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Clyde wasn’t himself today, and he knew that. He knew the moment he woke up that he wasn’t going to be okay. That was the usual since his mom had passed. He couldn’t get around his feelings of shame and grief whenever the anniversary of her death came around. But it was only one day, and he could survive it. He’d survived it for years, ever since elementary school. The months of sadness turned into weeks, then into random days where it would hit him hard.
Now, it was just the one. Clyde could live with that. He was eighteen years old now. He had to. He was an adult. He could handle it fine.
He mainly stayed quiet on the day, so people wouldn’t notice. No one made a big deal of it really. Most of his classmates didn’t remember when she had died. He was just labeled the guy with the dead mom.
Except his friends, of course. They knew to let Clyde have his day. To let him be quiet and introspective and sad. The ones that had known him when it happened were respectful of his sudden irritability and sullenness. They respected it more than Clyde himself did. Sometimes, he couldn’t even remember why exactly he was sad, and why his body of all things had to repeat the intense feeling of loss every goddamn year. But Craig, Tolkien, and Jimmy got it, and maybe that’s all he needed.
They were milling around the school’s hallways, shooting the shit. Clyde wasn’t talking much, and all the guys kind of knew why, or at least suspected, so they didn’t really say much about it. Just went on like usual. But the difference this time was that Tweek Tweak was with them.
Now this guy, as nervous and weirdly kind as he was, did not know much about the whole dead parent stuff. Clyde didn’t divulge much info about it to acquaintances, and Tweek had just started hanging out with them last year. So, when Tweek spoke up and asked, “Clyde, are you, ngh, doing okay, man?” Clyde genuinely didn’t know how to respond. He was shocked that someone had even talked to him, let alone ask how he was doing.
He could see Craig, Tolkien, and Jimmy all exchange panicked glances with each other, then each of them tried to make up varying excuses for him.
“He had a rough practice yesterday so he’s still feeling it—”
“He’s failing calculus, so of course he’s not super excited to head over there—”
“He’s probably just hungry for dinner already—”
All valid and overlapping with one another. But Tweek had already broken the façade, and Clyde couldn’t seem to put it back together.
Tweek had his back against the lockers, and Clyde felt his forearm slam against the one closest to his head. The clang it made was enough to make Tweek practically shriek, but Clyde couldn’t give a shit. He loomed over the twitching blond and snarled, “My mom’s dead, Tweek. Sorry to harsh your fucking mellow.”
He walked away before anyone could say anything.
He knew that was fucked up, but he was fucked up right now and really couldn’t do anything about it. It was only one day out of the year when he asked everyone to ignore it. Because he sure as fuck couldn’t, apparently.
He gripped his backpack straps tightly.
He’ll apologize tomorrow.
There was a note in his locker the next time he opened it. A crumbled looking piece of line paper that read: Do you wanna talk about it, dude? My place is pretty empty on Thursdays if you wanna come over. —Tweek
Clyde, again, didn’t know what to think or how to respond. He knew he scared the shit out of this dude less than an hour ago, and now he was inviting him to his house? What the hell? Weird.
But Tweek had always been odd like that. Quick to react, but also quick to move past things.
Tweek’s handwriting was shit, but he didn’t sound as stuttering and anxious on paper. It sounded like he was reaching out. Clyde couldn’t tell if that made him feel angry or just plain seen. Or was that the bit he felt unsettled by?
He wasn’t as chipper and charming today, sure, but he wasn’t totally despondent like he had been in the past. Clyde was doing his best to deal, all things considered, yet the fact that someone saw through that—it felt like he’d been called out.
His best wasn’t good enough. Could everyone tell he was still struggling? Could they see how pathetic and sad he truly was?
He just wanted to go home and be done with today. He wasn’t like this normally. He wanted to go back to being happy and handsome and seemingly stupid. He wanted back what he lost for one day, every year. He wanted to go back to being lovable.
He couldn’t do that when he was missing the one person in his life who had always made him feel that way.
Clyde didn’t know how it happened, but his feet didn’t lead him home. He passed by Tweek Bros. Coffee instead, which was, of course, on the way to Tweek’s house. He was surprised when he heard a shaky yelp, then the jingle of bells on the coffee shop door.
“D-Dude!” a loud and grating voice called to him.
Clyde turned and immediately saw Tweek rushing out of the shop to greet him.
