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “At Hank’s Burger too.” 

Kenny sighed, slumping against the wooden bleachers. 

“I feel like… like I need to do something about it, you know?” He turned towards Craig. “I mean he’s just wasting himself away! Yeah, life’s shit, so what? Everyone’s got something to deal with.” he paused, letting the smoke out. “I mean you’ve had…” 

He gestured vaguely with his cigarette at Craig – hesitant, like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Trouble lately… But you’re not being stupid about it. He’s just… giving up. On everything.” 

Craig ignored the way his arm stung. “Yeah.” 

Something akin to regret shifted in Kenny’s expression. “How are things, by the way?” 

“Fine.” He spoke through the smoke in his mouth. 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Tweek, right? He’s cool.” Kenny urged. 

Craig took a drag from the cigarette. “You sound like my mom.” 

His flat voice grated against his own ears. Heavy and ugly, but faint enough to float away with the wind. Kenny eyed him wearily. He continued to smoke his cigarette without a word. He must be tired as well, but if Craig commented on his eye bags, or the way his jacket seemed looser than usual, he'd probably just say something stupid or crack a joke. Not that Craig would ask him about it. That's not something he does.

A small 'ping!' broke through the silence, evidently a notification from Kenny’s phone as he pulled it out. He read off his phone screen, before standing up with a sigh. 

“Look – I need to go deal with something, I’ll see you later, alright?” He began climbing down the bleachers before Craig could answer, only turning back to shout: “Band practice saturday!”

Right. Band practice on saturday. Shoulders slumped, he cursed under his breath. 

Disappointment clawed at Craig relentlessly as he later opened his locker, thinking over and over again about how there wouldn't be a boring study session today, and that he'd get to go home early today. Awesome. He slung his backpack over his shoulder. Why did it not feel awesome? Instead of relief, all he'd felt all day was the same dreading feeling of something missing. Did he really miss hanging out with Tweek that much? It's not like he didn't have any friends, or no one to talk to.

"Hey!"

Craig looked past his locker door to find Clyde in a sea of students. He walked over to Craig with a dumb smile and ruffled at his hair as soon as he got close.

"Off to go study? Tweek made you a nerd," He teased. Craig jabbed him at his side. Clyde flinched away.

"Nope." He closed his locker. Clyde frowned. That too, made him look dumb. "He's not in today."

Clyde's frown deepened as he thought, then his face lit up. "So that's why you've been weirder today!" Now it was Craig's turn to dumbly frown. Even though part of him knew what Clyde would answer, he still asked: "What do you mean?"

Clyde began to walk towards the school exit, Craig hesitantly following.

"Well for starters I haven't been able to reach you all day—" Craig passively pulled out his phone from his hoodie pocket, seeing that Clyde had indeed called twice and texted him five times. "—and you weren't in our only class together this morning so… wait,"

Clyde stopped right as they got to the exit doors. "Did you even eat lunch?"

Craig stopped too. He recounted his day. Morning walk to school. Arrival at school. Text from Tweek. Skip class and smoke with Kenny. Listen to music—right!

Craig snapped his finger. "I did have lunch."

"You think?" Clyde asked, unimpressed. "What, when and where?"

Relax man you're not my mom. "Uhh… granola bar and apple."

"What are you? Three years old?" Clyde suddenly snickered, "And AN apple."

Craig rolled his eyes, taking the final step to push open the door. "Oh shut up."

Clyde had driven to school that day. He asked him if he'd like a ride home, like he always did when he had his car. Craig usually declined. Today was the usual day. He wished Clyde would stop fawning over him. Or— fawning was the wrong word, but saying 'I wish Clyde would stop caring about me so much' would be weird. And kind of depressing.

