summary = 13 year old tweek is freaking the fuck out, because he's totally gay for his 13 year old bff, craig. does craig feel the same?

a somewhat-short, somewhat-sweet, somewhat-angsty creek story. only rated t, for language i guess. it's so fun to write about craig and tweek; 1, because we know much less about them than most of the other characters, so we can really create our own personalities for them, and 2, because creek are so damn adorable together. also i had swine flu and was sooo so sick, so i wrote something to cheer myself up.

please enjoy, and read my other stories if you do. xo

you said you couldn't Wait

"Love is friendship, on fire." -anonymous

Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.

He stared blankly down at his cell phone, screen still backlit from the text he had just sent. Panic gripped Tweek's insides as he realized what he had just done.

can't wait can't wait can't wait can't wait :)

"Ah! G-god, fuck, motherfucker!" Tweek wailed out his words. He could feel those familiar fucking feelings begin to brew inside his belly, and they foretold a freakout. He began to breathe faster, harder, more desperately as he tried to think of a way to defend himself against the inevitable.

He slammed the flip cover shut and threw it beside him on the bed, the sick sight of it making his stomach churn. When that wasn't enough, and he could still see the glare from the screen, taunting him, he picked it up and whipped it against the wall.

"Get it away from me!" he cried out, to no one. It landed in one piece on the floor, but the LCD screen instantly went black.

It gave him no rest -- he had the text memorized anyways.

i can't wait :) goodnight craig

ugh. Tweek was such an IDIOT. He supposed he deserved an attack for this, somehow. Otherwise he wouldn't be squeezing his eyes shut in fear of what was about to come. Otherwise he wouldn't be willing away salty tears by tying his knuckles tightly into his bed's thick down comforter.

Tweek felt the angry fist of anxiety reach down from the heavens and grip his brain. Sweat began to pour from every available pore on his body. Panic caused him to twist and turn violently in his bed, thrashing against his sheets as thoughts raced through his mind and began bouncing off of one another.

He sat upright, a shaking, writhing mess with a mop of knotted blonde hair stretched across and stuck to a perspiring forehead. His bedtime t-shirt was a size too small and read "Milk Rocks!" under a picture of a dancing cow wearing headphones, and it had a hole in the armpit. He grabbed the white cotton collar of the shirt with his teeth, biting down hard.

It wasn't always like this.

Well, okay - it was. Tweek had always been like this, anyways: a freakish mess with generalized anxiety disorder and bi-monthly breakdowns. He'd always been over-caffeinated and fucking crazy, and Craig had always been his best friend.

Tweek wasn't entirely sure how Craig put up with his paranoia and outbursts over all these years. At first, he suspected Craig was just in great need of a friend (Craig wasn't exactly the nicest guy around). But, after a few solid weeks of friendship, Tweek noticed how people flocked to the boy in the poof ball hat. Craig could make any kid at South Park Elementary his BFF, because he was so cool, and collected, and nothing ever, ever shook him. By this method, he usually always got what he wanted or needed out of any situation. So why was Tweek, of all people, his right hand man?

The day he'd finally asked him why he'd stuck around all this time, Craig told Tweek it was because he was "entertaining"; Tweek didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Eventually, after a week or so of obsessively pondering the subject, he'd decided it was probably good. Tweek's friend had accompanied his admission with a shy smile and red-tinged cheeks. Not to mention, it wasn't very common for Craig to be entertained by much.

That was the first moment Tweek allowed himself to picture Craig -- like that. He'd controlled his curious, wandering, homo-erotic thoughts in the past, scared that if he allowed the images that kept coming into his mind of Craig to fester there, the other boy would somehow be able to tell what Tweek was thinking (Craig had a most unsettling way of looking at you that made you swear he could see right through your soul).

It wasn't until that day, the day he'd finally asked Craig why they were friends in the first place, that he thought Craig might (maybe, possibly, by some remote chance) be just as... confused as Tweek was.

So for the past few months or so he began to allow himself to think of Craig -- like that. and sure enough, curiosity turned to infatuation, and with the added force of Craig being his best friend as well as the object of his desires, infatuation soon turned into love.

As far as he knew, Craig hadn't been able to read these thoughts yet.

There was no way Craig felt the same. and now Tweek had fucked everything up, forever.

