Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For as long as he could remember, the smell of coffee and sound of whirring machines was a constant in his life. There was a sense of comfort in the familiarity. Picking up his cup, he quickly downed it as he turned to face the next customer. Coffee, it seemed like a lifeline for Tweek, never going long without a cup, it always being the special blend his parents would prepare for him.

Tweek knew that kids his age probably shouldn’t have as much coffee as he had on the daily, that much was clear as day. The way he trembled almost constantly, always being paranoid, and oh so tired. ‘10-year-olds shouldn’t be this tired’, he thought to himself, but the thought was quickly pushed out of mind when the coffee kicked in.

.

The day had been surprisingly peaceful, at least by South Park standards. It was around midday, with the kids being stuck at school, fooling around during lunch. Tweek regularly sat with Craig and the guys, considering them to be close enough to friends as to sit with them. It was either them, the bathroom, or sitting near Stan’s gang. Tweek wouldn’t say he hated any of them, besides Cartman of course, but that was a given. He would just rather not be included in any of their insane adventures, that’d be too much pressure!

Sitting with the guys wasn’t exactly the worst situation, at best it’d be awkward if they brought up Tweek and Craig’s previous pretend relationship, or talked about doing something as a group, which never really included Tweek. Not that it bothered him, as he knew he’d likely be spending his afternoon and weekend helping his parents run the shop.

Tweek tried to listen to what the group was discussing, but at that time picking the crust off his sandwich seemed 1000x times more interesting. Once more, his mind drifted, back to lunch seating arrangements. Craig and the others didn’t expect him to talk much, hell, Craig barely spoke much either, which Tweek appreciated. If he had sat by Stan’s group, someone would have been pestering him about something or another within 5 minutes. Tweek didn’t have the energy for that, ironic, but he’d rather spend his time looking at paint dry.
Even from across the cafeteria, he would occasionally feel eyes staring at him. He of course, blamed it on the gnomes first, before eventually realizing the source of the staring was none other than Stan Marsh. The guy had at multiple times tried to talk to him, those of which being interrupted, leaving Tweek frustrated and wanting to strangle the rest of the sentence out of him before he died from the suspense of it all. He almost got the full sentence out yesterday, before he was elbowed in the side by Kenny, who just whistled and walked away.

Soon enough, lunch had ended, and the kids rushed back to class, dreading having to sit through another boring lesson. The day seemed to drag on, excited to go home for the weekend, most, if not all of the kids had been talking about what their plans were and possibly meeting up. Unbeknownst to them, only a few miles away from school, sirens blared as they approached a building which most were familiar with.

.

That afternoon, an hour before dismissal, Tweek was pulled from class. He began to panic, tugging at his hair and shaking from the paranoia. He had never been pulled from class, something had to be wrong. His worries only grew as he was escorted to the counselor's office. ‘Oh god, they’re kicking me out, aren’t they?! I probably failed a quiz so badly they need to get rid of me so they don’t go bankrupt!’, he panicked internally. Upon entering the office, he was met face to face with too many people, only making him worry more.

The room wasn’t particularly small by any means, it was an average size, with enough room for a desk to be at the center of it, and still left room for shelves of books, paper, and family photos. Even then, Tweek felt like he was suffocating. The sheer amount of people in the room was already enough to make him want to scream, which he nearly did, if it wasn’t for his fear of them doing something to him if he did scream. The panicked blonde was barely getting through half of his ideas of what could go wrong, before he noticed the look of fear and pity that was given to him by the staff. The people he could only assume were police or investigators had a look of suspicion plastered over their face, only serving to scare the already terrified blonde.

“You are... Tweek Tweak, yes?” one of the investigators questioned, while looking over his dark sunglasses, reading from a clipboard in his hand. Tweek nodded at this, shakily and almost unsure of himself. ‘Oh god, what if someone stole my identity and framed me for murder?!’, a million possible scenarios rushed through his mind at once, he could barely string together a coherent sentence, but that wasn't necessary, as his worries were immediately interrupted.

“We need you to stay calm. We have some... important news, involving your parents”. Tweek felt his throat close up, why were his parents involved with the police, did something happen? “W- ngh! what?”. His body tensed, as if preparing for a slap. He had already run through every worst-case scenario, but even his paranoia couldn’t have prepared him for the words that came out of the man's mouth.

“They were arrested today at Tweek Bros, they’ve been lacing coffee for many years now, and we have reason to suspect that you may be a victim to this as well.”

