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Craig's house was comfort, woven into the soft carpets and drifting through the air along the soft rays of light as it passed through dreamy curtains. Even the couch, though bought at the same store as his own family's, felt cozier to Tweek. As if the love of the Tucker's had molded the cushions into something able to treasure and cherish whoever sat on it, as opposed to the rigid rejection of the Tweak's couch.
Another important thing to note was that the Tucker's actually had a console connected to their family room television and crafts on the coffee table before it, inviting the household to spend their time together rather than promoting self-isolation like a house that was decorated only to show off to guests who didn't care much about how little dust was on the tables or how reflective their mirrors were.
It was his preferred place to go after school or on weekends, or truly any time he could get the excuse to leave home and his job. Everything was so malicious in his life, and the only refuge he could seek seemed to be with Craig. On the afternoons after school, when the sun was struggling to stay in the sky, and Thomas was still stuck someplace between work and home, the Tucker's house was nothing short of paradise.
Tweek was pressed against Craig's side on the couch, a throw blanket tossed carelessly over their laps as their eyes were glued to the split-screen television showcasing two pixelated cars competing against a plethora of their previous best times. It was a fun game, but a distinct sense of wrongness affected his immersion into the experience.
Maybe that was why he was leaning heavier into Craig than usual, and why his usual lemonade was diluted heavily with water (something he did in secret; it felt illegal to add tap to the Tucker's nice things, but he couldn't stomach all the sugar for some reason unbeknownst to him).
The game flashed with a winner screen, Craig's character victorious in the center while music flared out of the speakers. Tweek hadn't won a single game, he'd blame the numbness in his fingers for that.
Slowly, the music drifted out, then looped. Craig was usually quick to go on to the next stage, start up a new race and get as much done as possible. Curiosity piqued within Tweek, but he found it a struggle to tear his eyes from the repetition of pixels as they flashed proudly on the television. They distorted in an unfamiliar way, swelling past the screen and into the room like an oil painting left in the rain.
His eyes hurt-- or rather, ached. They felt hugged as if the T.V had extended its staticky hands to take over his eye sockets.
"Tweek?" Craig waved his hand in front of Tweek's face. It didn't break the connection he had to the screen.
"Something's," Tweek swallowed thickly, only then becoming aware of the strain in his clenched jaw, "something's wrong."
Anticipation was building in his body, an excitement for untold events expanding into something that filled his skin like fire ants overtaking an intruder. His muscles felt... used. His entire body felt used, like someone had taken it for a joy ride without him. It was a dizzying sensation, and he closed his eyes against the pain of it. There was a swell of sound in his head and colors behind his eyes, beautiful if not nauseatingly overwhelming.
"MA!"
Craig yelled, and Tweek didn't know why.
Then Laura was in front of him, and his face was wet and the throw blanket was under his head and there was a ringing in his ear louder than the brewing machines at work; and he didn't know what happened. Gentle hands guided his leg out and his arms into a specific position. He felt like a doll, to be posed and displayed and that thought sent something gnarly to his gut.
"Tweek, honey, can you hear me?" Laura's voice was softened, matching the dimmed lighting in the room.
Tweek nodded, he didn't feel like mustering up his voice.
"Has that happened before?"
Has what happened before?
If she was referring to a jump in time that he couldn't explain or recall what happened during it, then yes. It wasn't his first time that had happened. Tweek turned his head and only felt slightly guilty about the saliva getting on the blanket beneath him. It felt worse on his face.
"I guess," his voice was surprisingly raspy, he wasn't expecting it to croak out of him like an overly loved dog toy with a decrepit speaker.
Fingers were dancing along his back, intentional and firm as they marked a path around the knots of his muscles. He recognized the size of them, Craig was still there, and his silence attested to the severity of whatever had just happened. Or maybe Craig was mad at him for ruining the game.
"I'm sorry."
"Why?" Craig demanded before Tweek could finish. The latter twitched, even though he knew the tone was concern and nothing mean.
"Craig," Laura chastised, and Tweek could hear the soft sound of her flicking his bicep before continuing, "you have nothing to apologize for."
