Work Text:
Craig sighed, watching his breath form a misty cloud in the icy air. He already hated his new job, and it hadn’t even started yet. The Christmas tree farm seemed like a good idea when he applied, a temporary gig that paid better than most of his other options, but now, standing in the cold, he wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t even 9 a.m., and the biting chill was already working its way through his hoodie and jacket. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, dreading the fact that it was only going to get colder as December dragged on.
The gravel parking lot crunched under his boots as he trudged toward the small wooden hut near the edge of the tree lot. It took all his willpower to leave the warmth of his car, but he’d forced himself out. He needed the money, and maybe, if he was honest, an excuse to get out of the house. Things had been rough at home ever since his parents started fighting nonstop, their voices echoing through the thin walls of the house like broken Christmas carols.
The hut was a rickety thing, barely big enough for one person, with paint peeling off the sides. Inside, Randy Marsh sat hunched over a small space heater, bundled in a ridiculous number of layers that made him look like a snowman. Randy owned the farm with his wife, Sharon, and while Craig had seen him around town plenty of times, they’d never exchanged more than a few words.
“Craig! You made it,” Randy greeted, a wide grin plastered across his face, “excited for your first day?” Craig bit back the honest answer, No, not at all, and gave a tight nod instead. Randy didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm, “great! Well, I’m waiting on one more. Hired another kid to help out this season,” Randy said, leaning out of the hut to squint down the empty road.
Craig glanced over his shoulder just as a beat-up sedan pulled into the lot, its tires crunching to a stop on the gravel. He didn’t recognize the car, which was surprising since South Park was the kind of town where everyone knew everyone else, especially if they were in high school. The driver, a blond guy about Craig’s age, climbed out and immediately started jogging toward them, slipping once on the icy ground.
“I’m so sorry! I, I was nervous driving!” the blond stammered, his breath puffing out as he stopped in front of them. He was a little out of breath, his voice uneven and shaky, “I, um, I always drive too slow.”
“It’s fine,” Randy shrugged, waving it off, “as long as you show up and work, I’ll pay ya,” he stepped out of the hut, shivering the moment he left the heater behind, and motioned for the boys to follow him.
Craig trudged alongside Randy and the blond, who kept fidgeting with his gloves and glancing nervously at Craig like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Randy, meanwhile, launched into an explanation of the job: cutting trees, hauling them around, tying them to cars. Craig had assumed he’d be doing something simpler, like running a cash register or maybe helping customers pick out trees, but apparently Sharon handled all the money and didn’t trust Randy, or the high schoolers, with the sales.
Apparently both of the Marsh children weren't working this season, leaving Craig and the blond with all the labor. Stan was busy with hockey, probably an excuse if Craig had to guess, and Shelly was off at college so he couldn't really fault her. Randy mentioned something about his daughter coming to work once she returned for break, but Craig had to assume she probably wouldn't be taking his shift chopping trees.
“For today,” Randy said, pulling his coat tighter around himself, “you two are gonna cut down a few trees to put up front. Some folks don’t want to hike through the cold to pick one out, so we always keep a couple dozen pre-cut. Just grab your saws and get to work. I’ll bring the truck by in twenty to haul what you’ve got.”
Craig sighed internally as Randy handed them each a saw. He was already regretting this, but fifteen bucks an hour was fifteen bucks an hour.
The blond gave a small, awkward smile as they trudged toward the first row of trees, “um, h-hi,” he said, his voice quiet, “I’m Tweek.”
“Craig,” he muttered back, already crouching by a tree to start sawing.
Tweek lingered for a moment, like he was trying to decide whether to keep talking, before getting to work on a tree of his own. They worked in silence for a while, the sound of blades scraping through bark and the crunch of snow the only things filling the space between them.
“You, uh…” Tweek's voice trailed off as he hesitated, “I’m homeschooled. Have been my whole life.”
Craig paused for a moment, glancing over at him, “okay?”
Tweek gave a nervous laugh, “it’s just… I don’t really know a lot of people my age, but I think we used to play together as kids. Like, when we were little.”
Craig barely looked up from his tree, “sure. If you say so.”
Tweek's nervous smile flickered, “it’s just… cool to see you again, I guess.”
“Sure,” Craig said flatly, focusing back on sawing. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but his hands were freezing, his back was already sore, and this job wasn’t getting any more enjoyable with small talk.
Tweek fell quiet after that, but Craig caught him glancing over every now and then, like he wanted to say more but thought better of it. It wasn’t that Craig disliked him or anything. He just wanted to get through the day without freezing to death, and maybe without thinking about how much he hated Christmas this year.