Clyde wasn't the protective type, he nurtured. Being a nurse or something or other would really suit him. He'd do a much better job at it than most of the retired high school mean girls do currently in the field. Even though he was a bit dumb, he never asked dumb or prying questions. It must be why their friendship had lasted so long. They both had their outbursts from time to time, but they always managed to solve it without really talking about it. Craig was satisfied with that. Besides, all the reassurance Clyde seemed to need from Craig (in order to be sure that he was still alive) was any kind of contact.

A small wave of guilt hit him, nearly perfectly timed with his step as he walked. Barely there, but it shouted at him still. You ignored him all day. You made him worry and think for nothing. That's so stupid.

He could've picked up his phone, seen the texts and responded. Well, what if Clyde wasn't worried. He sighed. It was stupid.

Even as he eventually, somehow, found himself in his room… Wait… What? He blinked a few times, fully feeling his eyes adjust to the light in his room, or lack there of. Since when did he get home? He couldn't recall closing the door behind him, or walking up the stairs, or—hell even the entire walk home was a big black hole in his memory. Thinking even further back, he couldn't even remember most of his school day at all. He remembered skipping with Kenny, and the vaguest memory of lunch at the backside with his headphones blasting music right into his ears after Kenny had left, but what happened next? Did he go to class? Probably, but again, he couldn't. Remember.

He stood up from his bed he'd apparently been sitting on and paced slowly across his bedroom. His stomach went cold and he could feel his jaw tightening. It almost felt like he'd swallowed ice. He carded through his hair with a faintly shaking hand. Again. And again. And again. The hand itched and he tugged at his hair. Walking in circles and circles and circles. Should he open a window? Again and again and again he tries to forget. Or should he punch it? Again and again and again. Where's my lighter?

'Ping!'

He stopped dead in his tracks. His phone lit up behind him on the bed.

'Ping, ping, ping!'

He walked over to his bed and picked up his phone. 8:10 pm. Surprisingly late. Another notification lit up his screen. A text from Tweek.

Tweek (8:09 PM)

Not really.

Well maybe.

It's none of your business honestly don't worry.

I did not mean that in a rude way btw.

Craig sat down again, leaning back to let himself fully lay down. His heartbeat had picked up a little, most likely from the spiral he almost got himself in. His hand still itched but now his stomach felt… Warm. Inhale. Exhale.

Worry. The word bounced around in his head. Everyone was worrying today. Maybe it was the moody weather. Maybe that was why he couldn't remember the right things. He heard ocean waves crash against his ears, like it would through a seashell.

He tapped out a message, thinking before he clicked send.

You (8:12 PM)

are you sick or something

kinda left me hanging tday

Tweek (8:12 PM)

No I'm not sick

And sorry about that

You (8:12 PM)

sorry?

Tweek (8:13 PM)

Well yeah.

I didn't expect to be not going to school you know

It was kinda last minute

You (8:13 PM)

what happened

Tweek (8:15 PM)

Aren't you nosy

You (8:15 PM)

you have piqued my interest

why cant you tell me

Tweek (8:15 PM)

I can

You (8:15 PM)

so tell me

Tweek (8:16 PM)

It's a long story.

You (8:16 PM)

i know how to read

Tweek (8:17 PM)

I'm too lazy to type it out

He rolled over to his side, gnawing at his lip in thought. His mind wandered to the lighter probably tucked away somewhere on his desk from last night. The thought of already losing to himself the night before made Craig want to set himself on fire. A wave of deja nu washed over him. He looked back at the still open messages on his phone. Maybe talking with Tweek would clear his mind some more.

You (8:20 PM)
call?

Chapter Text

He stared at the message he'd sent Tweek only a few seconds ago and cringed. Call? Really Craig? His head tingled with what felt like anticipation. No response came. He let his phone close and threw it to the opposite side of the bed and laid face-down against the mattress. Craig sighed. Did he really think he'd get Tweek Tweak on the phone? After everything he'd done it really was hard to know if they really were friends or not. Craig really found himself relaxing in Tweek's company, and it would be a lie to say that he didn't enjoy it. But he didn't have to speak for Tweek anyway. The world would keep spinning. He could calm down on his own.