Matted hair stuck flatly to his damp forehead. He felt the angry fists of ghosts wring his body like a face towel, forcing sweat to seep from every pore. His eyes were bloodshot; red rimmed with the tiniest of veins extending from his tear ducts and following through the whites of his eyes, stopping just short of his over-sized pupils. He saw every movement, heard every sound, felt every emotion possible as thoughts buzzed between his ears, running an invisible race which no one would win. They bumped off the interior walls of his skull and crashed into each other, neurons firing rapidly and making his brain sizzle.

The overwhelming pain of anxiety is excruciating, especially when you try too hard to fend it off; Tweek couldn't handle it. Not anymore. Not even for one second.

He tried to calm himself with his stress ball. Somehow he was able to recall from memory where it was stowed in his bedside table, and he reached for it blindly. Tweek was amazed at the capacity of the human brain to be able to deal with so much at the same time; how he could be in the middle of a panic attack and yet still remember where he stored such obscure items, especially when his entire room was usually a fucking mess.

At that moment, he wished more than anything that he could have a smaller, less capable brain. A simple brain. One that wasn't capable of overthinking every single detail and every single theory. One that wasn't creative enough to imagine anything scary enough that could possibly make him afraid (because nothing Tweek had encountered in real life had ever scared him. All his fears began, and ended, inside his own, unspoken thoughts). Being smart wasn't worth it's price.

Slowly he gripped and counted backwards from 10, as one of his old therapists had instructed him.

"Ten."

"N-nnnnnnnn-ni-ni-ni-ni-nine."

Deep breaths, Tweek. Deep breaths. Try and keep hold of yourself.

"Eiight."

"Sev-en." His throat cracked upon utterance of the second syllable.

"Sssssssi-sisisisi-si-si- ah fuck it!" he cried, hurling the stress ball away. It bounced off one thing, hit another, and caused a third pile of things to fall in the floor with a crash. Tweek had no idea what these things were, of course, because his eyes were squeezed tightly shut with tears threatening to spill from the sides.

He kept them at bay by doing the one thing he knew he shouldn't. Hands flew to his head and threaded through his hair. He ran his fingers through the knots and pulled, hard as he could, until he felt a few follicles begin to pop out under the pressure.

Then he could breathe.

He could hear the wind whipping snow around outside, and he knew the branches of the oak near his bedroom window could be scratching on the glass, but that's not what Tweek was hearing. He was hearing a clear, loud knock, and a muffled male voice accompanying it with mysterious words. He squeezed the lids of his eyes together, merging them into one.

It was bad enough he was having a full fledged panic attack and pulling out strands of his hair again, like he knew he wasn't supposed to. It was bad enough he'd most likely made the person he loved most hate him tonight. It was bad enough he had to live through this hell. Did he really have to have auditory hallucinations now as well?

Seriously, God. What the fuck?

The knocking grew louder, more frequent. The voices were persistent tonight; they longer to be answered, knowing Tweek's resistance was low from this emotional trauma. The voice of the man continued to call his name.

"It's all in my head. In my brain. It's not real. It's not real." Tweek closed his eyes and tugged harder on his hair, determined not to let them win. Determined to overcome his demons. He repeated his mantra to himself until he thought he had drowned out the sounds...

"Tweek," he heard it loud and clear this time. "Answer me, Tweek!"

"Argh! What do you want? What do you want?" He broke into sobs. "Please stop. Please stop tormenting me."

He'd given in. He doubted the imaginary voice would answer now, just to taunt him. Either that or tell him to burn down the school or something else fucked up. Tweek cried and cried as the knocking got more persistent, more desperate. The man shouted at him, his voice strained.

But all of a sudden the voice said something that made it clear to Tweek that this was not coming from inside his head after all.

"Tweek, please. It's me."

He stopped crying at once. Tweek knew that voice.

"It's Craig."

Immediately he went to the window, and there he was, cheeks and eyes both lined with a harsh red blush, blue hat covered in snow. His eyes widened in shock when they made eye contact with Tweek's. He seemed relieved to see him, and then instantly more horrified after he surveyed Tweek's face. He looked down and could see that Craig had pulled a ladder to the side of the house, and was leaning on Tweek's ledge with one blue mittened-hand, holding a thermos in the other. Tweek threw the locks off the window, unlatching all three of them as quickly as humanly possible.

