Author's Note: Alright, so it has taken me just an obscenely long time to get this story up and I sincerely apologize, I'm super cereal guys. So, as most of you probably don't know, a friend of mine and a fellow fic writer - .Pen. - had a birthday a loooong while ago and I finally got my lazy ass to write her a Creek story, so hopefully she won't murder me now. Basically, the summary says it all. It's a cute, fun fic about Craig trying to teach Tweek how to not care about anything, but as the two begin to get closer, Craig begins to question how good of an idea that may be. ^_^ THIS IS NOT A ONESHOT, REPEAT, NOT A ONESHOT. Indeed this fic will last a good couple of chapters!

I hope all of you enjoy, and please check out the lovely Miss .Pen's profile, I'm sure I've got her down as one of my favorite authors somewhere on my shitty lil profile. Please enjoy this story, and I would say review but eh, do or don't, I don't really care cause the only person who HAs to review is her, caus eif she doesn't IMA MURDER HER!

Enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Deal

"Come on Tweek, just relax."

Already I could feel my brows twitching with concentration on trying to be calm, something I've never been good at. My eyes flicked behind their lids helplessly – I was dying to open them – and I would squirm anytime a whiff of the incense candles burning nearby drifted toward me. My jeans felt too loose on my hips and my t-shirt too tight on my shoulders and I had an itch on my big toe that I was dying to scratch, which then of course got me worrying if it's normal to have an itchy toe. Oh god, toe-itchiness was probably the symptom of some rare disease. Shit!

"I…trying," I ground out between my clenched teeth, my temples throbbing with an on-coming headache.

"That's it, you're trying too hard. Open your eyes," Craig sighed audibly. My eyes flew open, the sight of Craig's bedroom upside down greeting me with him appearing to be defying gravity by sitting upon a bed that also appeared to be glued to a carpeted ceiling.

With one last feeble shake, my arms – the only thing keeping me steady – gave out, leaving me too fall away from the wall I was leaning on and land face-first into the floor.

"H-h-how in hell is being upside down going to – gah! – make me feel better?" I cried angrily as I sat up, snatching the pillow my head had been resting and chucking it at Craig's. He dodged it easily, however the projectile smashed into his bedside lamp, effectively knocking the object to the ground with a clatter. "I'm n-not gonna apologize for-for breaking it – that thing – er, the lamp."

Craig didn't even respond but instead opted to turn back to his math homework and set his chin thoughtfully back upon his knee.

"I don't get this problem," he mumbled softly, lightly chewing upon the end of his eraser. With a grunt, I got up from the ground and sat down adjacent to my friend, leaning over him to get a good look at the type of math he was doing in his class.

That was our arrangement – I would tutor him in math if he could teach me how to 'chill out' as he calls it.

But this agreement all started about a day or so ago.

. . . . .

"Hey Tweek!"

"Tweek, dude, party this Friday."

"Yo, Tweek-meister! How's it hanging?"

"Hi, Tweek," cue girlish giggling.

That was about how every passing period between classes and before school was for me while I wandered to my next subject. I don't exactly know how or even why, but I was considered to be one of the most popular guys at South Park High – maybe because people thought I was weird or maybe courageous for 'dealing with such a handicap' or maybe just because I was nice – I don't honestly know. All I do know is anytime someone says something to me, I just duck my head, mumble a meek 'hi', and avoid, avoid, avoid.

I was friends with lots of kids from my school, or at least it would appear to be that way, considering I hung out with two star players on the football team - Clyde and Token. It also didn't hurt that Stan and I were friends, him being the quarterback. And with my smarts and being on the basketball team, it kept me close to Kyle, who was the president of the academic decathlon team and star-player. I even had a bit of edginess, what with being associated with Cartman and helping with his pranks every now and again. Girls seemed to like me because I often hung out the number one lady-killer, Kenny, even though I could barely string two sentences together around someone of the opposite sex without having a spaz-attack.

