"Tweek, is it that hard to button your shirt right?"
Tweek jumps at the sound of his name, turning his head to see who spoke. Cartman glares back at him, eyes deeply focused on the small black buttons keeping Tweek's shirt together.
"What do you mean?" He's sure he got it right this time, but when he looks down, he sees a mess of mismatched buttons and holes. "Oh..."
"Seriously, what the hell? It's a few buttons."
"Well, it's kind of hard to keep things in one place." He holds out his hands, letting Cartman see how much they shake, even somewhere as calm and familiar as the bus stop.
Tweek sees no sympathy in his eyes. That's fine with him. He doesn't expect sympathy from Eric Cartman, and it's almost a refreshing change. Sweetness and pity get old fast, especially when he's not panicking and just wants a normal day.
He glimpses Cartman moving towards him, and he does his best not to scream or run. Or both. "What are you doing?"
He doesn't reply. Before Tweek can make sense of what's happening, Cartman's in front of him, hands reaching out for his shirt. Large fingers brush over his thinly clothed chest, forcing a soft sound of surprise from somewhere in his throat. Cartman doesn't even look up, pulling each button from its hole with surprising gentleness.
"I'm fixing your goddamn shirt. It's pissing me off." Tweek has to close his eyes for a moment, desperately trying to get his thoughts in order. Since when has Cartman been noticing things about him? Was he supposed to be noticing too? Had they actually been friends this whole time, rather than casual acquaintances who happened to share a bus stop?
Tweek considers that maybe he shouldn't have closed his eyes, when he opens them to find that his shirt's completely open and he's once again neglected to wear anything underneath. It's a cold enough day for goosebumps and hair standing on end, but his face feels warmer than it's ever been.
Cartman quickly sets to work aligning the buttons with their intended buttonholes, seeming not to care when his hands press too far and leave trails of odd, lingering warmth on Tweek's skin.
"You're touching me." He cringes inside because it sounds stupid, but how could he just stand there and say nothing? Tweek even feels himself involuntarily shrinking away from Cartman, his body repelled by the softest of touches.
"Keep still." Without waiting for compliance, Cartman grabs Tweek's arms and pulls him closer, using all his strength to combat the anticipated resistance. But Tweek puts up no resistance, and is sent crashing directly into Cartman, arms instinctively thrown around him to keep from falling.
Once they've stopped moving, the chaos of the situation quickly dissipates, awkwardness rushing in to replace it. Painfully aware that he's essentially hugging Cartman (with his shirt still half-open), Tweek pulls himself away slowly, careful not to overbalance. That strange feeling of phantom warmth now covers his entire body, and he wants... It has to be a cold day, if he's looking at the big red coat he sees every day and almost wishing it was close and warming him up again.
Cartman continues fixing his buttons, but his movements are faster and lighter, leaving fewer and softer touches. Tweek hates being touched. Surely that's why he purses his lips with mild irritation, watching his shirt close up as each button is returned to its rightful place. When the job's done, Cartman smooths down the green fabric before stepping back, and Tweek just has to hope his gasp of shock goes unnoticed.
"There," Cartman mutters. He looks satisfied, but he doesn't look at Tweek again until the bus arrives.
If Tweek's shirt is a mess that day, it's a complete mess the next day.
The hopelessly mismatched line of buttons can't be missed by anyone, let alone Cartman. It's seconds before he rushes to fix them.
Tweek doesn't move. Even his hands have been perfectly still since yesterday- in fact, he could have easily done those buttons himself.