Embarrassed to meet Craig's eyes again, and scared to know his purpose in coming here, Tweek retreated back to his bed as Craig pulled himself through the window. He bundled his knees under his chin and tried to soothe his nerves.

He knew he should say something. Maybe "hi", or "what are you doing here?", or maybe even, "sorry that I'm sitting here in this retarded shirt crying and trashing my own room"? But he couldn't; silence filled the space between them instead.

Craig surveyed the scene: a bookshelf containing only half of it's previous contents; a stress ball amidst a pile of books and DVDs, heaped in a messy pile on the floor; and Tweek's little Samsung flip phone, lying motionless on the carpet.

and then there was Tweek. He was a ghastly sight: skin pale; eyes bulgy, red, and twice the size they should be; hair in knots; bleeding fingertips; and curled up into a shaking ball so tight you'd swear he was a vibrating toy that someone had pressed the on button on, and then walked away. This was going to continue until Tweek's batteries burned out.

But Craig knew better than to ask what happened. He knew better than to ask what was wrong. Because he was Craig, and this was Tweek. and with Tweek it was always the same. With them, it was always the same (nothing would ever change between them).

"Good thing I brought the coffee," Craig said, mainly to himself. Tweek definitely needed it.

Tweek said nothing still but eyeballed the thermos anxiously, suddenly feeling how dry and scratchy his throat had become. Craig removed the lid and filled it full, handing the coffee over to Tweek, taking a tentative seat on the bed beside him; the smell immediately filled the room. Tweek gulped it down and his shaking slowed, but didn't stop. Finally, he spoke, handing the empty lid back to his best friend.

"Th-th-thanks."

"Strong enough?"

"Mm," Tweek confirmed.

Tweek let out a heavy sigh and put his head back to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut. The coffee's relief was only momentary, and soon tears began to leak from the sides again. His hands went to his hair.

"Don't," warned Craig.

"Nnnnngh," Tweek screamed from behind his knees, still pulling on his hair. He ground his teeth together, jamming them down just as hard as his slammed his top eyelid down against the one on the bottom. Craig was here, in his home, on his bed, watching the mess he had made of his room and seeing the mess he had made of himself. It was humiliating and he longed for a hole to open up below him and swallow him up, removing him from the sight of all earthlings.

He knew he shouldn't be pulling out more of his hair, but he just didn't know what else to do. He had no idea how to survive without hurting himself. When anxiety attacked Tweek, it wasn't kind; it destroyed him.

Craig was watching as he disobeyed, but he wouldn't repeat himself. His eyes were willing Tweek to stop the destruction, but he just couldn't. All he could do was wonder why Craig had come. This, of course, effectively made the anxiety worse and made it harder to obey Craig's wishes. What if he was here to tell him that he knew? That they c-couldn't be friends anymore? Thoughts Tweek was trying hard not to remain conscious of continued to dash by; all Tweek knew was that they were dark, and that pulling his hair helped prevent him from screaming them outloud.

Even with eyes closed, Tweek's hyper-vigilance could feel Craig's unmoving stare. He felt the bed shift across from him, and Tweek decided Craig was probably getting up to leave (it's better that way, to just leave without a word).

But all of a sudden, he felt heat. It crept closer and closer, while Craig's weight didn't lift from the bed.

A rough hand touched his soft arm. Oh my god, was Craig going to hit him? Tweek squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. Craig's grip settled on Tweek's wrist and his other hand mimicked this action with Tweek's other arm. Tweek felt a pair of hands slide on top of his own, threading through his tangled tuft of constarch-coloured hair. "Tweek," Craig pried, with his voice and his touch, coaxing him to loosen his grip on his hair.

Still terrified, but more terrified of disobeying Craig, he surrendered. Craig had a way of speaking which Tweek just instinctively followed -- a quiet confidence; a quality of leadership. Tweek trusted Craig to know what he was doing. He never got in Craig's way; he just did what he was told.

As soon as he relinquished his grasp, Tweek felt his arms being pulled apart and brought down to rest in his lap. Craig began picking the knots out of his hair. Tweek's heart leapt up inside his throat and he was thankful for the fact that his eyes were already closed, so it wouldn't be weird that he had them closed now. He could feel his cheeks burn as he allowed himself to sense how close Craig's body was in proximity to his own. He tried to calm himself down and squeezed his eyes tighter. He was terrified of accidentally opening them, seeing Craig, so close, touching him... he'd surely let out a spazzy tick so horribly awkward Craig would definitely never speak to him again. He was surprised he was even here now, after that text...