But really, I was just an abnormally tall teen who liked playing basketball, got decent grades, and enjoyed the intermittent party and mischief. Nothing that would make me 'popular' but apparently, that's just how it was. Yet, that's not how things really seemed like for me. I still felt like such a freak, twitching and freaking out every second like some sort of mental patient. It was pathetic.

For example, I was walking idly around the school halls because I knew that I had a test right now in P.E. class where we had to climb a rope in a certain amount of time, but there was just so much pressure. All those people watching, all those eyes and all those expectations. I wanted to be able to walk in, calmly, and just climb up there like it was no big deal, shrugging it off.

But no, I'm just cracked-out Tweek the tweaker, I sighed, stuffing my hands in my jean's pockets. Other people may seem to like me, but what's the point if I can't even like myself? Now that was one hard pill to swallow.

"…did you just flip me off?" I heard the enraged yell of a male teacher's voice nearby, perhaps coming from down the other side of the corridor. Deftly, I drew nearer, already feeling apprehensive because oh god, what if it's some mass-murdering teen with an AK-47 and one hell of a grudge? Silently, I begged for forgiveness if I'd ever done anything terrible in my life.

"You're damn right," came the smooth reply in a voice that was familiar. "Fuck you, Mr. Brown, I'm out."

Suddenly, the classroom door was flung open just a couple yards away and Craig strolled out with his fingers laced behind his blue chullo hat, looking bored even as the teacher screamed at him to return to his seat. I watched as he held up his middle finger over his shoulder before kicking the door closed behind him without even once glancing back.

Craig Tucker is the epitomy of cool.

"Hey," he gave a nod of his head – awesomely – before waltzing on over, as if he could just glide with his smooth movements.

"Oh – uh – h-h-hey Craig," I managed to stutter out finally. To my erratic speech, most people were either one of two way: 1) purposefully oblivious or 2) bluntly annoyed. But then Craig had his own reaction – nothing. He looked neither annoyed or pretended to be not bothered by it – which almost seems impossible to not be one way or the other, but Craig magically was, like he just didn't really give a crap about anything.

"Been awhile," he murmured, slightly arching an eyebrow at me to show that he was actually curious about me, "what've you been up to lately?"

"N-not much," I admitted, "not like I don't have a social life – because I totally totally do – but not like one of those, oh you know, way-to-into-themselves party people but just like a I'm-nice-but-not-overly-jerk-ish type. But, yeah, parties…fun and stuff – so is basketball – fun, that is."

It took Craig just a moment, as if he was mentally converting everything back over into his simplified speak until at last he gave me that slow dip of his head that he understood. He didn't have to use words and never even had to worry about rambling like some sort of whacky weirdo – he could just be calm, cool, collected Craig who doesn't give a rip about anyone or anything.

"You're probably wondering what just happened," he observed, flicking those dark brown eyes across me; already I felt my neck and cheeks heat up from the pressure of his direct gaze on me, as if it could melt the very flesh from my bones. I couldn't help but cringe at my own gruesome thoughts.

"Yeah," was the only thing I managed to squeak out.

"It's just that I got another bad grade on a math test and it doesn't help when your teacher finds enjoyment from announcing my bad score to the class." Craig sighed in about the most un-Craig-like way I'd ever seen.

"Icouldtutoryou!" I blurted out in a jumble of words and then promptly slapped a hand across my mouth. The black-haired teen arched an eyebrow at me inquisitively.

"But what would you want in return?"

Huh? I hadn't considered that, but then when I stared back at Craig, for the first time in my life truly feeling something over than being a nervous mess, I knew exactly what I wanted from him.

"I-if I help you with math, you'll have to also show me how to be more like you – cool."

Craig suddenly extended his hand toward me, the tiniest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. I pushed aside all of the worries of how clean his hand was and how I would just die if I don't wash my hand after this and latched on. We gave each other a firm squeeze, then a shake.

It was a deal.

. . . . .

Author's After-Note: Alright, this is just like the set-up chapter. We get more into what Craig does to help Tweek, which as you glimpsed in the beginning, can be at times a bit silly and nonsensical. Til next time, darlings!