“What?” He smirked, kind of feeling better seeing this dude panic about him. “Were you waiting for me?”
Tweek twitched. “Ack, it was more like me h-helping out in the shop, nngh, to give myself something to do,” he explained. “I didn’t think you’d actually come by.”
“But you knew I’d have to walk by, if I did.”
Tweek blushed but nodded regardless.
Clyde looked down at the sidewalk, the guilt coming back to him as he watched Tweek’s cheeks redden. He looked genuinely concerned, and Clyde had probably made him feel like a piece of shit for it. “I’m sorry for earlier,” he said. “That wasn’t super cool of me.”
“The guys told me what they could,” Tweek said. “I don’t blame you. I was t-tactless.”
Clyde sighed. “Your note wasn’t.” He didn’t mind admitting it when no one could hear. His note meant something to him. It was why he was here in the first place.
“Would you like some coffee or something first?” Tweek smiled, and it almost got Clyde to do the same.
“You’re ever the salesman, huh,” Clyde snorted.
“N-No! I didn’t mean—” Tweek scrunched his nose. “I meant I’d just make you a coffee, man. For free.”
Clyde rolled his shoulders, trying to shrug off whatever tightness that made him feel in his chest. “You’re getting into pity territory, Tweek.”
“I just believe that warm drinks are soothing during bad times. That’s all.”
Clyde took a moment to take Tweek in. The way he shivered in the winter cold. The slight smears of whipped cream on his green apron. How the wind blew at his tousled hair. Try as he might not to, he liked Tweek. He liked being around him. When Tolkien invited him to hang out, he thought he was insane at first. But then again, Tolkien had always been a good judge of character.
He took a deep breath, attempting not to berate himself for accepting this dude’s kindness when he thought he shouldn’t need it. “Herbal tea,” he said. “Coach says caffeine might fuck with our performance levels. I dunno.”
“Fine.” Tweek grinned. “One step away from a hot chocolate.”
“Forgot you were a coffee snob.”
And on the day his memories refused to let him smile, Clyde found that he suddenly was.
Tweek’s home was like any other around the block. Clyde was a bit ashamed that he’d assumed that it would be filled with hoarder-type boxes of newspapers and strange knick-knacks. From what he could tell, the place was spotless. The kitchen was the only thing somewhat messy, and that was because Tweek said he’d been baking last night, after he found he couldn’t sleep.
“It gets me in a different mind frame, man,” he said. “Like, I-I don’t know how to explain it, but it works.”
“Wish I could figure out how to do that.”
Tweek nodded solemnly. “If only you had practice on Thursdays.”
“If only,” Clyde agreed.
The blond was right. Football was for Clyde like how baking was to Tweek. It allowed him to do something with his body that was both useful and competitive. He could take his rage or sadness and turn it into speed. Or a decent tackle. He could keep his heart pumping fast, so that it didn’t seem like he was letting his feelings take over. His heartrate would’ve probably been the same when he was just standing still sometimes—relieving memories and listening to his lonely thoughts.
“You know, there’s nothing to talk about,” Clyde said, suddenly.
“Hm?”
“I don’t really have too much to say.” He took another sip of the tea Tweek had made for him. “I’ve done a lot of processing since then. It’s just the residual stuff now.”
Tweek hummed, thoughtful. “So, it’s more like working through the emotions than what happened?”
“I’ll never get over what happened,” Clyde said, settling himself on Tweek’s living room couch. “But at least I can accept that now.”
Tweek sat beside him. “But do you actually accept your feelings around it?”
“The feelings suck,” Clyde said. “I don’t like having to feel this way, so no. I guess your answer is no.” He took another deep breath, holding the paper cup of hot tea to his chest. “I just want it to stop.”
“We could try that for a little while,” Tweek offered, his voice barely a whisper.
“What do you mean?” Clyde asked. Despite not knowing, the way Tweek had said it, he was ready to agree all too fast. Anything to take it all away for a moment.
“It’s all about mindset, right? Headspace?” The blond picked at his nails as he spoke. His eyebrows wrinkled while he tried to problem solve. “Meditation maybe? That could work. But it has to be something that gets you out of your thoughts.”
“I’m fucking bad at meditation, dude,” Clyde groaned. “I tried it once cause coach said it was good for you, but damn, it’s so boring.”