Suddenly the phone began to buzz loudly. Way too loud. Craig had to rush to push himself off of the mattress and grab his phone to silence it, only to be met with Tweek's name on the screen.

He froze, then clicked accept before he could get the chance to second guess himself. This is what he wanted. Don't be nervous. He put the phone on speaker, carefully holding the phone with both hands. To anyone curious it might've looked like he was handling an active grenade.

"Hello?" Tweek's voice broke through. Craig relaxed.

"Hey."

Silence.

"So, did you just wanna hear me breathe or…?" Tweek coughed awkwardly. He cringed, fighting the urge to punch himself in the face. "No—I mean I thought, that, like—"

"Whoa dude," He interrupted, "Slow down. Breathe?"

Craig coughed out a laugh. He hated the light feeling in his stomach. It made him feel weak. Still, he took a breath.

"You said you were too lazy to type everything out—about why you were home today y'know—and well," He pressed his lips together, hesitating, before continuing, "I kinda also just wanted to talk to you."

Tweek was silent. For a bit too long. Craig almost began to worry he'd said something stupid. Had he made Tweek uncomfortable? Maybe he thought he was trying to hit on him. Heat rose to his neck and face. 'I just wanted to talk to you' sounded way too needy on second thought. Maybe he should hang up.

"Really?" He finally said. One word. Craig couldn't gauge what it meant from tone alone.

"…Yeah," Craig relented. Tweek chuckled on the other line. "What? What's weird about that?"

"No, nothing—just—" He heard Tweek sigh lightly. "Never thought I'd hear something like that from you. It's almost sweet."

Craig rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Oh please," He leaned back until his head hit a pillow. Once he felt comfortable, he let his phone rest on his chest, just underneath his chin. Hands resting on his stomach. "I've always been like this so I honestly can't see how you're acting all surprised."

"Yeah right," Tweek snorted. His voice made the phone vibrate lightly against Craig's chest. It felt nice. He liked the sound. He'd always liked the sound of people laughing, but this was different. It made him feel all light in his stomach again, like when you reach the top of the roller-coaster and suddenly plunge downwards again. "I mean… You've been nicer," Tweek continued.

Craig paused. "What?"

"It's been easier to talk to you—and, er… I dunno." Tweek stammered. "Sometimes you still feel like a robot to me though."

Wow. Okay. At a loss for words, Craig just laid there, staring up into the ceiling. A robot. Shame pooled at his stomach. Was that what Tweek thought of him? Sure, he might not talk with much emotion or talk that much at all, but…

He heard rustling from the other end. "You still there?" Tweek asked, voice smaller then it was before.

Craig cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah."

"Sorry, was that weird? That was weird." He said. "I shouldn't have said that—I was trying to joke, I think? I—"

"No, Tweek, it's alright."

"No it's not—"

"Yes it is." Craig said, voice a little louder. There was another beat of silence, and he cursed himself for it. "…Besides, you're right."

It took another moment before Tweek responded with a tentative: "What?"

Craig opened his mouth to explain himself, only to swallow his words instead.

"Craig I really don't know why I said that I swear." Tweek tried to reassure him. "Really, it's just stuff people say in school."

"People have a lot to say about me in school." Craig huffed. Tweek coughed out a small laugh but continued to talk nonetheless.

"I guess I mean that I have a hard time understanding you… but I know you're kind," He explained. "And I think you have emotions."

Now it was Craig's turn to laugh. A warm feeling spread across his chest, and he couldn't erase the smile on his face even after he stopped laughing. He pressed his cold palm against his forehead. It was almost hot to the touch. Come to think of it, his whole body seemed flushed with warmth. Eyes landing on the bedroom window, he stood up, phone in hand to walk over to it.

"When are you gonna sleep?" Tweek asked from the other end. The thought hadn't even crossed Craig's mind. He wasn't really tired at all. With his free hand, Craig fought with the window's handle to get it open.