The two worked in silence after that, the only sounds the sharp scrape of their saws against bark and the occasional crunch of gravel or snow underfoot. The cold air stung Craig’s nose and cheeks, but the sawing was enough to work up a sweat under his layers. Tweek seemed to struggle more with his tree, his saw catching awkwardly or slipping off the bark entirely, but Craig didn’t offer to help. He wasn’t sure what to say, and besides, Tweek would figure it out. Probably.
By the time they’d managed to cut down a few trees each, Randy’s truck came rumbling up the gravel path. It was an old, rusted pickup that groaned with every bump, but the back was mostly empty, save for a few stray ropes and blankets. Randy hopped out, shivering despite his heavy coat and gloves. Craig wasn't even sure how much time had passed, but it felt like it had probably been at least an hour.
“Well,” Randy said, clapping his gloved hands together, “looks like you got a good start. Let’s load ’em up.”
Craig grabbed one of the trees he’d cut and hefted it onto his shoulder, hauling it toward the truck bed. The weight wasn’t unbearable, but it was awkward, the branches scratching at his arms and jacket. Tweek struggled with his first tree, dragging it by the trunk and stumbling over the uneven ground.
“You got it?” Craig asked, his voice flat but not unfriendly.
“Yeah! Yeah, I, uh, I’ve got it,” Tweek said quickly, his cheeks flushed, though whether it was from embarrassment or the cold, Craig couldn’t tell.
Between the three of them, it didn’t take long to load the trees into the truck bed. Randy tied them down with ropes, securing the pile against the wind, before turning back to the boys, “alright, hop in the back. We’ll haul these up front.”
Craig climbed into the truck bed without hesitation, settling himself on the edge of the pile where he could hold onto the side for balance. Tweek hesitated, his eyes darting between the truck and Randy.
“Uh, we’re riding back here?” he asked nervously.
“Yep. It’s just a short ride,” Randy said with a shrug, already climbing into the driver’s seat.
Tweek climbed in after Craig, awkwardly settling onto the pile of trees. The truck rattled to life, and Tweek flinched as it jerked forward, gripping the side of the truck bed so tightly Craig thought the kid might dent it.
Craig glanced at him, frowning slightly, “you okay?”
“Yeah! I just, uh… I’ve never really ridden in the back of a truck before,” Tweek admitted, his voice shaky.
Craig shifted, trying to think of something to say. Small talk wasn’t exactly his strong suit, but Tweek looked like he was about two seconds away from jumping out of the moving truck, “it’s not that bad,” Craig said awkwardly, “you just, uh, hold on, I guess.”
Tweek gave a nervous laugh, his grip on the truck bed tightening.
Craig cleared his throat, “um… it’s cold, huh? Like, colder than I thought it’d be.”
Tweek blinked at him, his nervous expression easing slightly, “yeah, it’s freezing. I thought my coat would be warm enough, but I’m starting to think I need, like, three more layers.”
Craig nodded, relieved to see Tweek focusing on something other than the rattling truck, “same. I’m gonna freeze out here if it gets any colder. Might grab a heavier jacket tomorrow.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Tweek said, his voice a little steadier now, “do you know if it’s supposed to snow again? I heard it might.”
Craig shrugged, “maybe. It’d be nice, I guess. Better than just the cold.”
Tweek nodded, his grip loosening just a little as he glanced around at the snowy fields rolling past. The conversation wasn’t exactly riveting, but it seemed to help. By the time the truck rattled to a stop near the front of the farm, Tweek looked far less panicked, though he still climbed out of the truck bed with obvious relief.
Craig hopped down after him, brushing stray pine needles off his jacket. He glanced at Tweek, who gave him a sheepish smile.
“Thanks,” Tweek said quietly.
Craig shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, “sure. No problem.”
Randy clapped his hands together, snapping their attention back to him, “alright, boys! Good work today. We’ll stack these trees over here near the lot entrance, and tomorrow we’ll open the farm to customers. Make sure to get some rest tonight, it’s gonna be busy.”
Craig sighed, glancing at Tweek as Randy walked off to grab some tools from the hut, “guess tomorrow’s when the real work starts.”
Tweek nodded, brushing some pine needles off his coat, “yeah, sounds… intense. Do you think it’ll be, like, super crowded?”
“Probably,” Craig said, “people love their Christmas trees,” he paused, eyeing Tweek for a moment, “you ever done customer service stuff before?”