That was when Tweek looked at him in all seriousness. It was like Clyde had suddenly said something that gave him an idea. “What about roleplay?”
“Excuse me?”
The only roleplay he could think of were those nerdy kinds that history buffs did, like reenacting battles in the colonial era, or those renaissance fair things. None of that ever appealed to Clyde. But he did respect it to some extent. He had a hobby that was literally smashing into people trying to get a ball from one end of the field to another. He kind of got it. Everyone had their thing he supposed.
Or, wait, was he talking about the sexual kind? No, that couldn’t be right.
“I-I know it sounds, ack, weird, but, um, hear me out,” Tweek said. “Have you ever listened to ASMR?”
Not really, Clyde thought, but he didn’t want to give Tweek more of a hard time than he already seemed to be having.
But it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the term.
He’d heard some of the girls at school giggling about it over lunch as they clacked their acrylic nails against the counter. Bebe had seen his confusion and explained while good-naturedly wiggling her fingers in his direction. Sounds that make your head tingle, dumbass. She was a good friend (plus a good sport for keeping his secret about maybe liking dudes). That’s why they hung out so often. It gave Clyde some sort of masculine security, having a tough bitch around who liked him enough not to be weird about the whole questioning-his-sexuality thing. Bebe enjoyed having gossip sessions with a dude who’d probably forget everything the next day.
Not that he liked Tweek in that way! Or he was pretty sure he didn’t. He was kind of pretty for a dude. Kind of shy and weird in a cute way. But that didn’t mean Clyde had a crush on him. And it didn’t mean a damn thing that Clyde was strangely floundering with his words while he tried to answer him. “It’s, um, I dunno. Bebe said it had something to do with sounds?”
Fuck, that was lame. He probably looked so stupid right now.
But Tweek only smiled up at him, nodding. “Yeah!” he said, all excited for whatever reason. “It depends on what sounds work for you, but yeah. It’s like sounds or situations that make you feel good. Comforted.”
Clyde took a sip of his tea, searching for that feeling in the warmth of the drink. He was trying not to stare, because apparently Tweek’s eyes sparkled while he talked, and it was becoming a little distracting. “Situations?” he asked. “Is that why you brought up roleplay?”
He could swear Tweek sort of blushed? Again? There was a light pink color to his cheeks, and his fingers were shaky as he explained. “Well, I noticed that you were mentioning your coach a lot?” he said, like he was questioning his own observation. “And you usually have practice, b-but you don’t t-today, so, ack, I thought…” Tweek rolled his eyes at himself, then shook his head. “I thought of a stupid idea, I guess.”
Clyde chuckled. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one sort of struggling and nervous. This was kind of new to both of them. But he was grateful that someone wanted to help him in his grief. “I’m a little stupid myself,” he said. “So maybe that idea will work.”
Tweek snorted, surprised by Clyde’s self-deprecation, yet he seemed to grow bolder. Nothing like the power of a joke to break tension. “I thought maybe I could be your coach for today,” he said, busting up into giggles like it was the most ridiculous thing to ever come out of his mouth.
Clyde might have laughed too, if the suggestion didn’t sink into his stomach like the warm steam of fresh herbs and bubbling water. He was surprised it crossed the blond’s mind: that he might fill a hole in his routine that could soothe him. Just by listening to him, Tweek had somehow picked up on other things that made Clyde uneasy about the whole day. Clyde himself didn’t realize how much it really bothered him until now. Just how much football had helped him cope with everything.
“You could,” Clyde muttered, taking another small swig of his tea. He couldn’t explain why he wanted it so badly and so suddenly, but he did. It didn’t even matter what Tweek was getting at. Clyde just needed someone to give him some directions. Something else to do.
Tweek blinked. “Really?”
He was studying Clyde now, his brows furrowed, and head tilted. There was something compassionate about it that made the jock’s stomach squirm. It made him feel so vulnerable for even entertaining the idea in the first place. Now Tweek really knew how desperate he was to feel something other than this infuriatingly numb sort of sorrow. He knew, and Clyde felt all kinds of embarrassed.
He would have rather spilled the rest of the hot tea onto his shirt before enduring any more of Tweek’s pitying gaze.
But the tender curl of fingers around his bicep made him freeze. Clyde could still feel the way they trembled, yet their grip was firm. Tweek gently took the tea out of his hands and set it on the coffee table. He rubbed Clyde’s arm in a careful way, as if he were petting a small rabbit caught in the snow without shelter.