Recalling the cause of his original discontent, his body sped it's shaking, causing him to jump a little, and smack his bowed head into Craig's chest. Tweek cringed and lurched back, embarrassed by the contact, but Craig was patient with him. "Okay, Tweek. It's okay," Craig spoke, his voice level and calm. "Everything's going to be fine. It's all in your head. Breathe. Just breathe."

*

Craig continued to soothe Tweek with his words until he felt his trembling body calm itself considerably. Pleased with himself, Craig's own heart-rate slowed. It's not that he hadn't seen Tweek freak out before (of course he had; everyone had), but when Craig was the only one around, he always feared that what he had to offer wouldn't be enough. He knew the basics for helping Tweek get over this stuff (he'd just learned them over time): coffee, calming tones, and treating him like he's normal. He couldn't fix him, but he could help the attack become more bearable, atleast.

Craig would do nothing short of taking the pain of Tweek's attacks upon himself entirely, if it were at all possible. Seeing Tweek in pain made him ill; he was too delicate for the burdens he endured. He didn't deserve it. It broke Craig to watch Tweek do this to himself, again. He didn't understand his disorder, and he didn't understand why, but he did understand Tweek. Right now, he knew how hard Tweek was trying to keep his composure in front of him.

Not many people see Tweek when he's really being himself. Most people make their minds up about freaks like him right away. Even Craig had, before he'd been forced to spend a requisite amount of time with him and he'd finally noticed what was different. No one knew about Tweek's secret obsession with Seinfeld, of which he had all the monologues, and Superman references hidden in each episode, memorized. No one knew about his dream of being a marine biologist, because he was obsessed with the Endless Ocean game on the Wii. No one else knew how fucking cool Tweek was, and as much as it annoyed Craig that he was the only one who seemed to get it, he also liked it this way. He had no competition for him.

Craig worked tirelessly at the knots, and the tip of his red tongue curled around his top lip as he did so. He used his thumb and forefinger to twist and loosen the tangles by rubbing them together with tangles of hair in between. Once loosened, he raked thin, spindles of fingers through the hair to comb it clean. Tweek twitched and gulped and sighed, but eventually, he gave way to Craig's coaxing, relinquishing control and allowing himself to rest his worries, and just be taken care of. His heart rate slowed and returned his breathing to normal.

CRAIG CELL: so i heard you liek fishsticks

TWEEK CELL: ya?

CRAIG CELL: well do you like putting fish sticks in ur mouth ?

TWEEK CELL: ya

CRAIG CELL: what r u tweek... a gay fish?

CRAIG CELL: heh heh heh

TWEEK CELL: hee hee ha ha lol

CRAIG CELL: you like that one, huh? i heard it from j-j-j-juhhh... jimmy today

TWEEK CELL: LOLL

and Tweek did laugh out loud, too, at the purposeful misspelling of his classmates name. It was the first, but not the last, time he was to laugh at a text from Craig than evening. He was also about to have some other, very emotional reactions, but of course he didn't know this at the time. After Craig initiated their conversation with an ice-breaking joke (and really, the use of this device would be so obvious... to anyone but Tweek), they had texted all evening long.

Not a rare occurrence between the two boys, certainly, but what it escalated into was something Tweek had never experienced. Because tonight, everything was about to change for him. For them.

*

They began talking about the high school musical being put out that year. Of course neither of the boys would ever participate in that dreck (being ninth graders, they had certian reputations to uphold, afterall), but they weren't above a friendly debate over which characters they would be most suited to, if ever put in the positon to choose.

The play that year was "The Wizard Of Oz", so Tweek was easy. He would obviously play the lion wanting courage. Craig was harder: he already had the brains, the courage, and a heart of gold. In Tweek's eyes, he was perfect.

But those were just Tweek's eyes.

TWEEK CELL: maybe you'd be dorthy. she didn't need anything dude. she just somehow got mixed up in the whole mess. all she wants to do is go home.

CRAIG CELL: ya that sounds like me

TWEEK CELL: except for her pet toto

CRAIG CELL: what? i could see myself with a little dog

TWEEK CELL: craig, you hate dogs!