Tweek scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a little pink, “not… really. I mean, I worked at my parents’ coffee shop, but they never let me talk to customers much.”
Craig snorted softly, “guess we’re both figuring this out as we go, then.”
Tweek gave a nervous laugh, “yeah. Should be fun.”
Craig wasn’t sure he’d call it fun, but he didn’t say that. Instead, he grabbed one of the trees from the pile and started hauling it toward the display area. Tweek followed, still looking a little unsure of himself but working steadily.
As they stacked the trees and prepared the lot for tomorrow, Craig found himself glancing at Tweek every so often. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about working with the guy, but at least he wasn’t alone out here. Maybe that counted for something.
The days at the Christmas tree farm blurred together, long and cold, punctuated by the rhythmic monotony of hauling trees and dealing with customers. At first, Craig thought it would be the same every day, physical labor, irritated grunts, and silence. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, things began to change.
One afternoon, Tweek shuffled over to where Craig was stacking freshly cut trees by the fence. He looked jittery, his hands fidgeting with the zipper of his coat, and Craig raised an eyebrow at him.
“What?” Craig asked, straightening up.
“Uh, there’s this guy,” Tweek said, casting a nervous glance toward the lot, “he’s… really upset because he said we didn’t tie the tree onto his car right, and n-now his roof is scratched. He, um, kind of wants to talk to a manager.”
Craig frowned, glancing past Tweek to where a man was pacing near an SUV, his arms flailing as he muttered to himself, “he’s yelling about that?”
“Not yelling,” Tweek corrected quickly, though his tone made it clear the man had been unpleasant, “but he’s, uh, definitely not happy. And I don’t really know what to say.”
Craig sighed, brushing his gloves off, “there’s no manager here. It’s just us and Randy, and he's probably drunk so,” he trailed off and sighed, Shanon was out for the day picking up Shelly from her college, “did you tell him there was no manager?”
Tweek nodded, his face still tense, “yeah, but he said we should’ve been more careful, and he keeps asking for, like, a refund or something.”
Without another word, Craig stomped past Tweek toward the man, who was now examining the scratches on his car’s roof. Tweek trailed behind, looking like he wanted to disappear.
“Something wrong?” Craig asked, his tone flat but loud enough to cut through the man’s grumbling.
The man turned, his face already red, “yeah, there’s something wrong. Your people didn’t tie my tree down right, and now my roof rack is scratched to hell!”
Craig crossed his arms, glancing at the car. The scratches were faint, barely noticeable under the layer of grime, “the twine doesn’t scratch like that unless the rack’s already loose,” Craig said evenly, “you might want to tighten it before driving off next time.”
The man bristled, “are you saying this is my fault?”
“I’m saying there’s no way it happened because of the way we tied the tree,” Craig replied coolly, “but if it makes you feel better, you can take some extra twine. On the house.”
Tweek made a faint noise of surprise, and the man sputtered for a moment before muttering something about “kids these days” and storming off.
When he was out of earshot, Tweek turned to Craig, his eyes wide, “how did you do that?”
“Do what?” Craig asked, already heading back to the trees.
“Make him leave,” Tweek said, hurrying to keep up, “he was so mad, and you just, like… handled it.”
Craig shrugged, “people like him want someone to blame. You just have to act like you don’t care.”
Tweek nodded slowly, as if turning the advice over in his mind, “I… guess that makes sense. Thanks.”
Craig didn’t respond, but he felt a small flicker of satisfaction as he picked up his saw again. It was surprising how good it felt to look out for Tweek, even if he didn’t quite understand why.
A few mornings later, the biting cold had seeped into Craig’s bones, making every movement feel like wading through ice water. He’d barely slept the night before, thanks to another loud argument between his parents. His exhaustion must have been obvious because Tweek approached him hesitantly, holding out a battered thermos.
“Uh, here,” Tweek mumbled, “I, I made extra coffee this morning, and, um, you look really tired.”
Craig stared at the thermos for a moment before taking it, “thanks,” he said gruffly, unscrewing the cap. The steam rising from the cup was warm against his face, but the first sip made him grimace.
“You don’t like coffee, do you?” Tweek asked, his lips twitching into a small, amused smile.
“No,” Craig admitted, taking another sip anyway, “but it’s warm.”
Tweek seemed to brighten at that, and Craig found himself making an effort to continue a conversation with him.
“Do you always drink coffee this strong?” Craig asked.
