TW: minor mentions of self-harm

Tweek did not sleep well last night.

Okay, he doesn't really ever sleep well, but last night was enigmatic—a true chart topper in his last eighteen years of sleepless nights.

There was nothing stressful about yesterday, nothing that tipped him over the edge.

Yesterday was a perfectly normal day.

Last night just sucked a chode and a half. It started with checking his Facebook after he got home from work and seeing that Craig had just entered into a relationship with Red.

Except that wouldn't bother Tweek—shouldn't bother Tweek. Tweek is just Craig's friend is all—maybe not as good a friend to him as Clyde or Token, but a friend all the same.

He didn't even know Craig had feelings for Red, much less that he gave enough of a fuck to actually pursue them.

Just recalling that makes the roar in his ears grow louder and louder, to the point where he can't hear what Butters orders. Except that isn't a roar, it's the sound of his own molars gnashing together, and shit he has to stop doing that.

"S-sorry, man," he shakes his head, left eyelid refusing to stop twitching. "What was that again?"

"Vanilla latte," Butters says again, and Tweek thanks dear sweet Jesus that Butters is at least a patient guy. And even though Tweek hates pity, Butters is one of the few people who has sympathy enough in this town to be able to pity someone.

He gives Butters a white chocolate macadamia cookie out of the display and gives it to him on a plate, free of charge.

"Well, thanks there, Tweek," Butters beams back at him. "Listen, I'm gonna be workin' on our trigonometry homework at that back table… you're welcome to come and take a break with me if you want."

Tweek's gut turns into a twisted, knotted mess—sour coffee churning over and over like whites in the rinse cycle.

"Thanks, man," he mutters and hands Butters his coffee, careful to keep his hand steady. "I've gotta do a bunch of inventory, though."

"Oh, well," Butters nods pleasantly, "No worries. I'm back there if you need, so just holler."

Every inch of Tweek's skin crawls at the prospect of getting out from behind this counter. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and for a moment he finds himself paralyzed, unable to do anything but watch Butters take a seat by the window.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. He's not supposed to get this way at work—he can't get this way at work. Then he can't work, and what's the point of being at work if you can't work?

When he finally regains control of his limbs, he pours himself a cup of coffee. The smell alone is enough to soothe him, eliciting this weird Pavlovian response that he can't quite put his finger on.

He burns his tongue trying to drink it too soon.

Thankfully everything is pretty slow for the moment. He has so few customers that he should be able to keep tabs on all of them, remember their names and drink orders just like his parents can, but that's a little difficult to do when all he wants to do is grab the countertop and rip it off of its foundation.

He doesn't know how he came to sit on the stool behind the counter, but he can't do it anymore. He hops up, grabs his rag from under the counter, and starts wiping down the table closest to him.

Except he can't quite wrap his brain around doing that right now either.

He can't wrap his brain around anything right now.

The bell up front rings then, however, and sends him shooting half a foot up off the ground.

Fuck, he hates when he's like this.

He looks over at the front door and sees Craig, sauntering in like he owns the place, headphones lodged soundly in his ears and shit.

Shit, shit, double fucking shit sticks.

Tweek grabs his rag in his hands and twists as hard as he can, twists it all the way around until the fibers are still and his fingers are purple.

He stalks back behind the counter and drops the rag, wriggling the blood back into his fingertips.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

Craig lifts a thick eyebrow and pops the buds out of his ears.

"Dude, are you doing bumps of coke in the back?" he laughs. "You're talking like Micro Machines man."

Tweek's jaw clicks as he tries to keep from grinding his teeth again. By this point he'll have nothing left of his teeth by the time he's twenty-five.

Public. He's in public. He has to get his shit together.

"Just tell me what you want, Craig," Tweek cautiously enunciates every word.

"I'd like a cup of coffee, Tweek," Craig enunciates back, and Tweek gives him a quick flip of the middle finger.

He hands Craig a paper cup and a lid, and says, "A dollar even."

Craig frowns at that.

"What gives, man?" he asks as he fishes a crumpled dollar bill out of his pocket (along with a few gum wrappers and a bic lighter, but Tweek doesn't call any attention to those). "You never charge me for plain coffee."

Shit.

"My parents caught on," he lies, except his eye starts twitching again and he fucking hates when it does that. "Shit!"