Because that’s what Clyde felt like right now.
His heart was hammering. He felt drenched in an odd combination of sadness and anticipation—this desperate want for attention he didn’t even know he wanted.
He was about to cry.
Tweek Tweak was about to make him cry with nothing but a kind touch.
Then Tweek leaned in and whispered, “Take a few laps.”
Clyde didn’t question it. “Where?”
“Around my house,” Tweek said. “Inside or outside. Doesn’t matter. No one comes around this time of day.”
He didn’t know what came over him, but Clyde was so willing to listen at this point. He didn’t care how it looked. This was exactly what he needed. He needed a coach to talk him through this. Tell him what to do, how to feel, whatever was necessary to get him back into shape. Because this crying, blubbering mess he was almost about to be was not in any condition to be out on the field. Or anywhere.
Clyde needed it gone.
He stood before he knew what he was doing and slipped out Tweek’s front door.
He started jogging in place, looking for the path around Tweek’s house that would be easiest. It might have been a bit more challenging than he’d thought, considering the Christmas decorations littering the front lawn (many of which were gnome themed) and the snow.
But the fence that separated the backyard from the front was only waist high. He could manage that. Turning left, he made his way around the perimeter of the house, glancing into the window. He could see Tweek still sitting on the couch, another disbelieving laugh on his lips. It only made Clyde want to run faster.
He hopped the fence and came around into the backyard. Catching a glimpse of a tiny herb garden, Clyde wondered if Tweek kept it up. He couldn’t imagine his parents had the time to, with all the work needing to be done at Tweak Bros. Then he had to snap his attention back to what was around him, almost tripping over one of the garden gnomes next to the patio. He hopped the fence again, hoping that Tweek wasn’t following him around from the inside.
This time, when he passed the front of the house again, Tweek was standing behind the windowpane, grinning and waving at him when he jogged by. Unlike any coach he’d ever worked with, but Clyde would take it. At least his efforts were being acknowledged and appreciated. He tried not to think about how foolish this made him feel, and instead doubled his efforts on beating his time on this next lap.
Not like anyone was timing him, but whatever. Clyde could count. He could take a guess. Hell, if it felt like he went faster, then he’d accept that as a win.
He continued, lap after lap of the Tweak residence. By the tenth one, he could tell he’d gotten his average down to about twenty-five seconds, with the fence hopping bit adding a little wiggle room here and there. The extra challenge of that obstacle was helpful in keeping his mind from wandering. Plus, he was starting to break a real sweat. He probably would’ve kept going if Tweek hadn’t opened the door and caught him by the varsity jacket sleeve.
“That’s p-probably enough, ngh, cardio,” he stuttered. “Right?”
Clyde was tempted to argue that he could keep going. He might have done maybe a half-mile at most? He’d be fine doing a full one. But Tweek’s hand found his arm again, holding him steady, and Clyde could finally feel just how hard he was breathing. The adrenaline had been pushing him onwards. He was physically tired, but he somehow hadn’t noticed—like he did during practice. Maybe it was the added emotional escape. Maybe it was a pair of twinkling blue eyes watching him.
“Strength training next then?” he asked, trying not to think about that last thought.
“Sure.” Tweek laughed again, and Clyde could really hear it this time now that they weren’t separated by glass. The sound of it hit him along the back of his head, making him shiver, then suddenly other parts of his head felt fuzzier. His scalp, his temples, something deep in the middle of his brain. He let himself be pulled into the warm house again, nearly stumbling before Tweek caught him by the waist.
He had to stand on his toes to reach the jock’s ear. “Just give me ten push-ups, okay?”
He whispered it so softly that all Clyde could do was slide to the floor and do what Tweek said. His fingers curled into the plush carpet as he brought himself into a plank position. He lowered his chest, almost touching the ground before bringing himself back up. A pleasant burn trailed up his arms and legs as his body tightened with the strain.
More strange thoughts began to pass through his mind while he counted aloud. He thought of all those training montages in movies and tv shows. People sitting on the backs of athletes while they did push ups just like this, adding their extra weight.
Clyde kind of wanted to ask Tweek to sit on him. Not in a weird way! Just…he wanted to increase the pressure. He wanted it to be difficult. He had the strength to push back against more.