"Can I get up?" Being on the floor was embarrassing, and he could feel the warmth of attention reddening his cheeks. Blush didn't look good on him; he was far too pale.
"If you feel like you can," Laura repositioned herself to be able to provide support, "take it slow."
Craig was behind him, providing a firm thing to press against. He wasn't particularly muscular, but his stubbornness showed itself in many ways. They kept their space as Tweek pushed himself up against the jelly opposition of his bones.
He sought Craig's arm to stand up, since a lingering vertigo threatened something evil if he tested the limits of stability on his lonesome. There was a wobble behind his knees, an anxious sort of movement as if something really scary was happening that Tweek wasn’t cognitively aware of. It only festered the anxiety in his chest, and he found his mouth shockingly dry despite the drool at the corners.
A nagging sensation tugged at the back of his mind like a child on its mother's sleeve, urging him to inquire for more context-- any sort of explanation of why Laura's face was creased with worry and why Tricia was halfway hidden behind the walkway leading to the kitchen and why everything was suddenly so solemn.
He didn't ask though, something like fear anchored those curiosities down, and he kept them festering within the depths of his shrouded heart. Tweek did, however, lean a bit closer to Craig; hold his hand with enough force to surely be uncomfortable, but the latter kept his complaints to himself. It almost felt manipulative, or like Tweek was taking advantage of the situation to hold Craig tighter than was acceptable without protest.
With the sudden swell of fear that rode that thought like a thrill-seeking surfer catching a wave, Tweek released Craig's hand and instead held himself.
"How do you feel, Tweek?" Laura asked, reaching out to brush back Tweek's unruly hair and cup his cheek. He leaned into her cool palm, siphoning out the comfort she provided like a whale greedy for air after breaking the surface of an unruly ocean.
"Fine," he flinched, head jolting towards his shoulder and the word came out rushed and jumbled. He sometimes sounded like he was perpetually gargling nails and hot sauce, and though his mother had tried to school a more delicate diction into him, it never seemed to work.
"That's all?" Craig said, setting the expectation for Tweek to have some sort of complaint. He wasn't used to that sort of thing; his parents had instilled a very particular communication set into him, which included a dishonesty around himself, and that had gone so deep he's since lost the ability to understand what inside of him is a problem that needs to be addressed. He supposed that was probably a problem that needed to be addressed-- but whenever he brought up his parents to the Tucker's their faces got sad and he felt guilt gnaw at his stomach.
"Hungry, I guess," he wasn't, really; but hunger usually worked well as a scapegoat.
"Let's get you something light, then," Laura nodded with a smile. She was speaking delicately, and though her intentions were well, being treated like glass was a skin-crawling sensation, "do you want a sandwich?"
"I guess," he shrugged, and rubbed harshly at his arms. Short sleeves exposed the fragile skin there, it was quickly reddening with irritation.
Laura took his hand to subtly redirect them and led the way to the kitchen, "Tricia, do you want a sandwich too?" She asked when they passed the wall that Tricia was hidden behind.
Once the attention was on her, she straightened up and put on a guise of being disinterested in anything that had occurred leading up to the moment. Tweek was grateful for that, at least someone had the decency to act normal.
"What kind?" Tricia asked, there was a lingering flush on her cheeks that betrayed her embarrassment for snooping, but her eyes spoke confidence, and she knew nobody present would call her out. Except maybe Craig, who enjoyed annoying her, but he seemed aloof in the moment. Sometimes Tweek wondered if he spaced out because of how much was going through his head, or how little.
"Tweek, what would you like?" Laura led him to the kitchen counter before going towards the bag of bread on the counter.
"PB&J please," it was the easiest option with the simplest ingredients-- he hated asking for much from the family that always gave him plenty. Tweek liked peanut butter the same way he liked Gatorade. It felt weird in his mouth and the flavor was always off-- but everyone else enjoyed it so he guessed he should too.
"Was it the game?" Craig's voice was quiet in the chair beside him, barely traveling the gap between them though he was leaning close enough to threaten the balance of the stool, "I'm sorry for making you play."