"Dude, chill out," Craig's eyebrows screw up high on his forehead. "You're gonna have an aneurysm or something."

"Jesus Christ, don't put that in my head, man!" Tweek exclaims. "That's the last fuckin' thing I need."

"Okay, okay!" Craig holds up his hands, checking over his shoulders to make sure they're not causing a scene before he leans in. "Man, are you okay? You're freaking me out."

Tweek resists the urge to let out a groan with all his might, resorting instead to turning around and counting to ten.

There's been too much stimulation today. Being around so many people at school is a chore in and of itself, and on top of that he had to come in right after school to cover for his parents, just so they could go to their couple's yoga class or something. His parents are turning into those older people—the kind who smoke weed on the back porch and have stacks of tantric love-making books on their nightstands; the kind who meditate every morning before work and every evening before bed and split a bottle of nice wine between them at dinner.

Meanwhile, Tweek can't find it in himself to sit still long enough to work on his meditation exercises like his doctors want him to, no matter how hard he tries.

"Tweek?" Craig's voice pierces through his mental fog, and he whips around.

"What?"

Craig's brows furrow together and he scratches his head under his hat.

"Nothing," he concludes, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Do I look fine, man?" Tweek snaps back, words barely registering in his brain before he spits them out. "Shit, man, I'm sorry. Today's just been… fucked. Sorry."

"No skin off my ass," Craig shrugs, shifting his weight back and forth. "You were acting kind of weird at school today, I thought I'd come check on you."

Tweek doesn't realize he's been biting his nails until he tears a nail down too far and rips half of his cuticle out of his thumb. He looks down and sees a bright spot of blood forming around the bed of his nail, and bites down on his tongue to keep the loud string of curses at bay.

He's tired.

He's so fucking tired.

All he wants to do is crawl into his bed and sleep until death comes for him.

"Uh," Craig raises his eyebrows as Tweek laps at the blood with his tonuge. "Do you need a Band-Aid or something?"

Tweek tucks his thumb into his fist and shoves it in his pocket. Fuck, he has to stop doing that in front of people—especially when he's behind the counter. He inches over to the sink and rinses his hand under water that's much too hot. It burns the sensitive tips of his fingers, where he's bitten down his fingernails and gnawed at his skin until he's bloody and sensitive.

His doctors were surprised when he said he didn't engage in self-harm.

Then they saw his hands and assured him that self-harm doesn't just come in the form of blades or pills.

"Dude, I know you guys are all about small family-run business and everything," Craig starts, quietly enough that no one can hear, "But isn't there anyone you can call to cover for you?"

Tweek braces his hands on the edge of the sink and hangs his head.

Too much.

There's too much.

The roar in his ears comes back as he grinds his teeth so hard that he thinks they may crack.

"Can you," he hears himself say. "Can you grab my phone out of my bag and text my parents?"

"Sure, man," Craig says behind him, shifting so he's behind the counter and into Tweek's backpack. "What do you want me to say?"

"Just, like, 911 or emergency or something," Tweek hears his voice crack, breaths coming too short and too fast for him to be able to see much further than past the end of his own nose.

"All right, all right… you're all right, man, okay?"

Tweek shuts his eyes. He hates when people tell him that, because what the fuck do people know? People tend to trivialize what they don't understand, and Tweek's freak outs are definitely befuddling to the untrained eye.

"Look, I texted your parents," Craig continues. "Do you need anything else? Do you, like, have meds or anything? I forget."

Shit.

Shit. Tweek rubs his hands over his face. He forgot to take his Adderall this morning… and this afternoon. His parents always used to remind him, but they've been forgetting to more and more lately.

And yes, that's made him better at remembering, but he must have been so upset this morning that he just… forgot.

"Hey," Craig says softly, resting an arm on Tweek's shoulder. Tweek is taller than Craig, a lanky swizzle stick of knobby joints and spindly limbs; Craig is stocky and warm to the touch, with thick hands and strong fingers that knead into Tweek's tense muscles in just the right way.

God, does he even know what he's doing?

"Just sit down for a few minutes," Craig pats him swiftly on the back. Tweek's phone buzzes with a message and Craig confirms, "Your parents on their way, dude, you're fine."

Electricity pulses through every part of Tweek's body. From the tips of his hair seem to crackle against each other, down to the way his toes curl and crack in his shoes. Out of a lack of anything else to do, he turns on the faucet and starts scouring the sink.