The world seemed to stop for a moment. Tweek blinked, he must have misheard him, drugging their customers? Drugging… him? He felt sick to his stomach, like he couldn’t breathe. Instinctively his hands reached for his hair, jerking his head as his breath quickened, short, ragged breaths, only working to send him into further panic.

“N-no! No, no, NO! T-that ngh! Can’t be right!! They wouldn’t do that… r-right?” he let out a small sob. The school’s staff flinching and looking away with a pained expression, quickly being led out of the office by investigators. The people emptied out, leaving Tweek alone with the investigator, who was trying to appear unbothered, though the situation had clearly affected him.

Tweek tucked his knees under his chin, rocking back and forth, in panicked, erratic movements, rather than to calm himself down. “I know this is... a lot to take in right now, but it’s okay kid. We aren’t here to hurt you. The danger is gone now, you don’t have to deal with that anymore”. Comforted the man, which didn’t immediately eliminate the blonde's worries, but did enough to keep him from having a panic attack.

“We can drive by your house to get some of your things after some questioning, ok?” the man cautiously said, noticing Tweek’s breath hitch, before comfortingly rubbing his back, “nothing to worry about kid, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the…” the word ‘victim’ didn’t need to be said, Tweek knew what he meant. He unwrapped his trembling arms from around his legs, carefully being led out the door, following behind an older policewoman. He was grateful that at the very least no kids would be out at the moment to see him like this.

.

The questioning didn’t last long, only around an hour, but to Tweek it felt like 10. By the time he was going to be allowed to take some stuff home. There would only have been another hour for school to dismiss all his classmates. He did not want to deal with anything else, so he was led directly upstairs to his room. The place he’d known all his life but would not miss. All the blonde took was clothes and a journal he’d been keeping. No toys, nothing superficial that had been given to him as a means to keep him quiet.

As the blonde turned to leave, he took his last glance at the room which had become nothing more than a nightmare come true, and left, never looking back at that damn room again. He knew that everything waiting for him would be hard, painfully so, but it was better than everything he had gone through up until that point. His mind raced with thoughts of what was to come, where was he going, was he going to miss the coffee? What about his..friends? If they even considered him a friend. For all Tweek knew, maybe they’d be glad to get rid of him..

He descended the stairs quietly, his pale blue eyes immediately locking on the investigator who was still there. The man had dropped his glare after the questioning, in which their suspicions were confirmed, the Tweaks had been lacing their coffee, and their son, 10-year-old Tweek, was unfortunately confirmed to be one of their victims.

“What..What’s going to happen to m-me?” he asked, voice trembling, the realization of how much his life was going to change dawning on him as he entered the police truck, it’s windows tinted dark enough for nothing to see who was in the backseat, but still allowing him to look out through the window. “Well..” the man looked out the window, as if something out there would give him an easier answer to that question.

“To be honest kid, I can’t say for sure what’s to come for you,” Tweek froze, his stomach felt like it was in his chest, but before he could panic further, the man spoke again. “But I can tell you’re a good kid. And from the few cases I’ve seen, although yours is an extreme case.. I’ve seen people come back stronger.” He looked at Tweek through the rear view mirror, trying to reassure the blonde boy.

“I’m assuming you’ll get some help with adjusting back to normal.. without all that.. junk, in your system” he cleared his throat before continuing. “Then, you’ll likely go into a foster home-“ he saw Tweek’s eyes widen, to which he replied with a comforting laugh.

“It’s not as bad as it seems, kid. Trust me, I’ve been through it, it’s different, but good, and who knows, maybe you’ll get adopted too.” The man softly smiled at him, happy to see Tweek visibly relax. “You’re likely to be given a new name, just due to your age and the severity of this situation.”

Tweek nodded. He was scared, nervous, but glad. He wasn’t going to be forced to ingest more meth, he was still worried about his parents and what they’d do to him, but he had hope that they’d leave him alone, or that he’d at the very least be kept safe and away from them.

Tweek exhaled, watching the cold air turn to mist in front of him. The air felt cleaner out here. Lighter. He rubbed his arms, his body still shaking with leftover fear, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t stuck. There was no one telling him where to go, what to do, or what to swallow. He had no idea where he was going next. But for the first time, he had a choice.

Chapter Text

Stan doesn’t know why he watches Tweek so much.

He just does.