"Uh— dunno," He grunted, "I'm not really—" He broke off as the window flung open, nearly falling out of it in the haste. Craig breathed out in relief. "…Sleepy."

"Me neither," Tweek hummed, completely unaware of Craig's near-death experience.

Craig took a step away from the window and sat back down onto his bed. He debated on lighting a cigarette. "Why'd you ask? Trying to find a reason to hang up on me?" He scanned around his room, trying to remember where he might've put the cigarettes.

"No…" Tweek chuckled quietly. Craig stood up and began to search. He grabbed his jacket from where it had been slung over his chair and checked the pockets. His hands felt around the familiar shape of the cigarette box, and in the other pocket the lighter. Then it all came back.

Do it, his thoughts screamed. Do it, do it, do it, do it, do it.

"You wanna hang out?"

Craig turned his head towards the phone still laying on his bed, snapping out of it.

He paused. "What, like… right now?" He glanced at the time showing on his phone. 9pm.

"Yeah, I mean, are you planning on sleeping?" Tweek asked slowly.

Craig tried to tune into his body, feeling around for any signs of fatigue. He felt exhausted, body and mind, but when did he not? Some fresh air was always nice.

"No, not really," He finally admitted, and began looking around for a hoodie to put on. "Do you have sneak out though?"

"Nah."

"Then I'm down."

…

They didn't really decide on a place to meet, only to meet each other halfway. Halfway where? Craig had no clue. So he chose to walk towards Tweek's house. In the pitch dark, his mind began to wander. He left his lighter at home, which felt stupid now, because he really wanted to light a cigarette. Smoking while walking through his barely lit neighborhood would be nice. Maybe Tweek had one on him. A drink would've been nice too. Not alcoholic or anything, just something cold.

What finally broke him from his thoughts was the small shape beginning to show in the distance. Tweek's blonde hair almost lit up under the dim streetlamps. They approached each other quietly, but as they got closer Craig could make out a small, but warm, smile on Tweek's face. He couldn't help but smile back, but was unsure if he'd give off the same genuine warmth as Tweek did.

"Hey," He began to greet, when Tweek continued to walk past him. Without turning around, he just waved for him to follow.

"Let's go," He simply said.

Craig huffed out a sigh and jogged to catch up. "Where to?"

"Supermarket. I'm really hungry."

Southpark's version of a 'supermarket' was a tiny, nearly run down store they only called a supermarket because it was the biggest grocery store they had in town. Craig honestly doubted it was still open at this time, but he decided not to say anything. He figured they'd just walk up to the gas station anyways. They'd be out for longer.

"Okay," Craig said, turning to gauge Tweek's expression. He looked relaxed, and calm. His hair was messy, but not in a bad way. It still looked good. Craig felt a twinge of something in him. Everything about Tweek was so effortless. It wasn't jealousy or admiration he felt, those emotions never made his soul ache like this.

Tweek turned his head and caught Craig's gaze. Craig looked away. He nearly stopped walking.

"What?" Tweek piped.

Craig swallowed. "What."

He could almost hear Tweek narrow his eyes. "Why're you looking at me like that?" He teased.

"Like what?" Craig challenged. Like what? He had nothing to hide. He hadn't been… eyeing him or anything.

Tweek didn't answer. The sound of their footsteps against the cold pavement filled the silence instead. Occasionally there'd be a crunch of leaves. Before he could stop himself, Craig looked to Tweek again. Their pace had slowed ever so slightly, now a more leisurely pace.

The expression on Tweek's face now confused Craig more than anything. Softly furrowed brows, slightly narrowed eyes, lips parted like he was about to say something. There was even the faintest ghost smile present. Was it intrigue, or knowing? It made his skin crawl.

"What?" He asked hesitantly.

Tweek blinked once, then shook his head. "I don't know if you're stupid or if you think I'm stupid."