“Uh, yeah,” Tweek said with a self-deprecating laugh, “I was basically raised on it,” Craig raised a brow, but he didn't question it as they went back to work.
One slow afternoon, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the farm grew quiet, they found themselves stacking leftover trees near the display lot. The work didn’t take long, and they lingered afterward, leaning against the truck to rest.
“You like Christmas?” Tweek asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Craig hesitated, “not really,” he admitted, “used to, I guess, but it’s kind of hard to care about Christmas when your parents won’t stop fighting over who’s taking what in the divorce.”
Tweek's eyes widened slightly, “oh. That… that sucks. I’m s-sorry.”
Craig shrugged, keeping his gaze fixed on the horizon, “it is what it is.”
They lapsed into silence for a while before Tweek spoke again, his voice quieter, “my parents don’t really fight, but they don’t really care either. About Christmas or me.”
Craig glanced at him, surprised by the bitterness in Tweek's tone.
“They had me because they needed someone to help run their stupid coffee shop,” Tweek continued, his words spilling out faster now, “not because they, like… wanted a kid. And then they homeschooled me, so I could work during the week. So I never got to make any friends, and now it’s like they barely notice I exist. I refused to keep working at their shop for free, I started working here to, I don't even know, prove a point or something.”
Craig didn’t know what to say. He’d never been good at comforting people, but there was something about Tweek's hunched shoulders and the way he stared at the ground that made him want to try.
“That’s messed up,” he said finally.
Tweek looked up at him, startled, and then gave a small, tentative smile, “yeah. It is.”
As the days stretched on, Craig found himself looking forward to their shifts in a way he hadn’t expected. Tweek's nervous energy, which had annoyed him a little at first, started to seem less irritating and more endearing. He found himself noticing the little things, like the way Tweek always scrunched up his nose before laughing or how he stuttered more when customers asked him complicated questions.
It was confusing, though. Craig wasn’t used to feeling like this, like he actually wanted to be around someone. He told himself it was just because Tweek was easy to talk to, or because they were stuck in the same miserable job. Deep down, he knew there was more to it than that. So, like he always did with emotions he didn’t want to deal with, he pushed the feelings down.
It was a slow day, just a week away from Christmas. The cold bit harder, the frost clinging to the trees making the air feel sharper as Craig and Tweek trudged toward the old storage shed at the edge of the property. Randy had handed them a toolbox, gestured vaguely toward the sagging structure, and grunted, “it needs fixing up. Something about a leak, maybe the roof. You two figure it out.”
Craig had rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. It beat dealing with customers, and at least it was an excuse to keep moving and stay warm.
Inside, the shed smelled like damp wood and rust. Dust motes floated in the faint light streaming through cracks in the walls. Craig sighed, shrugging off his jacket to keep from overheating while working. Tweek hesitated before doing the same, rubbing his hands together for warmth.
“Okay,” Craig said, glancing at the toolbox, “I’ll check the roof and see if it’s caved in anywhere. You can, I don’t know, see if anything down here looks broken.”
Tweek nodded quickly, clearly relieved not to have to make decisions. He busied himself sorting through the mess of tools and old farm equipment piled against the walls. For a while, the only sound was the creak of wood as Craig climbed up and the quiet clinking of Tweek's efforts below.
As Craig worked, his gaze kept drifting downward. Every time he glanced toward Tweek, the blond was already looking at him. Their eyes would meet for a split second before Tweek ducked his head, pretending to be absorbed in his task.
Craig felt a flutter in his chest each time, a strange warmth that was completely at odds with the freezing weather. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, so he didn’t say anything, choosing instead to hammer nails into the roof with more force than necessary.
Things got worse, or better maybe, when Craig climbed back down. He crouched next to Tweek, who was struggling to unscrew a particularly stubborn bolt.
“Here, let me do it,” Craig said, reaching for the wrench.
Their hands brushed as Tweek passed it to him, and the warmth of Tweek's skin shot up Craig’s arm like static electricity. He froze for a moment, but Tweek's flush was even more noticeable, bright red spreading across his freckled cheeks.
“Sorry,” Tweek mumbled, quickly looking away.
“It’s fine,” Craig muttered, his own ears burning. He focused on the bolt, pretending the moment hadn’t happened, but the air between them felt different now, charged with something unspoken.
Later that afternoon, as they packed up the tools, Craig reached into his bag and pulled out a small thermos.
“Here,” he said gruffly, holding it out to Tweek.
Tweek blinked in surprise, “what’s that?”