Feeling Tweek’s presence beside him had been nice, too. Clyde was beginning to enjoy how the blond wasn’t afraid to get close and touch him. Tweek wasn’t really a hands-on person like he was, often keeping his distance, even from friends. It made Clyde wonder what made today different (other than the obvious reasons). Tweek didn’t need to push his own boundaries for his sake.
There was a gentle tap on the top of his head.
“Two too many, Clyde,” Tweek said. His tone was sweet. There was a smile in it. And the way he said his name. Even more prickles centered around the middle of his back between his shoulder blades, racing up his neck and over his scalp. He let himself flop onto the carpet, eyes closing to revel in this perfect exhaustion seeping into him.
Tweek’s palm rested on his back. He rubbed slow circles into it, and Clyde didn’t know if he was going to sob or start falling asleep.
“Feeling better?” Tweek asked.
Clyde nodded, willing his eyes to flutter open and stay that way.
The blond kneeled in front of him, eyes curiously compassionate as he watched Clyde’s breath soften. “Wanna hit the showers?” he asked.
Clyde’s brain had a hard time catching up with the offer. “You mean, like,” he sputtered, the shock making him more out of breath, “the one in your house?”
“Mmmhmm,” Tweek confirmed. “I just did laundry yesterday, so there’s plenty of towels.”
“Dude, you don’t have to—”
“I want to.” There was a set determination in those blue eyes that told Clyde that he meant it. Tweek helped him into a sitting position, so he didn’t have to tilt his chin at that weird angle just to look at him. “Today’s hard, so I want to help you take care of yourself. It can be a challenge when things feel off.”
Clyde stared, starting to understand that Tweek was thoughtful and caring in ways he’d never fully understand.
“Speaking from experience?” he asked.
“Yeah, honestly.” Tweek exhaled. He carefully took Clyde’s wrists in his hands and heaved him into a standing position. When the jock’s balance faltered, Tweek’s hand went to his waist to steady him. “Sometimes, the basic things are easy to forget. It feels like I need to be reminded to be kind to myself.”
A nice sentiment. But Clyde didn’t really feel like that was going to do much. What good was coddling when life was unfair and hard? He wasn’t going to have someone to remind him to be nice to himself when things got bad. At least, not all the time. He couldn’t expect someone like Tweek to have to do that. The distraction he gave him was kind enough. And Clyde was sure he was expecting him to feel happier by the end of all this. There was a tiny piece of Clyde that was very sure he couldn’t be. Not even for him.
His body felt good. He was tired. But he couldn’t change his feelings.
How much could a shower even do?
Before he had the chance to voice his skepticism, Tweek was tugging him towards his upstairs bathroom. It was just as clean as the rest of the house, with a few hand towels strewn about on the counter. Tweek quickly bustled in to straighten them, then told Clyde to wait as he dashed back out into the hall. He came back promptly with towels folded neatly into his arms, a small candle, and a lighter.
Clyde shifted his weight onto his right hip, then crossed his arms. “If you want it to be like an actual practice,” he said, grinning, “the showers smell like sweat and unwashed gym clothes.”
Tweek rolled his eyes. “Okay, one, I wash my stuff immediately, so we’re out of luck there. Two, does it really need to be that accurate?”
“Guess not,” Clyde muttered, still gazing at the candle he had set by the sink like it was completely out of place.
The blond pushed the lighter into Clyde’s hands. “I don’t care if you use it or not. Light it if you want. Take a shower in the dark for all I care.” He was starting to talk with his hands—little jerking motions that showed a bit of his exasperation. But then he placed them on his shoulders and whispered in another impossibly soft tone. “Whatever you do, take your time.”
It all left Clyde stunned. The closeness. The touch. The sound of his absurd kindness. He couldn’t speak as he watched Tweek leave the room.
He stopped before closing the door behind him. “My room is the door to the right,” he said. “I’m down the hall if you need anything.”
Clyde would be lying to himself if he thought for a second that he didn’t need Tweek closer right then. But he nodded, refusing to tell him he needed more. Besides, who was he kidding? Was he, Clyde Donovan, a football star and local stud, going to develop a crush on the lanky, timid, Tweek Tweak? As if.