At least if he cleans the sink he can show his parents that he did something.

"You want me to take orders and work the register?" Craig asks. "You'll have to help with the coffee, though."

Tweek twitches a nod, and breathes in a shaky sigh.

Luckily, there aren't too many people who come in between now and when his parents come back. His mom comes up behind him and rubs her hands over his back. She smells like warm vanilla and sweet smoke—almost as comforting as the smell of his coffee, now cold on the counter.

"The sink looks beautiful, honey," she hums. She rummages around in her purse and holds out a pill in her hand. "Here, from the stash in my purse."

Tweek wipes his hand off on his pants and pops the pill into his mouth, swallowing without any need for water.

"Why don't you go home, baby?" she pets his hair. "Your dad'll close up tonight, I'll come home early and fix you some of that yummy red chicken curry."

"I can take him home," Craig pipes up, and both Tweek and his mom turn to him. His dark eyes fix earnestly on Tweek as he rocks back and forth on his feet.

Craig is not one to suffer foolishness or inane tasks—if he feels it's not worth doing, there's no chance in hell that he will do it. Tweek knows this, and yet he shakes his head.

"You don't have to, I'll be fine to drive in a few minutes," he insists.

"Dude," Craig looks at him frankly, grabbing both his bag and Tweek's. "Just shut up and let me take you home. You're not feeling well."

Tweek looks at his mom, who nods and pats him gingerly on the shoulder.

Craig is a wreckless driver on his best days. With no regard for the rules of the road, he whips around corners and blows through stop signs like he's got nothing to lose. He manages to smoke through a whole cigarette on the very short way back to Tweek's house, tapping the ash out his window.

By the time they're back at Tweek's, Craig has to walk him up to his room.

"Dude, what were you doing in here last night?" Craig asks, regarding the scattered coloring book pages and crayon shavings on his floor. His room smells like stale coffee and wax, and rather than lie on his bed and try to nap, he sits down on the floor and flips to a clean page in his dinosaur coloring book.

"Hey," Craig snaps his fingers in front of his face. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

"Coloring," Tweek shifts, reaching into his box of neon crayons. "I wanted to do the T-Rex last night, but I fell asleep… and then I woke up and started watching Twilight Zone."

"Jesus," Craig scratches his head. "Uh, what about napping?"

"Let me do this first," Tweek shakes his head and looks up at Craig. He's cute like this—all bewildered and everything. And any time he spends here with Tweek, he isn't spending with Red. "Wanna do one? I have that Hot Wheels one you gave me for Christmas around here somewhere."

Tweek sifts through a pile of coloring books and pulls the Hot Wheels one out from near the bottom of the stack. Craig, gathering that it's this or fruitless arguing, sits beside him and grabs the box of crayons by Tweek's knee.

Tweek loves coloring—there's a certain amount of calmness that comes from this ritual. He can do whatever he pleases, with however many colors he likes. He can make something realistic, he can make it more colorful than real life would allow. It's the only thing that ever really centers him, and sometimes, like now, he can get his friends to join him.

With careful strokes of the crayon over the cheap paper, Tweek brings life to his dinosaur. His attention to detail, he's told, is stunning, and by the time he feels his meds kick in he's almost done.

"So," Craig begins as he sloppily colors in the decals on his car. "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Not really," Tweek shakes his head, looking up from his coloring book. Craig's tongue pokes out between his lips as he colors in some minute detail.

Tweek's stomach churns and his body feels like it's full of rot.

This is terrible—do people actually act on this feeling? Does it make it any better, or does liking someone basically mean you're a slave to feeling like you're in a medieval torture chamber every time you're around them?

"Sure?" Craig presses.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Tweek snaps, though with a little less bite than earlier. "Why are you so interested all of a sudden."

Craig shrugs. "You were sulking all day," he says. "You're weird, but you're not sulky. Figured something might be up."

Tweek swallows back any response he might spit out and instead starts drawing a comet on the blank background of his page.

Craig catches it and remarks, "Harsh, man."

Tweek doesn't respond to that either, just keeps coloring until he's satisfied with the outcome. Finally, he starts to relax and sets the coloring book down. Craig's long since been done—he's not great at coloring, but to be fair, Tweek colors a lot more than most.

"Looks nice," he comments and pushes himself up off the floor.