CRAIG CELL: i only hate dogs because YOU hate dogs. and besides, the lion likes toto anyways. he's harmless.

Tweek froze. i only hate dogs because YOU hate dogs, he re-read, and the shivers that traveled up his spine made him smile despite himself. Craig didn't miss a beat, writing something else before Tweek even had a chance to reply.

CRAIG CELL: are you going to sleep tonight ?

TWEEK CELL: no

CRAIG CELL: freak

TWEEK CELL: lol sorry :P

CRAIG CELL: well... some of us mortals so have to sleep, and it's almost 3am. i guess i'm off

Tweek frowned at his phone.

TWEEK CELL: ok

The lion inside Tweek somehow, at that moment, found himself a modicum of courage.

TWEEK CELL: craig

CRAIG CELL: yess ?

TWEEK CELL: do u want to walk to school together tomorro ?

CRAIG CELL: sure. i'll meet you at your house.

TWEEK CELL: i can't wait :) goodnight craig

And that's when the phone hit the wall.

"So you broke your phone?" Craig asked, once Tweek's hair had been smoothed over and he had finished his third cup of coffee.

Tweek flinched. "W-what makes you think that?"

"I tried texting you back, and when you didn't answer, I called. It went straight to voicemail."

"Oh," said Tweek, realizing. He must have broken his phone when it smashed against the wall.

"I was hoping you just went to sleep when you didn't answer, but then I was worried you were doing... something stupid..." Craig trailed off. He didn't want to make Tweek feel any worse than he probably already did; he knew he couldn't control it.

"Sorry," Craig said, apologizing right away. "Tweek. I know you can't help it. This isn't your fault, okay? I was just..." Craig paused to articulate what he was trying to say, letting out a puff of hot air which blew up his black bangs. "I get so fucking worried". Craig touched Tweek's hand and he gulped, noticeably jumping. But Craig didn't flinch. "It's hard being the normal one here," he continued.

"So," Tweek paused, shocked. "You. You came... because -- because you were worried?" Tweek tried to verify his understanding of the situation.

Craig's cheeks tinged red, ever so slightly, and Tweek marveled at the fact that he was witnessing such a rare occurrence as Craig Tucker being embarrassed by something. "Well that... wasn't the only reason," he eventually said.

Tweek merely blinked a response. "Oh...?"

"I couldn't sleep. So, I was texting to see if you... wanted to do something, since I figured you wouldn't be sleeping either. and then when you didn't answer I... I just... I had to come and check." Craig finished and looked up at Tweek, holding his eye contact, no longer nervous. He gauged Tweek's pupils for a reaction to his words.

"You wanted to walk all the way over here, during a snowstorm, at 4am... to hang out?" Tweek shook his head, wondering if his deliriousness was affecting reality or if Craig was being legitimate here. He just couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why the hell would he want to do that, when he could was already going to see him on the walk to school the next day?

"Tweek. You... you said... you couldn't wait."

Tweek's jaw dropped.

"You said you couldn't wait... to see me." Craig grinned wickedly, immediately finding his confidence once Tweek gave him the flustered, flushed reaction he was waiting for. "and I..." Craig grabbed Tweek's other hand with his free palm, his actions bolder now, twining their fingers together. "I don't want you to have to wait anymore."

oh... so this was happening now.

Everyone remembers that feeling before their first kiss. It's the good kind of anxiety; the one that makes you feel alive. Even Craig Tucker, numb to the majority of feelings, could feel a a very foreign bubbling rush of anxiety in his stomach that made him giddy with delight. It was was so uncommon a feeling to him; it was the most amazing, yet terrifying, feeling, which only ever seemed to associate itself with Tweek. As he held the gaze of the boy before him, he realized it was a feeling so common to the blonde object of his affections that it had driven the boy half-mad. At the moment, Craig feel nervous, and scared, and not fucking cool at all. Anxiety made Craig feel like something actually fucking mattered.

It was then Craig accepted that he was fucking scared, because the outcome of this really mattered to him. Craig was anxious around Tweek because all he wanted to do was be with him; if he screwed it up, that meant life without Tweek. That was a possibility Craig could confidently say he had a reason to fear. So he had to do this right.