Before Craig could even utter a word Tweek started laughing before grabbing at Craig's arm and dragging him along, speeding up.

"Come on now, they're gonna close before we get there!" He giggled.

True to Craig's judgement, the supermarket was indeed closed when they eventually got there. Although, it could be attributed to the fact that half of the walk there had consisted of the boys arguing about anything media related. Tweek had this habit of stopping dead in his tracks to either: A) Focus and explain something. B) Think. C) Yell at Craig, or D) Just glare at him and move on. It was funny, but he made it a point to himself to not point it out to Tweek. He didn't want him to stop doing it. Like when Craig received his first valentines day card when he was 10, and it read: "I like the way your crooked teeth show when you smile," with a smiley and a heart drawn next to it.

"Okay, but actually—" Tweek said in between huffs of laughter. Craig couldn't really remember what he had said or done to make him laugh, but he let himself smile nonetheless, lips pressed together. "You should make me a playlist."

"Really?" He couldn't help but get a little excited. "You'd listen to it if i made one?"

Tweek shrugged, "Sure, I need new music to listen to anyway," then he leaned against the brick wall of the supermarket. "Why do they close so fuckin' early?"

"Maybe they sleep." Craig mused sarcastically, to which Tweek rolled his eyes in return.

They remained quiet for a moment, gazes dropping to the ground. There was nothing to fill the silence at this time of night, only the occasional woosh of passing cars in the distance. Craig dared to look back at Tweek, only to be met with closed eyes. He felt his body relax.

"You wanna head back?" Craig asked.

Tweek's eyes opened immediately and he shook his head. "Not really."

"Then where do you wanna go?"

Tweek looked at him and pursed his lips, deep in thought. Then, his eyes lit up. "Gas station?"

Craig smiled. "Lead the way."

…

"Let's play questions," Tweek said through a mouthful of chips.

They were sat on one of the few benches next to the gas station, facing the road with passing cars a long way ahead of them. Tweek had bought himself a packet of chips and an energy drink, as opposed to Craig who settled for a cold coke. He'd managed to score a new pack of cigarettes without getting id'd. 'It's just cause you're so tall' Tweek had whined. He didn't really know why the fact that Craig could buy cigarettes bothered him though, seeing as they were sharing one right now.

"What do you mean 'questions'?" He took a drag of the cigarette.

"Like—" Munch, munch, munch… "We take turns and ask each other questions."

Craig frowned but huffed out a chuckle anyways. "'Kay, ask your question then."

"Hmm…" He reached for the cigarette in Craig's hand, taking it and shoving the chip bag in Craig's lap in silent offering. He complied and scooped up a handful.

Tweek blew a cloud of smoke into the air. He watched as it curled away. "What's your favorite song?"

"Like the song I play the most or just my favorite..?"

Tweek laughed. "You're overthinking it."

"I'm not." Craig said, snatching the cigarette back.

"Wouldn't your favorite song be a song that you play, like… A lot?"

"Well. No,"

Tweek raised an eyebrow at him. Craig sighed. "My favorite song is How to Disappear Completely, by Radiohead, but I guess the song I've been listening to a lot is… Twilight?"

"Yeah, Elliott Smith, I love that song." Tweek smiled. "So, you don't listen to your favorite?"

Craig sighed. "Well I don't wanna get tired of it." He said, voice too flat. "…And I dunno. It's an intense song."

Tweek watched him as he smoked. "Does it make you cry?"

Craig avoided his gaze. "…Sometimes."

"Softie," Tweek grinned, shoving more chips into his mouth. "Your turn to ask a question."

"Oh. Okay…" Craig thought for a moment. Despite wanting to get to know Tweek better, his mind blanked on questions to ask him. He couldn't repeat the same question back, so what now…

"Oh, right. Is your asshole cousin still staying with you?" Craig asked. Tweek's chewing immediately slowed down and he tensed up. Fuck, you shouldn't have asked that.