It’s not like they’re best friends or anything. Half the time Tweek barely looks at him, too busy flinching at invisible ghosts or shaking so hard it looks like he’s vibrating in his seat. He’s weird. He’s loud. He talks too fast, stutters too much, twitches like he’s about to explode.

And yet-

Stan still watches. It’s hard not to. Especially when Tweek is happy.

It doesn’t happen often. Maybe once in a while, when he gets really into a drawing and doesn’t realize anyone’s looking. Or when he’s running during recess, all wild limbs and messy blonde hair, screaming and laughing like he’s free.

Stan likes him like that.

Which is stupid because Tweek probably doesn’t even care that he exists. They don’t sit together in class, they don’t talk at lunch, they don’t hang out after school. But sometimes, Tweek will glance his way, just for a second, and Stan feels like-

Like maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could make Tweek laugh like that on purpose.

And then his stomach twists, and- oh, shit.

Stan barely has time to shove his chair back before he’s sprinting to the bathroom, crashing into a stall just in time to throw up. It happens every time. He had no idea why until Kyle explained it last year, exasperated and unimpressed: “Dude, you puke when you have a crush.”

Stan had denied it, obviously, because that’s stupid. But as he wipes his mouth and leans against the cold stall door, heart hammering, he can’t ignore the awful realization settling in his gut.

Because if that’s true… then he has a crush on Tweek Tweak.

And that’s really stupid.

But it’s his eyes that really get him.

They’re weird–big, cat-like, and too bright, like someone cut pieces of the sky and stuffed them right into his face. They dart around like they’re always looking for an escape, but sometimes, when Tweek is distracted or lost in thought, they settle. Just for a moment. And when they do, they’re the prettiest thing Stan’s ever seen.

He doesn’t know what to do with that thought, so he stuffs them down.

And then it happens–when the cops show up at Tweak Bros, when the adults start whispering, when the teachers say “Don’t worry about it, kids” and move on like nothing happened– Stan just… stands there.

Frozen.

He doesn’t even understand what’s going on at first. Just that Tweek is gone. Just gone. No goodbye, no explanation, just empty space where he used to be.

The next day, Tweek’s seat is filled with someone else. The class moves on. South Park moves on.

Stan tries to.

But later that week, when he finds a pink carnation, half-crushed on the sidewalk outside Tweak Bros, he picks it up without thinking. He doesn’t know why. It’s just a flower. Just a stupid little thing someone dropped.

Still, he takes it home. Presses it between the pages of his notebook. Writes Tweek’s name in the margin, even though it feels pointless. Even though he knows, deep down, that no one is going to say that name again. And even though he doesn’t understand why, Stan knows one thing for sure:

He won’t forget. Not Tweek

Not the way he laughed, or the way his too-bright eyes flickered with something, almost like trust, before darting away.

Not any of it.

Chapter Text

Tweek’s mornings were rarely rushed anymore. He woke up early–a habit that never really left him–but instead of jolting awake in a panic, or having been awake all night, he eased into the day. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of his apartment, casting a golden glow over the wooden floors. The scent of fresh fruit and flowers drifted throughout his apartment, mixing with his own smell of fruit and tropical flowers–his signature scent for a while now– Rio was already awake, lazily stretching on the windowsill, his orange and white fur illuminated by the morning light.

A few years ago, Tweek never would have imagined himself here–living in a city far from South Park, successful, healthy, with a home that felt safe. But even with everything he had now, the past still lingered in the corners of his mind, like the last fading notes of a song he hadn’t quite forgotten.

In a sense, that was the case. For the longest time he had tried to get rid of the memories, pushing them deep in the back of his mind so as to not have to deal with them. But now, everything feels different. The days of pushing through sheer anxiety and exhaustion were long behind him. Yet as much as he had changed, he still felt as though something was missing–incomplete.

Tweek laid in bed a little longer, enjoying the warmth and peace. He rolled over and checked his phone, among the mess of notifications, there were no missed calls or urgent messages. He smiled to himself, then locked his phone again and set it on the nightstand. Some mornings, he felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but this wasn’t one of them. Today, everything felt just right.

A familiar voice broke the calm.

“Bom dia, meu amor!” (Good morning, my love!) Lia’s sing-song voice filled the room, loud and cheerful. “Time to rise and shine!”.