"Looks like shit," Craig snorts. "You feel better?"

Tweek groans and scrubs his hands over his face. He doesn't know that he feels better at all, because Craig is still together with Red.

Craig, who smokes weed in his basement and makes stop motion videos with Legos, who's never once talked about girls in the way Clyde or Token have. He has a girlfriend now. One with long red hair and nice boobs and long legs.

Tweek has long legs.

"You want any coffee?" Tweek asks, and immediately Craig shoots up.

"Dude, that's the last thing you need," he says.

"Don't tell me what to do," Tweek bites before he can stop himself, and sighs. "Sorry."

"Here, sit down," Craig leads him back on the bed and sits beside him. "A man can't live on coffee alone. Sleep is good for you."

This coming from the guy who slept through a fire alarm in sophomore year. Tweek hunches over and rests his forehead on his knobby knees. As he takes deep breaths, he feels the world start to slow further. His brain dials it back from a sprint to a jog, and he feels a little more at ease.

"You want me to leave?" Craig asks.

Tweek shakes his head and sits back up. He doesn't think he could deal with being alone right now. He likes his alone time, but when it makes the switch from solitude to isolation, he starts to go a little crazy.

Crazy.

Shit.

He's not supposed to say crazy.

Even if that's how it feels.

Tweek lies back on his bed and hugs his pillow close.

"I can't sleep until this wears off anyway," he yawns. He turns over and stares at the ceiling, patterned with stickers from his coloring books and glow in the dark stars. Craig scoots up next to him and rests his elbows on his knees.

"You want me to hang out until it does?"

Tweek rolls over and looks up at him. He can smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes from here, and inhales deeply.

Craig smells so nice.

"You sure no one will mind?" he asks.

"Eh, what the fuck do my parents care?" Craig shrugs.

Tweek wants to tell him that's not what he means, that he knows he's got a girlfriend now, that he knows he has to balance his time differently now, but he keeps quiet. He just stares at the hole in Craig's jeans and listens as he starts telling him about the Avatar Lego parody he's making.

"Man, you really can't sleep until this wears off?" Craig asks then, jolting Tweek out of his space-out. He sits up and grabs his bag off of the floor, draping himself across Craig's lap as he searches through wads of crumpled tests and homework. He pulls out a half-finished bottle of orange juice he bought at the student store and unscrews the cap, swallowing down a big mouthful.

"Does orange juice help, or were you just thirsty?"

Tweek flops back onto his bed and clutches the orange juice close to him, nursing it as Craig keeps talking. It's the most he can recall Craig talking in recent memory. Not that it's a bad thing: Craig's voice is thick and low and does funny things to Tweek's insides. It's a very nice voice to listen to.

ooo

Tweek wakes at noon, realizing a little too late that it's Friday and that he should have been at school four hours ago. He has alarms to remind him of this, man. He sets the one on his bedside table and at least three on his phone, all within five minutes of each other to bully himself into waking up.

He sees a post-it note on his pillow, reading in Craig's untidy scrawl "turned off ur alarms. sleep motherfucker."

Great.

Tweek's got a bad habit of missing school anyway, what with his doctor's appointments and frequent inability to sit through classes. As a senior, he should probably be a little more concerned about his attendance, but he doesn't have any grand college plans in the works.

He pads downstairs and sees a note from his parents on the fridge. "Hope you slept well, babycakes. There's red chicken and rice in the fridge for you. Take your Adderall and just relax today. We love you."

Tweek grabs his meds out of the cabinet beside the fridge and pops one in his mouth, swallowing it down with a glass of water.

He grabs the chicken out of the fridge and heats it up, toting it back upstairs with him and settling at his computer to watch some Doctor Who. He swaddles himself in his blankets and pulls the glass bowl close to his chest.

It's the kind of food warms him to his core, which is good because Tweek does not retain heat very well.

His phone lights up beside his computer and he picks it up.

"Hey, mamma," he says through a full mouth.

"Good, you're awake," she sighs with relief. "I was just calling to check in on you."

"I'm fine," Tweek swallows and nudges his chicken and rice around with his fork. "Dinner was good breakfast."

"Good," his mom chuckles. "Craig said you were tired, we figured it was best not to bug you. That was one hell of a crash, sweetheart."

"Yeah," Tweek sniffs.