But maybe here in this house he could imagine what it would be like if he did. Here, in this bathroom, all alone—he could let himself think about how nice it was to have Tweek dote on him. Not like he asked him to, of course, but still. It was also kind of nice to not have to ask. In a way, it made Clyde question whether or not he himself was the one with a crush.
Clyde smiled to himself, free to think on that for as long as he wanted (while he was shielded by a closed door, of course).
He turned the shower on and lit the candle. Why not? Maybe that was how Tweek chose to wind down. Clyde couldn’t judge that; not after all the rest of Tweek’s suggestions had done him good.
But as the wax melted, Clyde began to realize that it was a scent his mother would have liked. Something like light rose water and antique perfume.
Tweek couldn’t have known that, but shit, it really did remind him of his mom.
And she would be the one Clyde would’ve told about his first real crush. He could picture how excited she’d be (hopefully even if he liked guys instead of girls). He’d really never know what she’d say now, so he had to rely on his daydreams that felt hollow and misty at best.
He stood in the shower and hoped that the water muffled his sniffles of grief. Time had passed, and Clyde shouldn’t still be weeping about it. But the stifling need to cry was always with him, wedged just behind his breastbone. He leaned his forearms on the tiled wall, trying hard not to double over with sobs.
He didn’t know what he’d do with himself if Tweek had to come check on him, seeing him naked and shaking with tears.
He didn’t know what to do with himself now either. All he could manage was washing his hair and letting his lungs heave. His ribcage trembled.
If Tweek had heard him, he didn’t let on. He didn’t even comment on the redness of Clyde’s eyes. Clyde knew he looked terrible. He’d seen himself in the mirror when he got out.
But the blond just welcomed him into his room without a word, gesturing to some folded pajama pants on his mattress.
“I figured none of my shirts would fit you,” he said, “but I thought maybe you could at least try the pajama pants?”
“You don’t mind if I’m shirtless?” Clyde smirked, knowing full well him standing at the threshold of Tweek’s bedroom in nothing but a towel was much more provocative. Yet, he was nonetheless at ease. Tweek wasn’t drawing attention to his obvious emotional state, and he was thankful for that.
He wasn’t in the mood for a whole discussion of his feelings again.
“Don’t get weird about it.” Tweek chuckled. “But no. That’s fine.”
Tweek’s bedroom was even more full of surprises. This was where the mess had been hiding. It was all clothes and notebooks and odd trinkets on the floor. Little piles of things were shoved this way and that to create a walkway. The tops of dressers and desks were tidy and organized looking, though. His bed was made too. If Clyde had to guess, this may have been what Tweek had been doing while he was in the shower.
The most interesting part to Clyde was that Tweek had his own TV set on top of his dresser. And it was already playing a favorite of his. The Holiday. Clyde hadn’t really been shy about his love for rom-coms around the guys. He had shown them this one the last time they had a big movie night/sleepover at Tolkien’s. That had been a couple weeks ago, right at the beginning of the Christmas season. He hadn’t figured that any of them would remember that it was his pick, especially not Tweek of all people.
While Tweek was busy fiddling with something on his desk, Clyde took the opportunity to slip on those pajama pants he’d offered. They weren’t a bad fit. He filled them out decently, where they’d probably be baggy on Tweek.
He tried not to think about the fact that he was sharing clothing with the twitchy blond. He thought he’d feel weird about it, but it made his stomach feel kind of fluttery instead.
He sat on the edge of Tweek’s bed for a moment, taking it all in. He’d finally gotten the chance to work out, so he felt less of that awful, built-up adrenaline. The shower was doing wonders for his body, which felt decently relaxed and warm now. Crying had, unfortunately, been something he apparently needed to do, too. He wished it hadn’t been, but whatever.
Tweek eventually sat next to him, quietly watching the movie. Clyde had been so distracted by his own thoughts and the screen that he’d almost forgotten he wasn’t alone.
“My coach wouldn’t do this,” he mumbled.
Tweek laughed. “You’re right,” he said. “This is more like hanging out at a friend’s house after practice.”
“I don’t even know if my friends would do all this for me.”
Tolkien might offer the creature comforts of a luxury shower and bath products. Jimmy would try to cheer him up with some lighthearted banter. Maybe the rom-com, even though he liked straight-up comedies better. And he sure as shit knew Craig had trouble showing any kind of human emotion, so consoling and comforting was out of the question with him.