Tweek groaned playfully, smiling while rolling over onto his back. Lia–or mãe– was one of his moms. She had moved to the US a while ago, before adopting Tweek with his other mom, Diana. She was originally from Brazil, only having come to the US on a trip, where she met her wife and decided to stay. Diana on the other hand was born to her two Mexican parents, in the US.

As much as Tweek tried to forget his past, he was able to embrace parts of it thanks to them. His biological mother having also moved to the states from Brazil, though she was an awful person, Tweek was glad she had at the very least tried teaching him about his culture, given that his biological father was about as American as they come. She had talked to him in portuguese a lot, making sure he was able to use the language fluently. He likely would have forgotten most of it with age, if it wasn’t for his mãe, Lia.

Lia poked her head into his room, smiling wide as she noticed Tweek was awake. “Good morning sleepyhead!” She was practically glowing with energy. Pulling the blanket over his head, he could already tell it was going to be one of those mornings where she goes a bit overboard.

His mãe chuckled, pulling back the blanket. “Come on! We’ve got breakfast waiting!”. She walked past the bed, going towards the window where she gave Rio a quick head pat, before pulling open the sheer curtains, letting in the light, nearly blinding Tweek.

He covered his eyes and sat up immediately, groaning. “I swear, you two are worse than my alarm,” Tweek muttered, blinking against the bright light streaming in. He ran a hand through his blonde curls, trying to get the mess of hair out of his face, still not fully awake.

Lia laughed. “We can’t help it, but you know you love us. We’ve gotta keep you healthy, yes? So get up and eat something nutritious.” She pat his arm affectionately before turning to leave. Not wanting to fall asleep again, he dragged himself out of bed, slipping on a pair of slides that lay nearby, and walked out of his room, headed towards the kitchen.

His moms didn’t live with him full-time, but they were always close by. They didn’t live but a few blocks away, which made it rare for Tweek to have a day without them showing up to share a meal or just hangout. On the rare occasion they didn’t come over, the blonde was sure to be found hanging out at their home, where he had grown up.

Tweek entered the kitchen a few minutes later, stretching his arms over his head. He was met with a spread that looked like something straight out of a food magazine. His moms never did anything halfway. Lia was already humming, finishing up a tray of freshly made pancakes, while Diana was sipping her coffee, calm and collected as always.

“Toby, minha estrela, fiz tudo que você gosta, mas pode ser que eu tenha cozinhado pra um exército..” (Toby, my star, I made all of this for you, but I may have made enough for an army..) Tweek chuckled, sitting down at the table with a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Do you know what today is?” Lia asked, plating the pancakes and drizzling syrup over them. “Uh, it’s thursday?” Tweek responded, voice still groggy, causing Diana to snort, a calm smile gracing her lips as she looked over her family.

Lia shook her head as she handed him a bowl of fruit. “No amor, we’re shooting that new video soon, and we need you feeling your best. So eat. You’ve got that flight to Colorado tomorrow, so it will be a busy day, and you might not have time to eat. Tweek rolled his eyes while laughing, “Ok Mrs. Manager”

Tweek smiled, taking a bite of some eggs that were on his plate. He had been living on his own for a while, and though he appreciated his privacy, he always looked forward to these moments when his moms came over. It was strange, this balance of independence and the overwhelming support he had now.

.

The rest of the morning passed in a whirlwind of casual conversation about his upcoming flight, shoots, and everything in between. He could tell that his mãe was still buzzing with excitement about the video shoot. Diana, on the other hand, was already mentally preparing for the multiple things left to manage before the video was set to be filmed.

After breakfast, Tweek wandered to his small office to check his emails. He had a million things to do, including finalizing details with his manager about the next album, approving stage and costume designs, and of course, figuring out the music video. He was still working on the song itself, but no matter how much he tweaked the words and melody, it still felt wrong. He knew the story he wanted to tell, but the words weren’t quite there.

As he settled at his desk, his gaze landed on a picture propped up beside his laptop. He barely remembered when it was taken, probably in the middle of some late-night chaos after a show, but he liked it. One of the few perks of being in the public eye was that his good moments were captured forever–proof that they had happened, that he had lived them. But so were the bad ones. Every mistake, every heartbreak, every exhausted moment where he let the cracks show.

He had been in relationships before, some fleeting, some more meaningful. Each had left a mark in its own way. There was a reason he had written so many songs about love and heartbreak. The memories of those relationships still lingered in his music, no matter how much time had passed. Through the hurt, he had managed to write down those feelings of pain and turn them into something more, an outlet for both himself and anyone who could relate and found comfort in his music. It was an art, his ability to create such intricate stories through his music, almost too raw and personal to perform without remembering exactly how they came to be. But now, here he was again, trying to put something so personal into words, trying to make sense of feelings that still clung to him no matter how much time passed.