"All right, well, we'll see you later, honey," she says. "Get some rest. Love you."

"I will," Tweek yawns, "Love you too."

He tosses his phone aside and polishes off his food, happy to be free from school for the day. His parents understand, which is good—in the hands of anyone else, he would probably have been much worse off.

After two episodes, Tweek goes back downstairs and washes his dishes. He reorganizes the spices on the spice rack and re-alphabetizes the DVDs on the DVD rack. He takes out the tea tins and sorts them by type and flavor, and then does the same with the coffee.

He makes a pot of coffee and pours himself a cup.

By the time he's halfway up the stairs, ready to catch up on a little reading, there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," Tweek sighs and tromps back down. He looks through the peephole and audibly groans at the sight.

Craig, scratching his fingers through his soot black hair, shifting from side to side.

Tweek opens the door and rests his head on the warm wood.

"Normally people try to discourage me from playing hooky, you know," he says.

"Oh good," Craig nods and replaces his hat on his head. "You're feeling better. Can I come in?"

Tweek rolls his eyes and steps aside.

"I brought you your homework for the weekend," Craig says, but doesn't make a move to get it out of his bag. He just sits on the edge of the couch and gives Tweek a look. "You seem a lot better today."

"I am," Tweek nods. "I slept for… I don't know when I fell asleep actually, but I didn't wake up until noon, man."

"Shit, that's insane," Craig's eyebrows go up. "You're almost on par with me, Jesus."

Tweek shifts, drumming his fingers against the side of his cup as he waits for something, anything else to happen.

"Does Red know you're here?" he winds up asking, and immediately bites his lips shut.

Shit. He's supposed to be okay with this. He's supposed to want Craig to be happy, but fuck fuck fuck.

"Dude, what are you talking about?" Craig's eyebrows go up.

"Red!" Tweek exclaims. "You and Red. You know, your girlfriend?"

"Dude!" Craig exclaims. "Are you high? Red's not my girlfriend."

"Don't lie to me, man," Tweek shakes his head, sloshing coffee all over the wood floor beneath his feet. "Shit."

He stalks back into the kitchen to get a rag, only to find Craig's followed him in there and is right behind him.

"Jesus!"

"Tweek," Craig says very carefully. "Is this what you've been so bummed about?"

"No," Tweek shakes his head a little too vehemently.

"Because Clyde and Red are together," Craig elaborates. "Not me and Red. He updated from my facebook on accident, she accepted because Clyde is a fucking idiot and she wanted to see how long it would take him to notice."

Oh.

Well then.

Relief hits Tweek like a freight train and he has to lean against the counter for support.

"You really thought that was real, didn't you?" Craig asks.

Tweek refuses to look at Craig, and in fact pushes right past him to mop up the coffee in the entryway.

They had to do away with carpet long ago, due to Tweek's penchant for spills.

"Is there anything you want to tell me there, Tweek?" Craig presses, and Tweek can hear the raw amusement in his voice. His hands shake, and it only gets worse when Craig crouches beside him and tries to catch his eye.

"You know I'd tell you if I were going to get involved with anyone, right? Like, come on man, think it through."

"You know, it's really hard to think something through when your brain won't let you," Tweek snaps back, slapping the sodden rag onto the floor as he shoots up to his feet. Craig is used to his outbursts by this point in their friendship, however, and calmly rises as well.

"You could've asked me," he considers.

Tweek rolls his eyes because yes, he knows this, but it didn't occur to him at the time. And even if it had, how was that conversation supposed to go? "I'm sad that you're with a girl because I want to touch your dick with my hands and mouth."

Fat fucking chance.

"Is it because you have a thing for Red?" Craig asks, examining his fingernails.

Tweek should lie.

He should lie through his teeth and throw Craig's scent of the trail forever.

Except then Craig asks, eyes still on his fingers, "Is it because you have a thing for me?"

That ignites a fire on Tweek's face, and immediately he tries to cover it with a scowl.

"You're such an arrogant piece of shit," Tweek spits back, and Craig shrugs.

"Maybe," he considers, "But whatever's going on is making you feel like shit, so I want to get to the bottom of it."

"Man, it's none of your goddamned business," Tweek stoops to pick up the rag and tosses it back into the kitchen, where it lands in the sink with a loud slap.

"Yeah it is," Craig simply states. "You're my friend."