But Tweek had been a combination of all those possibilities and more. None of the other guys would risk making themselves look silly with roleplay. The secondhand embarrassment from Clyde’s running and push ups around the neighborhood would’ve done them all in.
Maybe that was why Tweek became a part of their group. He wasn’t scared to deal with messy, embarrassing things. He himself was often messy and embarrassed. Clyde may not have been the only one he’d helped work through stuff, too.
“Well, maybe we’re all due for a sleepover where we just fucking cry and cuddle.” Tweek snickered.
“I doubt they’d go for that,” Clyde said. But he almost wished they would. It had been a long time since he’d been close with someone he trusted. And maybe cuddling with the homies would actually make him feel better. Would it be okay to ask for it? Would they understand that he wasn’t making a move on them?
All he wanted was to be held secure for a while. It didn’t have to be romantic.
“Would you though?” Tweek whispered.
“Huh?”
“Would you go for it?”
Tweek’s voice made the back of his neck prickle again in a pleasant way.
“Yeah,” Clyde sighed, unwilling to hide that part of him anymore. As much as he shouldn’t be into it, there were moments where he felt like he needed that. He sometimes wondered if the others felt the same. If they did, he wouldn’t judge them. Tweek wouldn’t either. Maybe if enough of them said it was alright, they could be safe to be supportive in new ways.
Because however weird it might have looked or felt at first, today helped Clyde a lot. He didn’t feel nearly as upset as he did when he woke up and trudged through school.
“You could lay your head on my lap if you want,” Tweek murmured.
At that point, Clyde didn’t really care what his motives were. He still wondered why, but that was something they could talk about later. He’d rather not think too hard about it anymore. Affection was affection, and he needed it more than he realized.
Tweek scooted towards the middle of his bed, which gave Clyde more room to lay down. The jock tentatively rested his head on the blond’s thin thighs and found them to be more comfortable than he’d been expecting.
He also hadn’t anticipated Tweek to play with his hair once he settled.
It had started off really slow and absent-minded, which Clyde could’ve ignored because if Tweek was just unconsciously fiddling with his hair, that didn’t seem strange to him. He knew the blond tended to fidget. And it certainly didn’t feel bad.
But as the movie quietly played out in front of them, layering the dark room in the warm-gold light of rom-com fireplaces and snow, his fingers wandered further. They grazed the slope of his neck; traced the shape of his ear. Fingertips found their way deeper into his tresses and lightly scratched his scalp.
It was starting to feel really good.
Not just the physical touch, but the sound of the hand in his hair—the soft rustling of it—made his head tingle. And his body, strangely enough, relaxed the more Tweek touched him. A wash of warm, tired relief filled him. He was close to crying again.
Tweek gently rubbed his temple. “Is it the movie?” he asked.
Assuming he meant the tears in his eyes, Clyde shook his head. They were nowhere near the part that he typically cried about. That was near the end.
No. Right now, it was just the first time he hadn’t had the thought of death looming in the back of his mind.
He was just a guy hanging out with a friend, with no thoughts other than how cared for he felt.
And maybe he was still definitely questioning his sexuality. But, oh well.
It didn’t matter when Tweek touched him this way. Made him forget the depths of his grief.
He cried on his lap for the rest of the movie, letting his tears fall whenever they wanted to. Tweek threaded his fingers through his dark locks, not saying a word until the movie was over and Clyde was out of sobs.
“Wanna stay the night?” the blond whispered, probably noticing the way the jock’s breathing had steadied, the tired droop of his eyelids.
“I snore,” Clyde mumbled, making no move to lift his head.
“That’s okay,” Tweek assured. “I just don’t wanna send you back out into the cold.”
“Then make me stay…”
Clyde knew that wasn’t what he should have said. He should have said I’m good, or I’ll text you when I get home safe. There was no good reason to agree to sleeping over at Tweek’s house. Just the selfish ones.
He wasn’t even sure what he meant by make me, either.
Could’ve been that he wanted Tweek to show him that he really wanted him there and wasn’t just pitying him or being nice.
“Alright,” Tweek said, and his fingers went right back to his hair, stroking, massaging, lightly scratching…
Clyde barely noticed falling asleep, too busy enjoying the kind touches.
Didn’t quite hear Tweek whisper a soft sleep tight to him.
Just felt the warmth in his voice as he let the grief slip away for one night.