"It's stupid to do that, you know." Tweek looked up, emulating shock as Craig settled against the tiled wall, staring solidly at him. Tweek let his hand fall slightly, his elbow only slightly inclined to turn. Tweek swallowed heavily, a dull knot of nausea kneading into his stomach as his own instability conspired against him.
Would Craig stop him? Tell someone? Tweek thought of the comfy arm-chair – that he somehow never found comfortable - facing the large wooden desk. He had always wondered what the talks had accomplished. His sight got the slightest blurrier.
"…stupid to do what, end my life? What does it mean to you?" Tweek grinded out, his words strong and sharp in tone, despite his planned ministrations. He was growing weaker, yet not weak enough. He couldn't faint then. No.
No.
"Not much." Tweek hated the nasal tone to his voice. It made him dizzier. "But, I need to piss, and it's not going to look too good if you kick the bucket while I'm doing it." Craig shrugged. Tweek shook his head at him, his left hand gripping tightly, painfully, onto the edge of the window sill he was curled up on. He was small enough to fit up there. Christa had favoured that about him.
"Go use some other bathroom, then." Tweek demanded, and the coal weapon dropped into his lap, clunking against his bare knee. Craig didn't reply, and Tweek watched intently as Craig's eyes flickered to the gun. Tweek's right hand drifted over it, as if taunting his acquaintance.
"It is stupid to end your life, nonetheless." Craig continued, as if Tweek had not uttered a word. Craig was taunting him back, stabbing him with the cruel reminder of his solitude. No one ever listened to Tweek Tweak. Even when caffeine stopped running through his veins, he was still an outcast. Before, he was a freak. Then he became a shadow of a person, scarcely there. What was the difference?
"It's interesting. I never thought you would end your life like this, Tweek." It was the first time Craig had said his name since elementary school, but nothing clicked inside of Tweek. They used to be friends, then Craig left him. Tweek had learned to forget diminutive memories like those. There was worse, and Tweek had never regretted the loss of their friendship, either.
"I didn't think you would die in the bathroom, in your gym kit, pointing a gun at your head. I didn't think you would have a reason to, especially in this manner. I still don't think you do." Tweek's lips parted, passing a small sigh. "I thought you were strong-willed, Tweek." Two thuds rebounded against the tiles as Tweek slid off the sill, taking the gun with him.
"Don't say I don't know you, then. Don't spill out your sob story. I'm not interested." Craig smiled slightly. "So obsessed with the gnomes, you were. I thought that alone would kill you. Your delusional state. I thought you would inflict death upon yourself, yes…But not here." Craig made a gesture towards the door, for no apparent reason. "I envisioned you dying in a white padded room, in a strait jacket, pointing the blades of a pair of safety scissors some oblivious boy gave you at your head. Then, you would have had reason."
"I was raped, countless times. No-one loves me. No-one cares." Tweek whispered. Craig smiled more, and Tweek bit at his lip in frustration.
"I told you I wasn't interested in your sob story. Yet, it's funny." Craig chuckled, but Tweek didn't hear any real joy or relief in it. "You shouldn't need to justify your suicide, especially not to me. You're obviously still intent on having a good life, or else I would be looking at a still body right about now." Tweek stumbled slightly, his steps faltering as his body leant sideways against an external cubicle wall.
"Who was it, who raped you?" Craig's tone was indifferent, and Tweek still felt a part of him torn at the lack of sympathy towards him. Tweek let out a breathy moan of trauma.
"My psychiatrist." Tweek muttered. His voice broke. "She was called Christa." He should have been able to push her away. Craig was silent, his eyes dropping to the floor. Tweek trembled where he stood, and Craig made a move closer to him.
"You know, Tweek." A rough hand slipped into Tweek'. "No-one loves you. You're right." Tweek had long since stopped crying. If he cried when he needed to, he would be sobbing consistently, and there was no comfort in it. "So many people could've, if you stopped this shit." Tweek's nails digged into Craig's skin.
"I could've loved you, if you didn't hide yourself away." Craig murmured, his lips pressing briefly against Tweek's cheek. Tweek didn't refuse him – he didn't see the point. Craig wasn't like Christa. Craig wouldn't hurt him – he wouldn't care enough to. No longer did Tweek care for contact, but he relieved his past desires of desiring for it desperately, and used his left hand to cup Craig's jaw, reaching up to kiss him deeply.
"You didn't want to do it." Craig mused. "You were scared, and uneasy. That's why I came in." Craig took in a drawn breath. "I – I do care." He kissed Tweek again, fiercely. His arms slipped around Tweek's waist, holding the 15-year-old to him.
Tweek's own arms wrapped slowly, meekly, around Craig's torso, and he settled his chin on the jut of Craig's left shoulder. A moment passed. His eyes closed. He twitched. The gun fell to the floor. Tweek followed it down, and Craig's eyes widened as he looked at the corpse of the blond.
He knelt down, and cast his eyes to a bulge in Tweek's back pocket. He pulled out two white, plastic white sheets. The dozen holes where the pills should have been were all open, empty, on both sides.
He really had intended to die.
Yes, you can very well hate me. I guess I'm just tired of the stories in this fandom where one character is intent on suicide, then another one comes and suddenly they're all for life again. It just doesn't work like that, sorry. Please review.