Tweek stares fixedly at Craig, eyes unable to pull away from his thick arms crossed over his chest. He's no stranger to hormones—he may be kind of freaky, but he went through puberty just the same as everyone else. He experiences longing, he experiences excitement, and he ruins just as many sheets and towels as his friends.

He grinds his teeth together, hoping the noise will drown out whatever thoughts crop up in his head.

"I won't be mad," Craig reassures him.

"I don't give a flying fuck," Tweek snaps back. Fuck, does Craig have fun agitating him? He swears he must, because there's no other reason he'd be dancing around this conversation the way he is. "Who cares if you're mad? I'm mad that I'm mad about you and Red—"

"Which isn't actually a thing," Craig reminds him.

"Who gives a shit!" Tweek throws his hands up. "I got upset enough that I had a fucking freak-out, man, that's not normal! That's not okay, that's not right."

"Dude, you need to relax," Craig placates. "You want a massage?"

Tweek doesn't know how his head hasn't exploded by now.

"Are you fucking insane?"

"Hey, man, I got a magic touch," Craig lifts his hands, wriggling his fingers.

"Do you even hear what people say to you, Craig?" Tweek gives an exasperated groan. "Does it go in anywhere, or do you just say whatever comes to mind and hope it makes sense?"

Craig rolls his eyes and steers Tweek over to the couch, forcing him to sit.

"You're having a fucking conniption fit," he says, and Tweek throws him off.

"So what?" he snaps. "It's not your fucking business."

"Okay," Craig raises his hands, backing off. "I just wanna help, man. You're freaking me out, for real."

Tweek feels himself about to lash out again, but he catches Craig's eyes before he can and he stops. He does look genuinely concerned, and Tweek can't help but feel a little bad. Maybe Craig does care, and he's just so socially stunted that he doesn't know how to deal with it like a normal person.

Scratch that, that's definitely what it is.

Tweek slumps, elbows digging into his thighs as he rubs his temples.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes softly. "I'm—fuck me, I don't know what I am."

"A big queer?" Craig offers, and Tweek flips him off. Craig extends the courtesy right back. "Come on, man, I'm really good at massages. My mom swears by them. I know that's, like, a giant turn off, but trust me."

Tweek snorts and hangs his head.

"All right, man," he nods, body still humming with energy. "B-but only because you're going to bitch about it forever until I let you."

A wry upturn of Craig's lips and he slides up behind Tweek, sitting on the back of the couch and placing his large, square hands on Tweek's shoulders.

"You're tense," he says.

"You haven't even done anything yet, fucker."

"I know," Craig leans into him and digs his thumbs into his shoulders. "Didn't it sound good, though?"

Tweek lets out a low moan as Craig's fingers work into his muscles. Okay, it doesn't take a genius masseuse to gather that Tweek is tense. His mom often tells him to loosen up, and insists that meditation will help, but a fat lot of good that does you when you literally can't sit still enough to meditate.

Craig's touch lights a fire under his skin, though, and the more he sits still the more he gets. Strong and sure, Craig kneads the kinks out of Tweek's shoulders and back. Tweek tries to keep the embarrassing sounds to a minimum, but Craig tells him not to.

"That's how I tell what feels good or not," he says.

Tweek gulps, the color high on his cheeks, "Ca-can't I just tell you if it feels good?"

Craig replies by digging his fingers deep into a sweet spot, and Tweek moans.

"Feel good?" Craig asks, lips curling around a grin.

"Fucker," Tweek breathes back, and moans when Craig presses against him again. "How do you do that?"

"I told you, magic fingers," Craig replies.

"No, I mean," Tweek leans into him. "How do you not care?"

"Ahh," Craig nods behind him. "The art of not giving a shit takes time to master, young kohai."

"What?" Tweek asks.

"Nothing," Craig shakes his head. "What exactly do I not care about?"

"Everything," Tweek supplies, though that quickly turns into a hiss as Craig's fingers hit a knot.

"That's not true," Craig murmurs. "I care about stuff. I care about my movies, I care about my sister, I care about Clyde and Token… I care about you."

Tweek's stomach knots up and he asks, "I meant—never mind."

"Whatever," Craig's fingers make their way up his neck and into his hair. Tweek can feel himself getting hard in his pajama pants, but he doesn't want Craig to stop. No one's ever touched him like this before, and it feels too good to just end.

