Chapter Text
Tweek Tweak slammed the door to Tweek Bros Coffee behind him, the bell jingling like a mocking alarm in his ears. The shop smelled like it always did, overbrewed coffee grounds mixed with that faint, chemical tang of whatever his parents were experimenting with this week. His hands were already twitching, fingers drumming against his thigh as he scanned the dimly lit interior. Boxes of inventory cluttered the counters, spilling onto the floor in haphazard piles. Great. Just great. Inventory night. Because nothing said "fun Friday" like counting bags of beans until his eyes crossed.
"Dad! You said this would only take an hour!" Tweek's voice came out higher than he intended, cracking at the end like a bad radio signal. He bounced on his toes, trying to shake off the jittery energy buzzing through him. Coffee. Too much coffee. Or not enough? He could never tell anymore.
Richard Tweak poked his head out from the back room, his mustache twitching with that perpetual salesman grin. "Tweek, my boy! Glad you're here early. We've got a shipment of those new organic blends from Colombia... supposed to be infused with natural calming herbs. Ha! As if anything calms you down." He chuckled, wiping his hands on a stained apron. "Grab the old tablet from the shelf. The new one's acting up... some glitch with the app. You kids are good with tech, right?"
Tweek groaned, his shoulders hunching as he shuffled toward the back counter. "Dad, I'm not... agh!... good with tech. What if it explodes? Or hacks into the government? They could be watching!" His mind raced ahead, picturing FBI agents bursting through the door, accusing him of cybercrimes he didn't even understand. He snatched the dusty tablet off the shelf, its screen cracked in one corner like a spiderweb. It was ancient, probably from before he even started high school. Why did they still have this thing?
"Just log in and start scanning the barcodes, son. It's not rocket science." His dad waved him off, disappearing back into the storage room with a box of mugs. "And don't drink any more coffee! You're shaking like a leaf in a hurricane."
Tweek muttered under his breath, "Easy for you to say," as he powered on the device. The screen flickered to life, slow and glitchy, the battery icon already blinking red. He tapped into the inventory app, his fingers slipping on the grimy surface. "Come on, come on... work!" He jabbed at the sync button, hoping it would pull up the latest stock list. Instead, the tablet buzzed violently in his hands, vibrating like it was possessed.
"Agh! What the... stop!" Tweek yelped, nearly dropping it. Notifications flooded the screen: pings, dings, a cascade of alerts that made his heart pound. "Dad! It's freaking out! I think it's broken!" But his dad was humming loudly in the back, oblivious.
Tweek swiped frantically, trying to dismiss the pop ups.
One read:
*Syncing account... Craig Tucker?*
His eyes widened. Craig? Why was Craig's name popping up? Oh, right, the school project. Back in freshman year, they'd paired up for that stupid astronomy presentation. Craig had logged into this tablet because his phone was dead, and they'd shared notes or something. Tweek hadn't thought about it since. The sync must have pulled some old data.
The tablet settled, but now the messaging app was open, drafts folder, glaring at him like an accusation. Tweek's thumb hovered over the close button, but curiosity, or anxiety, he couldn't tell, made him pause. These were Craig's drafts? Unsent messages? Addressed to... him?
His breath hitched. He shouldn't look. This was private. Invasive. What if Craig found out? But his finger slipped, damn shaky hands, and the first draft expanded.
*I don't know how to help you when you freak out like that. It's like nothing I say matters. Why do I even try?*
Tweek's stomach dropped. The message was dated over a year ago, right around that time they'd had a huge fight after Tweek's panic attack at the movies. Craig had just sat there, stone faced, while Tweek hyperventilated in the lobby. He'd thought Craig was mad at him for ruining the night. But this... this sounded frustrated. Resentful.
"No, no, no," Tweek whispered, his free hand tugging at his messy blond hair. He scrolled down, telling himself to stop, but his eyes betrayed him. Another draft, this one from six months back:
*Sorry I snapped at you today. I didn't mean it. You're not too much. I just... suck at this.*
Apologetic? Tweek's mind reeled. That was after the school assembly, when Tweek had rambled nonstop about conspiracy theories, and Craig had told him to "chill out" a bit too sharply. Tweek had brushed it off, but Craig had drafted an apology? Why not send it? Did he change his mind? Think Tweek wasn't worth it?
His breathing grew ragged, chest tightening like a vice. The shop felt smaller, the coffee smell suffocating. One more. Just one more, then he'd delete the app or something. The next draft was shorter, from only a few months ago:
*I wish you knew how much I care, even when I suck at saying it. You're the only one who gets me.*
Tweek stared, his vision blurring. Tender. Soft. Craig never said stuff like that out loud. He was all deadpan stares and monotone quips. But here it was, unsent, hidden away. Did Craig really feel that way? Or was it just a moment of weakness he regretted?
Spiraling. He was spiraling hard. Why didn't Craig send these? Was he hiding how annoyed he was? Or... or was he hiding how much he cared because he thought Tweek would freak out? Tweek's thoughts jumped like sparks... Craig resents me. No, he cares. But why hide it? Is our whole relationship a lie? What if he's been wanting to break up this whole time? Agh! Stop thinking!
He paced the narrow aisle between the counters, tablet clutched to his chest. His dad called from the back, "Tweek? You scanning yet? We gotta get this done before your mom gets home!"
"Y-yeah! Almost!" Tweek lied, his voice squeaking. He couldn't focus on inventory now. Not with this bomb in his hands. He glanced back at the screen, scrolling deeper into the drafts. There were more, dozens, maybe. Short vents, half formed thoughts, all to him. All unsent.
What if Craig was suffering in silence? Bottling it all up because Tweek was "too much"?
The words from the first draft echoed:
*I don't know how to help you.*
Tweek's eyes stung. He was too much. Always had been. Craig was stoic, unflappable, the rock to Tweek's storm. But rocks could crack under pressure, right? What if Tweek was the one cracking him?
He tried to close the app, but his thumb hit refresh instead. Another sync pinged, pulling in one last draft. This one was longer, dated just last month, after that night they'd stargazed on Craig's roof, when Tweek had a meltdown about aliens or government drones or whatever his brain had latched onto.
*I almost told you tonight. Up on the roof, with you freaking out about the stars. I wanted to say it... I love you, Tweek. Even when you're a mess, even when I don't know what to do. But I chickened out. What if it scares you off? What if you don't feel the same? You're everything to me, and I can't lose that.*
Tweek's knees buckled. He sank against the counter, the tablet slipping into his lap. Love? Craig loved him? Never said aloud, never even hinted. Just drafted and deleted, like it was too dangerous to send.
Tears pricked his eyes, hot and unwanted. Why? Why keep this hidden? Was Craig ashamed? Or protecting him? Tweek's mind screamed Too many questions, no answers. He couldn't confront Craig. Not yet. What if it ruined everything? What if Craig denied it, or worse, admitted he regretted it all?
With trembling hands, Tweek powered down the tablet and slipped it into his backpack. He'd figure it out later. Alone. Like always.
But as he stared at the blank screen, the words burned into his brain:
*I love you, Tweek.*
Unsent. Unsaid. And now, unraveling everything.
His dad emerged from the back, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ready to start? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Tweek forced a twitchy smile. "Y-yeah. Let's... let's do this." But inside, the storm raged on.