Tweek looked at the ground, thinking before uttering a soft: "Yeah."

It was in moments like these where Craig wished he wasn't so emotionally stupid. Something was obviously up with Tweek's cousin, and it was clearly bothering Tweek. Clearly. He's not that stupid. But what the hell do you do in a situation like this. Was he supposed to comfort him? Move on? Ask more questions? Die? Then again, Tweek wasn't crying or anything. He just deflated, kind of.

"It's nothing, okay?" Tweek interrupted his thoughts. When he met him with a puzzled look, Tweek sighed. "I'm not trying to make you ask me how I am or what's up— or, whatever—"

"Dude, I asked you." Craig countered. "I brought it up, so you weren't bringing attention to it or whatever."

Tweek just stared at him, lips parted like he was about to say something. Craig beat him to it.

"I wanna know what's going on with that guy but I also don't wanna ask you uncomfortable questions, you know." He said carefully, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. "If you wanna tell me what's up, please do, but if you don't then…" He shrugged.

"Yeah, it's just—" Tweek swallowed his words, then audibly swallowed. Was he about to cry? Tweek let out a long breath before clearing his throat. "It's not fun. To—like, talk about."

Craig brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, trying to keep calm for both of their sake. He nodded with his head for Tweek to go on, who bit his lip before speaking.

"I don't know, it's not that serious, he's just being an ass."

"Like how?"

A pause. "He'll just say mean shit," Tweek began, but when he started he couldn't seem to stop. "He steals my money sometimes, which is just annoying, but he's started taking my meds even though they'd do nothing to him other than make him stop thinking,"

"Have you confronted him at all?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Well I told him I knew he was taking my meds and he punched me in the stomach."

Craig paused mid smoke. "What?"

Tweek looked like he wanted to disappear. Craig was at a loss for words. He felt weirdly stressed, but not for himself. Anger was slowly building in him too, but he willed himself to calm down, both to push away the nervy feeling in his chest, and to prevent some embarrassing outburst over Tweeks situation.

"Was that the only time?"

Tweek shook his head no. Craig stood up before he could stop himself.

"Whoa, calm down dude," Tweek said.

"No, I'm sorry, I am calm," Craig said as he paced around in front of the bench. "Like isn't there any way you could—"

"Make him leave? Nope."

"No way at all?"

"I told my parents and they did nothing."

Craig paused mid pace, looked at Tweek with what felt like hopelessness and said, "I'm sorry, but I want to kill your family right now."

Tweek was shocked for a moment, before bursting out into laughter. Craig was left standing, one hand in his hair as Tweek absolutely cracked up on the wooden bench. You made him laugh. For once it was a positive thought.

"You're stupid." Tweek said, drying a tear.

Craig gaped, "What? Why?"

"Because it's all so stupid," He smiled, "Why the fuck are you getting so worked up over this?"

"Well maybe cause you're getting fucking beat up," Craig nearly spat. Shit, he thought as Tweek's face dropped. There goes that moment.

For what felt like ages they just looked at each other. Until Tweek let out a shaky breath, smiled, and shook his head.

"Maybe it's not so funny to you, but I know that it will be over soon." He said softly, "I'd rather endure it than make it worse."

I'd rather endure it than make it worse. It made him want to rip his own skin off hearing Tweek say that, but it also made him realize just how strong he really was. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Still. Call me if you need me." He said. "Like actually. I'll fuck him up."

Tweek chuckled and shook his head. "Sure." He stood up from the bench, energy drink in hand and began to walk away.

"We should head back… It's getting late."

Craig followed him. "Sure."

Craig insisted on walking him home.

On the way back home Tweek asked him if he'd been clean.

Craig didn't have an answer he would like, so he stayed quiet.

The walk home was quiet after that.

Craig still wouldn't respond once they reached Tweek's house.

Still, Tweek smiled as he said goodbye.

Craig didn't feel totally empty tonight.

It made him nauseous.