Tweek's breathing evens out and Craig continues, "I just don't care about shit that's not important. I can teach you if you want."

"Yeah?" Tweek moans.

"You have to call me 'senpai' first," Craig says.

"Yeah, I'm not gonna do that," Tweek opens his eyes, and Craig rests his forehead against his shoulder, overcome with laughter. They laugh softly together for a few moments, and even if this isn't real, if it's all just some dream or whatever, Tweek is glad it's happening.

Except then Craig asks, "Hey, whatcha got there?"

Shit.

Sweats are comfy, but they do not a good boner masker make. Tweek grabs a pillow off of the couch and presses it over his crotch.

"Nothing."

"Aw, Tweek, you do care," Craig laughs, and Tweek's cheeks burn so hard it's a wonder they don't spontaneously combust.

And then, "You want some help with that?"

Red Alert.

911.

Danger motherfucking Will Robinson.

"Wh-what?" Tweek stammers, but Craig doesn't answer.

Instead, he slips off the back of the couch and onto the floor. Suddenly he's in between Tweek's legs, standing on his knees so they're separated by just a sigh.

"I have a thing for you too," Craig says, frank as he always is.

"Shut up," Tweek whispers.

"It's true, though," Craig sweeps a chunk of fluffy blonde hair off of Tweek's forehead and locks eyes with him. It's intense, probably one of the more intense moments of Tweek's young adulthood. Granted, most of his other intense moments don't come to pass after years of fruitless pining.

They're so close that Tweek can feel their lips just barely touching.

And then Craig presses their lips together, and Tweek feels electricity jolt his entire system. He pulls away quickly, as though he's just been shocked, and Craig's eyebrows go high up on his forehead.

"Okay?" he asks.

Tweek nods, and timidly presses forward, capturing Craig's lips in his.

Craig pulls back this time, eyes glassy and mouth quirked up in a smile. His crooked teeth snag his bottom lip momentarily, and he asks, "Do you want me to help you out with that?"

They both look down at the pillow in Tweek's lap, and Tweek gulps.

"Yeah," he supplies then, because why the fuck wouldn't he? Chances like this don't just fall out of the sky.

Craig licks his lips and hooks his fingers into Tweek's sweats.

He pulls them down, taking Tweek's boxers along with it.

"Goddamn, man," Craig lets out a laugh. "You've got a nice dick."

Tweek flushes harder.

He's going to die like this.

Right here, with a good-looking boy staring at his erection.

He doesn't know that it's so spectacular—then again, he doesn't have much of a frame of comparison. If Craig likes it, though, he supposes that's good enough.

"You," Tweek swallows the lump in his throat. "You can touch it if you want."

Craig looks up at him through his dark lashes.

"You're so kind," he snarks, and Tweek swats at his head.

It takes his hat clean off, leaving Craig's thick, tangled hair sticking up every which way.

Tweek is about to make a comment about it, but Craig takes his erection in his hand then and every word he's ever known immediately drains out of his head.

Warm and smooth, Craig's hand fits around him just right. Tweek's breath is caught somewhere between the bottom of his lungs and the back of his throat, nothing going in and nothing coming out. He whimpers and twists as Craig strokes him.

And then Craig takes it a step further and ducks down, pressing the flat of his tongue into the slit of Tweek's cock.

"Holy fuck," Tweek cries out. Craig gathers that it's a good sound and sinks his mouth over the head, sucking softly for a moment before he pops off and looks up.

"Okay?"

Tweek just whines and thrusts up into his hand, "Craig, please."

"Not until you call me senpai," Craig insists, and Tweek loses it. He fists Craig's hair in his long fingers and tugs, eliciting a yelp of surprise from him.

"Don't be a fucking asshat," he warns.

"Don't mouth off to the guy who's willing to put your dick in his mouth," Craig sticks out his tongue. Tweek groans and pushes Craig's head back down, sighing as he slides his lips over him again. He keeps his grip on Craig's hair, and in exchange Craig holds onto Tweek's hips, presumably to keep him still.

And it's amazing, more so than Tweek imagined. Craig's face is somehow serene with a concentration, humming softly as he works on taking more and more of Tweek into his mouth. Tweek has passed shaking, pretty sure he's probably just vibrating by now as the pleasure builds low in his belly.