“Hot chocolate,” Craig said, averting his gaze, “figured you might want some since you shared your coffee the other day.”
Tweek's hands hovered over the thermos, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to take it. Finally, he did, cradling it like it was something precious.
“Thanks,” Tweek said softly, his voice thick with something Craig couldn’t quite place. He took a sip, then looked up at Craig, his cheeks pink, “nobody’s ever, um, d-done something thoughtful like this for me before.”
Craig shrugged, trying to play it off, “it’s just hot chocolate,” but the way Tweek looked at him, like Craig had just handed him the moon, made his stomach flip.
The snow was falling lightly when Randy sent them into the woods to cut down some fresh trees for the lot. The forest behind the farm was beautiful, silent except for the crunch of their boots on the snow and the occasional muttered comment between them.
Craig had just finished cutting down a sturdy pine when he heard a startled yelp. He turned to see Tweek sprawled on his back in the snow, his saw lying a few feet away.
“You good?” Craig called, trying not to laugh.
“I, uh, yeah,” Tweek said, sitting up and brushing snow off his jacket, “I tripped over a root or something.”
Craig walked over and offered his hand. Tweek hesitated but eventually took it, and Craig pulled him to his feet with ease. Tweek wobbled, their hands still clasped, and Craig felt that now familiar flutter in his chest.
Then Tweek started laughing, bright and genuine, his nose scrunching up the way it always did before he laughed. It was the first time Craig had ever heard him laugh so hard like that, and he couldn’t help but grin.
“What’s so funny?” Craig asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Just me,” Tweek said between chuckles, “I’m so clumsy, it’s ridiculous.”
Craig shook his head, smirking, “yeah, well, at least you’re consistent.”
Tweek laughed even harder, and Craig found himself laughing too, the sound strange and unfamiliar in his own ears.
As they gathered their trees, the moment lingered in Craig’s mind. He didn’t know what it was about Tweek, his laugh, his shy smile, the way he always seemed so unsure of himself, but it made Craig feel lighter, like the cold and the weight of the world weren’t so heavy anymore.
The morning of Christmas Eve came with a biting chill and a flurry of activity at the farm. The annual "cut-your-own-tree" event was the biggest draw of the year, with families piling in from several different towns, eager to pick out their perfect tree. Craig and Tweek barely had a moment to breathe as they wrangled carts, hauled trees, and directed customers through the crowded lot.
By mid-afternoon, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the snow-dusted fields. Finally, a lull in the chaos gave the boys a chance to catch their breath. They sat side by side on a stack of pallets, their gloves stiff with sap and their faces flushed from the cold.
“Here,” Tweek said suddenly, pulling something from his coat pocket. He held out a small package, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine.
Craig blinked, caught off guard, “what’s this?”
“Just… something I made,” Tweek said, his cheeks turning pink, “I figured… well, I know you don’t really l-like the holidays, but I wanted to give you something anyway.”
Craig hesitated before taking the package, his fingers brushing Tweek's in the exchange. Slowly, he unwrapped it to reveal a hand-knitted scarf in deep navy blue, the stitches neat and precise.
“You made this?” Craig asked, his voice softer than usual.
Tweek nodded, looking down at his hands, “yeah. I, uh, knit sometimes. It helps me relax, you know, when things get… overwhelming.”
Craig ran his fingers over the scarf, the yarn warm and soft, “this is really nice, Tweek. Thanks.”
Tweek glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I’m glad you like it.”
Craig cleared his throat, suddenly feeling self-conscious, “I didn’t get you anything. I didn’t even think to-”
“It’s not about the gift,” Tweek interrupted, shaking his head, “I just wanted to do something nice. You don’t have to make it a thing.”
“Well, I’m making it a thing,” Craig said firmly, “I’ll make it up to you. Promise,” Tweek chuckled softly, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all day.
The chaos didn’t let up until well after dark. By the time the last tree was sold and the lot was cleared, Craig and Tweek were bone-tired, their boots heavy with mud and snow. As they walked together toward the parking lot, the air between them felt lighter, the quiet more comfortable than it had been weeks ago.
Craig shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at Tweek, “hey. What are you doing tomorrow?”
Tweek looked over at him, surprised, “uh, nothing, really. Just… staying home, I guess.”
Craig hesitated, his breath visible in the cold air, “you should come over. Spend Christmas with me and my sister.”
Tweek stopped walking, his brow furrowing, “I don’t know, Craig. I don’t want to intrude. What about your parents?”