But he had grown. He had learned how to take better care of himself, how to set boundaries, how to let go when something wasn’t meant to last. And even if some wounds never fully disappeared, he knew he wasn’t the same person he had been back then. He was stronger now, and wanted to receive closure for everything he had gone through. And this song would be proof of that.

.

“Are you still thinking about going back to South Park, sininho?”(little bell) Lia asked, breaking him from his thoughts. He had been quiet for a while, staring at the screen in front of him. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, muttering a simple “Yeah,”.

His thoughts on South Park were complicated. It was the place where everything had started and collapsed on him. His heart had been torn out of his chest, his trust and safety a second thought to the people who should have been taking care of him. He had been running for years, escaping from the ghost that was the memories of that place. He didn’t know if it was the change in himself, or the pull of unfinished business, but something was telling him it was time to face that part of his past.

“I think it’s time,” he admitted softly, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding in.

Lia was quiet for a moment before she stood and walked over to his desk, ruffling his hair affectionately. “You’re not the same person anymore, meu amor. And you don’t have to go back for anyone but yourself.” Diana came in, joining the small circle. “We’ll be arriving a week after you, to give you some time to settle in without us impeding. But no matter what, remember that we’ve got your back.”

Tweek smiled, the weight in his chest lightening just a little. It wasn’t going to be easy, that was for sure, but he wasn’t alone anymore. And maybe, just maybe, that made all the difference.

Chapter Text

Tweek had boarded his flight in the early hours of the morning, long before the first hints of sunrise painted the sky. With his bags already packed in advance, all he had to do was pull on a hoodie, grab his carry-on, and slip into a cab. The airport had been quiet, security a breeze, and before he could second-guess himself, he was on his way to the city he had been avoiding for almost a decade.

Now, he stood in the middle of the Colorado South Park Airport, adjusting his sunglasses as he took in the space around him. It was bigger than he remembered. Of course, everything was. The town itself had expanded into a small city over the years, and though he’d seen pictures, being here felt different. He exhaled slowly, shifting the strap of his bag on his shoulder as his manager typed something on their phone beside him.

Before heading out, he knew he couldn’t just walk through the city looking like himself. The last thing he needed was a fan recognizing him the second he stepped outside. Slipping into a quiet restroom, he locked himself in a stall and dug into his carry-on, pulling out a carefully chosen outfit–something understated but still put together. A dark turtleneck, fitted but comfortable, paired with wide-leg trousers that draped effortlessly over his boots. Over his hair, he threw on a green, satin head scarf, tying it under his chin, then putting on a dark pair of glasses.

When he returned, his manager barely spared him a glance before nodding in approval. That was good, meaning it worked. “Car’s waiting,” his manager said, motioning towards the exit. Adjusting the straps of his bag, Tweek followed the man to the cab.

The crisp Colorado air hit him immediately, cool against his skin. It smelled familiar– pine, distant smoke from some nearby chimney, the sharpness of the mountains. He inhaled deeply, taking it all in. The town was different. It was more of a small city than a small town like he had last seen it.

In an attempt to distract himself from the oncoming rush of emotions, he zoned out, beginning to focus his thoughts on what he knew would be constant, his family. They were still in NY, with Rio, and wouldn’t be arriving for at least another week and a half. They wanted to ‘give him space’, which he understood and appreciated, yet it still scared the hell out of him.

Space meant time to think, and thinking too much had never done him any favors. He had gotten good at keeping himself busy–writing, performing, training–but now, alone in a place he once swore he’d never return to, the silence pressed in on him. His manager’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You good?”

Tweek blinked, realizing he had been gripping the strap of his bag too tightly. He forced a breath, nodding. “Yeah. Just tired.”
His manager didn’t push, only gestured toward the waiting car. Tweek slid into the backseat, keeping his head down as the city blurred past the window. He barely recognized it. The old diners and rundown stores had been replaced by chain restaurants, boutiques, and high-rise apartments. South Park had evolved while he was gone.

As they pulled up to his hotel, his manager turned to him. “Before you get too comfortable, there’s something we need to go over.”
Tweek sighed, rubbing at his temple. “What is it?”