It doesn't last long, but Tweek's never had this done to him before. He warns Craig with a sharp whine and comes into his mouth, orgasm hitting him hard.

Craig pulls off, trying to disguise his coughing as he swipes his mouth clean.

Fuck, Tweek did not want that to be over that fast.

He wants Craig's mouth on him forever.

"Sorry," Tweek apologizes as Craig sits up on the couch beside him. "I didn't mean to—yeah. Sorry."

"For what?" Craig asks, a little croaky. "You did what you were supposed to."

"I did it too fast," Tweek sniffs, looking down at where his cock is going soft between his legs. It's still shiny with Craig's spit and his come.

He reaches down and runs his hand over it.

It's sensitive, but it feels so good that he doesn't care.

"Are you fucking touching yourself?" Craig asks.

Tweek hums an affirmation.

"Hot," Craig concludes.

Tweek looks over at him then and asks, "Want me to touch you?"

Craig looks over at him, hair all mussed and cheeks tinged with color, and raises an eyebrow, "Is that even a fucking question?"

Tweek rolls his eyes, because engaging with Craig is never a good idea. Instead he pulls up his pants and shifts to help Craig out of his.

He can see the outline of Craig's erection in his jeans and it sends his head spinning. This is all so surreal, something out of a wet dream, but Tweek pinches himself and confirms that no, it is certainly not a dream.

"Come here," Craig stops him before he can get to unbuttoning his fly. He pulls him forward by the back of his head and kisses him again.

Only this time he slides his tongue between Tweek's thin lips and licks along the roof of his mouth. Tweek whimpers and melts into it. That's his come on Craig's tongue, and it's unbelievable.

Tweek slips his hand down Craig's chest and down to his jeans.

He presses the heel of his hand into his erection and delights in the way Craig sucks in a breath at the sensation.

Tweek pulls back, a little dazed but still functional. He unbuttons Craig's jeans and unzips his fly, doing as Craig did to him and pulling both those and his boxers down together.

"Wow," Tweek gulps. Craig's dick actually is really nice—thick and flushed deep red, with a bead of wetness forming at the tip. Now he knows why Craig was suddenly so eager to taste him, the sight alone makes Tweek hungry.

He wraps his spindly fingers around the hot, velvety skin and sighs.

Yeah, this feels good.

"Fuck, Tweek," Craig sighs. "Do you know how fucking much I think about this?"

Stupid question, since no one can really know how much someone thinks about anything.

"I think about you all the time," Craig admits, like he's been injected with truth serum rather than had his dick touched. Tweek can't for the life of him imagine why anyone's sexual fantasies would include him, but he doesn't question it, just keeps moving his hand.

Tweek doesn't even get a chance to think about putting Craig in his mouth. Maybe it's because Tweek moves his hand too fast, or maybe it's because Craig really does think about this all the time and just can't take it. Either way, before Tweek knows it, Craig's got a hand tangled in his hair as he chokes out a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

He comes all over his sweatshirt and Tweek's hand.

It's beautiful.

Suddenly he knows what Craig meant about knowing what someone feels, just by how they sound.

For a few moments, Craig and Tweek just sit there, catching their breaths and letting themselves calm back down to neutral. It's actually the most relaxed Tweek has felt in a long while.

"Well then," Craig clears his throat and pulls up his pants, tucking himself back in before he zips up. "Who knew."

"Jesus Christ, man," Tweek gives a breathy laugh. "Look at your sweater."

Craig looks down and holds the hem of his shirt.

"Huh," he considers. "Would you look at that."

"Come on," Tweek peels himself off the couch. "I gotta start a load of laundry anyway."

He tugs Craig off the couch and pulls his sweatshirt off, laughing when Craig's head pops out the other end, his hair even messier than before. He feels much lighter than before, and it shows, he thinks, as he bounds up the stairs and retrieves his hamper.

"Hey, Tweek," Craig calls up to him, even though he's on his way back down.

"Yeah?"

"Can we do that again?" Craig asks, following Tweek out into the garage, where their rickety laundry machines reside.

Tweek looks over at him.

"Really?"

"Yeah, man," Craig nods. "I wasn't kidding. I do think about that stuff a lot… and now that I know you do too, we can think about it together. And then do it together."

Tweek snorts, if only to distract himself from the utter earnest tone in Craig's voice.

"Yeah, man," he says. "I think I'd like that."