“You won’t be intruding,” Craig said, his tone leaving no room for argument, “my dad left last night, he's spending Christmas with my grandparents, and um, my mom has to work in the afternoon,” he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, “also, um, I don’t want to spend the day without you.”
Tweek's expression softened, and after a moment, he nodded, “okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” Craig said, relieved.
They reached their cars, the snow crunching under their boots as they lingered in the cold. Craig shifted on his feet, glancing at Tweek, who looked smaller than usual in his oversized coat.
Before he could overthink it, Craig stepped forward and pulled Tweek into a hug. It was stiff and awkward, the kind of hug that said Craig wasn’t used to this sort of thing. Tweek didn’t seem to mind. He grinned as he hugged Craig back, his voice warm with amusement.
“This is the best Christmas gift I’ve ever gotten,” Tweek said, his breath fogging in the cold.
Craig snorted, pulling away and shaking his head, “you need better standards, man.”
Tweek laughed, the sound filling the quiet night, and for once, Craig didn’t feel the need to push the warmth in his chest away.
Christmas Day arrived with a quiet snowfall blanketing the world outside. After a very awkward gift exchange with their mother, Craig stood in the kitchen with Tricia, finishing up a batch of cookies as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows. Tweek hadn’t arrived yet, and Craig was trying not to let his nerves show.
“Is this all for the boy you’ve been working with?” Tricia teased, nudging Craig with her elbow as she set out a plate for the cookies.
Craig rolled his eyes, “he’s just a friend.”
“Mhm, sure,” Tricia grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “just a friend you insisted on inviting over for Christmas.”
Before Craig could retort, there was a knock at the door. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and made his way to answer it, his heart skipping a beat.
Tweek stood on the porch, bundled in a scarf and coat, a nervous smile on his face, “uh, hey. Merry Christmas.”
“Hey,” Craig said, stepping aside to let him in, “you didn’t have to knock, you know.”
Tweek shrugged, his cheeks red from the cold, or maybe something else, “didn’t want to just walk in.”
Tricia popped her head out of the kitchen, her grin widening, “you must be Tweek. Come on in, I made hot chocolate.”
Tweek followed Craig inside, his movements hesitant as he took in the cozy warmth of the house. The fire crackled in the living room, and the scent of pine and cookies filled the air. Craig noticed how Tweek's shoulders seemed tense, and he resolved to make him feel as comfortable as possible.
The afternoon passed in a blur of small traditions. They decorated cookies together, Tricia playfully scolding Craig for his lack of effort, and opened a few gifts under the tree. At one point, Craig handed Tweek a small package wrapped in festive paper, “here,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
Tweek opened it carefully, revealing a framed drawing of a pine tree covered in snow. There was a small yellow bird perched on one of the branches, Craig's palms got sweaty as he watched Tweek stare at it.
Tweek's eyes widened, and he looked up at Craig, “you, you drew this?” Craig couldn't find his voice, so he just nodded. Tweek's voice was soft, “nobody’s ever done something like this for me before. Thank you.”
Craig felt a twinge of something in his chest as he watched Tweek run his fingers over the frame, his expression full of quiet wonder.
Later, as the evening wore on, the three of them sat by the fire, the room bathed in a soft orange glow. Tricia had dozed off on the couch, leaving Craig and Tweek in comfortable silence.
Tweek shifted in his seat, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. He glanced at Craig, his face lit by the flickering flames, “Craig?”
“Yeah?” Craig turned to him, his voice low.
Tweek hesitated, his cheeks pink as he leaned over and quickly pressed a kiss to Craig’s cheek. Before Craig could react, Tweek ducked his head, mumbling, “Merry Christmas.”
Craig stared at him, stunned, the warmth of Tweek's lips still lingering on his skin. For a moment, all he could hear was the crackling fire and the faint ticking of the clock. Then, before he could think too much about it, he reached out and tilted Tweek's chin up.
“You missed,” Craig murmured, his voice soft.
Tweek's eyes widened just as Craig leaned in, closing the distance between them. The kiss was slow and tentative, but there was a sweetness to it that made Craig’s chest ache in the best way.
When they finally pulled apart, Tweek's face was as red as the embers in the fire, but there was a shy smile tugging at his lips.
“Better?” Tweek asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Craig huffed a quiet laugh, his own smile breaking through, “yeah, better.”
They sat there for a while longer, exchanging quiet glances and soft smiles as the snow fell gently outside, blanketing the world in peace. For the first time in a long time, Craig felt like maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.