"What?" Tweek bit his lip against a grunt and turned towards Craig, "what do you mean?"
Craig shrugged and buried the bottom half of his face into his hoodie. Then, he brought his knees up to his chest and stretched his hoodie over them as well.
"Can I have a turkey sandwich?" Tricia requested, sitting on the other side of Craig.
"Of course, and Craig?"
"Nothing," his voice was muffled by the fabric.
Tweek poked at Craig's hand, catching his eyes to express his concern. Craig's eyes were plain, refusing to offer any insight as to what may be occurring behind them. It piqued Tweek's curiosity in the endless way Craig seemed to.
"Eat slowly," Laura slid over a plate with two perfectly sliced triangles and a glass of water.
Tweek picked up one of the perfectly fluffy slices, feeling it give way slightly beneath his fingers as he brought it up to his mouth to nibble. He was probably very hungry, all he'd had was coffee that day since his parents tasked him with making his own lunch and he often forgot to. He forgot a growing number of things recently, which might be a cause for concern if he remembered to care about that or bring it up with anyone.
Nibbling on the slice, he nudged the plate over to Craig.
"It's good," Tweek said, motioning for him to take the other half.
"Then you have it," Craig narrowed his eyes back, and it reminded Tweek of a cat he saw once while picking something up for his parents over in Kenny's neighborhood.
As much as Tweek wanted Craig to eat, he himself was wanting the second slice more with each bite of the first he had. It was as though being reminded of what food was made his body crave it more than ever. And at least Craig had a full lunch earlier.
Shrugging, Tweek took the second half of the sandwich as well.
It smelled fresh, the peanut butter was store-bought, but the jam was from the farmers' market, made by one of the farms on the outskirts of town that prided themselves in the freshest goods around. Tweek liked the farmers' market-- or, he liked going with Craig. Not so much the markets themselves. They were loud and had a dense crowd of various people. But Craig was good at navigating them, and at knowing which stalls had the best snacks and liked to give free things out. He'd been able to explore the markets more than Tweek, whose only experience with them prior had been helping out at his parents' booth.
"Are you staying the night, Tweek?" Tricia asked, holding her unbitten sandwich in front of her mouth like a prop.
It was a school night, Tweek probably wasn't allowed to. A sadness soured his stomach and he set down the slice that he had gotten halfway through eating.
"Can he, mom?" Craig spoke up.
"That's up to his parents," Laura's lips were in a line, and Tweek bristled at the expression on her face.
A key jingling in the front door stopped that conversation from pursuing, and only a second later Thomas entered the house.
"I'm home!" He called out, in case anybody didn't know.
Casually, he walked into the kitchen, greeting his wife with a quick kiss before roughing up the hair on Tricia's, Craig's, and Tweek's heads in that order.
"I picked up a movie on the way home," he brandished the disc between his fingers, "Tweek are you staying?"
"I have to ask- Agck! My parents," Tweek blinked roughly, then scratched at the back of his neck.
Craig reached for his hand, guiding it down and holding it on the counter between them.
"Can you ask them dad?" Craig looked up. Tweek could follow that logic, his dad would probably be more receptive to another adult asking rather than his crazy kid.
"You want me to ask Tweek's parents?" Thomas pointed to himself.
"Maybe you should," Laura stood beside him, rubbing his shoulders. She whispered something in his ear that made his face twitch.
"Alright," he fixed himself, "nobody go anywhere, I'll give the Tweak's a call."
Tweek watched him leave while Craig's thumb worked circles into the back of his hand. It helped with the circulation, and it made Tweek feel like one of those worry stones he always saw at the corner store. Quietly, he picked the sandwich back up and took another bite. Movie nights were always nice. Them all in the same room, sharing the long couch and getting whatever warmth the blankets didn't provide from each other. Laura's popcorn was good too, she popped kernels on the stove and added her own butter, salt, parmesan, and something else that gave it red dots a slight kick.
Better than all of that, the warmth and friendliness of the family that he had nudged his way into, he didn't have to go home.