“The music video.”

He exhaled sharply. Right. That was the whole reason he was here in the first place. “We’ve locked in a band to play for you. A local group. Good reputation, good chemistry.” His manager scrolled through his phone, “You should check them out before rehearsals start.” His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to play it off. “What’s their name?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but they’ve played together for years. They’re from here—figured it’d add a personal touch to the video.” Tweek nodded slowly. “Where are they playing next?” His manager smirked. “Knew you’d ask. There’s a bar downtown. They’ve got a set tonight. Figured you might want to see them before rehearsals.”

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I’ll go.”

-

The bar was packed, warm with bodies and the low hum of conversation. Tweek kept to the shadows, adjusting the headscarf around his curls. He had added an oversized coat to his disguise, just in case. With his face partially obscured, he doubted anyone would recognize him.

He ordered a drink—something simple, non-alcoholic—before slipping into a quiet booth near the stage. The band was already setting up.

Tweek’s breath caught. The bassist leaned against his amp, adjusting his strap with an easy confidence. He wore a sleek, dark blue jacket over a fitted black shirt, his bass slung low across his body. His fingers moved over the strings in idle warmups, precision in every motion.

The guitarist stood near the mic stand, running a hand through messy black hair. A deep red leather jacket hung over his shoulders, paired with ripped jeans and heavy boots. He tapped the mic twice before strumming a few notes, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off nerves.

Behind them, the drummer spun a drumstick between his fingers, lounging back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He wore an open mustard-colored flannel over a graphic tee, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The moment he adjusted his cymbals, his expression shifted—casual mischief turning into sharp focus.

At the keyboard, the last member of the band adjusted his rings before pressing a few keys. His green bomber jacket caught the low lights, reflecting subtle patterns stitched into the fabric. He looked the most put-together of the group, his outfit structured yet effortless, like he was used to being the grounding force among them.
They weren’t just familiar. They were them.

Tweek’s grip tightened around his glass. He hadn’t expected this.

The music started, and for a second, he forgot to breathe. They were good. Really good.

Tweek’s heart pounded as he watched them perform, the years melting away in the rhythm of the song. His throat tightened. This was too much. He needed to leave before—

The bassist’s gaze swept across the crowd.

Tweek stood abruptly, turning away before their eyes could meet. He weaved through the crowd, slipping out the door just as the song reached its climax.

The cold air outside hit harder than he expected, but it helped. He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking quickly down the sidewalk without looking back. So much for keeping things simple.

Chapter Text

Tweek stared at his reflection in the hotel mirror, adjusting the thin silver rings on his fingers. His nails were painted a soft, dusky blue today–a muted contrast to his usual glammed up stage looks. He looked… calm. But it was just a facade.

He tugged the sleeves of his navy blue sweater over his hands. His curls were pulled back in a low bun, and dark sunglasses covered his eyes despite being indoors. He didn’t need them–but he needed the comfort in its familiarity. He wasn’t Toby Paz right now, He had to be Stormbell.

He exhaled through his nose and leaned in close to the mirror. His reflection didn’t flinch, so neither did he. ‘If I look confident, maybe I’ll feel the part’ he repeated in his mind, it’d been his mantra for as long as he’d been in the public eye. Tweek felt that if he looked like he wasn’t scared, then maybe he wouldn’t be.

His phone buzzed quietly on the counter. A message from Lia popped up, wishing him luck. Tweek’s lips twitched into something soft. He typed a quick reply with trembling fingers and tucked his phone into his bag, quickly exiting his hotel room so as to not be late to meet his manager.

-

The rehearsal space was small and plain, tucked between two larger buildings in South Park’s newly expanded downtown. Its black door was chipped around the edges, the metal plaque above it nearly unreadable.

The band stood outside, quiet as tension filled the space. It was nerve-wracking, but no one was brave enough to admit it. Just behind that door was the biggest opportunity they would likely ever have, and it all depended on them making a good first impression to guarantee success for the near future.

The sky was overcast, but not cold. The kind of weather that made everything feel a little heavier. None of them spoke for a moment.

Tolkien glanced at the door, and at last someone broke the silence. “Anyone actually know anything about the guy?” to which Kenny replied with a shrug. “He’s everywhere dude. You don’t need to look him up.”

Rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone which had occupied his attention previously, Tolkien questioned further. “Well yeah, but I mean, what’s he like?” clarifying “We know his music, but what if he’s, I don’t know-”

“A pain in the ass?” Craig finished flatly.