He had never made out with anyone, male or female, in his thirteen and a half years of life. Craig never worried much about it; before recently, he'd never had a desire to kiss anyone, male or female. He'd always assumed, though, that when the time came, and the person was right, he'd automatically know what to do. On instinct.

Now, sitting here with a wide-eyed (and for all intensive purposes for this sort of thing, useless) Tweek, he realized he couldn't have been further from the truth. He knew what he wanted to do (oh, he knew what he wanted to do to Tweek at the moment) but he had no idea how to do it.

So Craig wasn't 100% sure what to do, exactly... big fucking deal. He was confident in his movements and he inched closer to Tweek, knee by knee, staring into the wide, frightened eyes of his love with his dark ones, full of lust. He came closer until he was crouched on two knees, with Tweek's head tucked just under his chin. He felt him shake against his body and just waited, giving Tweek a moment to breathe and collect his bearings before he would continue.

*

They both realized by now that something was about to happen. Something big, that would blur all lines between what was acceptable behavior and what wasn't between them. An act that would mean more between two people than any words could ever say.

Craig's grips on Tweek's hands remained firm, and he looked down at one hand and stretched his fingers, flattening their palms together. Shivers collected at the base of Tweek's spine at the sensation of Craig's careful, calculated touch. Because this was the most romantic moment of Tweek's short life thus far, he tried his best to empty himself.

Craig brought their palmed hands up to the sides of their faces, and pulled at Tweek's limp, tired, emotionally-drained (and yet physically-hypersensitive) body. Their eyes were almost level, except that Tweek kept his head bowed, gripping Craig's other hand tightly. He squeezed back, pulsating his fingers so Tweek could feel him there. He watched Tweek follow their touching palms with his eyes as Craig brought them down to his chest. Tweek let go and placed his palm over Craig's heart, which was beating very, very fast.

Craig lay his free palm on the side of Tweek's smooth, tearstained cheek. He let a puff of hot air which tickled Tweek behind the ears and made the blonde fuzzy hairs at the base of his neck stand up. Tweek finally looked up into Craig's eyes, much darker than usual, and hitched in his breath. Their tips of their noses were millimeters from tickling each other.

This was it.

*

Everyone remembers that feeling before their first kiss. It's the good kind of anxiety; the one that makes you feel alive. Even Tweek Tweak, hypersensitive to the majority of feelings, could feel a very different, bubbling rush of anxiety in his stomach that calmed his troubled soul. It was was so uncommon a feeling to him; it was the most amazing, yet terrifying, feeling, which only ever seemed to associate itself with Craig. As he held the gaze of the boy before him, he began to shake again with the nervousness bubbling in his stomach. But Craig held Tweek as he shook, nothing possibly about to deter him from what he was about to do.

Together, they held eye contact, exhalations of carbon dioxide mingling together as they stared into the depths of each others eyes. He can definitely read my thoughts now, Tweek thought to himself, taken aback by the dark, slanted look in Craig's eyes as he eyeballed Tweek like a Salisbury steak.

The inch between their lips was like miles and Craig slowly, carefully, sultrily made the distance disappear. Their lips touched and all was right with the world.

"In the morning, I'm taking you to get a new cell phone," Craig said, chiding Tweek for foolishly breaking his Samsung.

Tweek looked up into his eyes and smiled a toothy grin which split his cheeks. "Is that so?" Craig and he were lying together on Tweek's bed, limbs mingled and their initial shyness over being together now overcome by delicious passion.

"Yes, I am," he said, thumb on Tweek's chin. "I need to be able to text you at all times. You make me worry too much."

Kissing his best friend/boyfriend hybrid on the back of the hand he held, Craig traced the outline of dancing cow on Tweek's t-shirt, smiling at the absurdity of it all. He eventually glanced over at the clock. "It's 5:34 am..." he said. "What do you wanna do?"

"... kiss," Tweek replied shyly.

Craig obeyed.

credits/dedications:

for anyone who has ever had a panic attack. they fuckin suck. or for anyone who just thinks creek are adorable.

south park is owned by an amazing gay couple named trey parker and matt stone btw, not me.

the first line of this story is the first line of canadian author Andrew Davidson's debut novel, called the Gargoyle, which is one of the most beautifully-layered, most mesmerizing works of fiction i have ever had the pleasure of reading.

please review, and harshly!!! don't be shy - i NEED to get better!! (: peace&love