Stan exhaled. “I mean… yeah, that wouldn’t be the most surprising thing.”

“He is a popstar,” Kenny pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “Think he’s the type to make someone sort out his M&Ms by color?”

The band laughed quietly at the thought, “If he does, I’m quitting.”

“Or what if he’s one of those nightmare divas who makes us redo the song thirty times because ‘the vibe is off'” Kenny snorted, causing the group to burst out into laughter again.

Stan huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just hope he’s normal.” Craig gave him a deadpan look, “Since when is anyone from or in South Park normal?” causing Stan to try to argue for himself being totally and completely normal (which went as well as you can assume)

Their playful banter was suddenly interrupted by a voice which drifted through the studio walls, light at first, like the beginning of a breeze. Then it came in strong.

“Sure, it’s easy to talk
But I take it and I eat it with a cherry on top”

Stan froze. His heart kicked in his chest.

“Indulging in situations that are fabricated imaginations
Moments that cease to exist, only want to fix it with a kiss on the lips”

The guys went still. It was instinctive, one of those moments that passed over a room like a sudden chill, no one saying anything, not needing to.

“But I think I might
Take a bite…”

That voice, it wasn’t just technically good– it was real.

“I wanted to see the world in color
Through your eyes and through your mind
I think that I like to sit and wonder
Through the night, I think I might
Wanna do it all over again”

Like the person behind it wasn’t signing at all, but bleeding. Something about it felt.. Close. Stan’s eyes flickered toward the door. He didn’t move, and neither did the others, as if they were in a trance, they stood still, unable to stop listening to that voice.

“It gets harder to breathe
But I take it and I want it and I love when it
bleeds
‘Cause I’m craving expectations
That are unattainable temptations
I guess i'll just take the hit
But what’s the point of trying if it turns
into this?”

His voice didn’t falter. The song climbed towards its close. One more chorus and a final pull of emotion. Then, silence. No one spoke. The stillness between them wasn’t awkward, but heavy and filled with promise. Stormbell was well known and liked, and all this had done was further convince the band that playing for him would be great for exposure.

The faint scrape of a chair pulled them out of their thoughts, a faint breath let out, before Stan stepped forward and opened the door.

The inside of the studio was softly lit, quiet, and clean. A small upright piano sat near the window. Stormbell was sitting at it, fingers still poised on the keys. He looked over his shoulder slowly.

He was striking–not in an overdone, flashy way, but in the precise way he carried himself. His navy sweater tucked into pressed black pants. His hair was tied back, and he wore sunglasses though they were inside. His lips were painted in a calm, muted berry, at least Stan assumed they were, he didn’t know much about his lip color, he had definitely not studied it before whenever he looked up the singer.

“Hey,” Stormbell said coolly, voice low and seemingly perfectly measured. “Nice to meet you all.”

One by one, they all stepped up and introduced themselves to Stormbell.

“Tolkien Black, keys and production.” Stormbell gave a small nod to that while shaking his hand. “I know your stuff, it’s good.” Surprising Tolkien.

“Kenny McCormick, drums, occasionally bass.”

“Craig.” His handshake was brief but firm. There was a pause when their hands touched, like he wanted to say something, but held back.

Then, Stan stepped forward.

“Stan Marsh, he said. “Lead guitar, I- uh, sing too,” internally cursing himself for being so awkward, he barely noticed Storm’s hesitation, it was brief, almost going unnoticed by Stan.

He shook his hand, firm and cold. Measured.

Stan didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.

There was something in that moment that prickled his brain. The way Stormbell held himself. The cold smoothness of his fingers. The faintest twitch of his lips. It was familiar, too familiar.

Storm pulled back first and adjusted his sunglasses. “You guys ready to rehearse?” he quickly got back on topic, which resulted in a chorus of nods and terms of agreement.

“Yeah. We’re ready.”

But he wasn’t, not really.

-

As they walked back into the fading afternoon light, the sky still gray above them, Stan couldn’t shake the feeling in his chest. Stormbell was polished. Controlled. Unreadable. But his voice wasn’t.

That voice, that song, that ache.

It scratched at the back of Stan’s memory like something he’d almost forgotten. Like a dream he used to have when he was a kid. He knew that voice.

Or maybe he used to.

Whoever Stormbell was–Stan couldn’t say for sure.

But he was going to find out.