Basket Case~
He's not a magic man or a perfect fit
But had a steady hand and I got used to it
And a glass cage heart and invited me in
And now I'm just a basket case without him
Twitch, shake, shake. Twitch, shake, shake. Like when you're in kindergarten and have to make patterns. Blue, red, red. Blue, red, red. Except it's a person who sits in front of Token and Clyde, not a string of beads. A hyped-up, trembling, barely functioning person.
The two friends share a knowing glance with each other before averting their attention back to the blonde across from them. His neck jerks suddenly to the side and quivering hands fly up to pull through thick hair in response. Clyde glances down at his hands, hoping Token will decide to take this one.
"Tweek…" Token begins only moments later. Careful, speaking similar to how a person would approach a wild animal.
Slate gray eyes snap up. "Gah! W-what do you want T-token?" Those eyes shift around in their sockets, never settling on one place or person.
Token cannot remember the last time Tweek was this bad. He's not sure what to say to calm his friend; it hasn't been his job in ages. The blonde's hands shake on the table, making awkward slapping noises against the top. Tweek retracts his hands into his lap, still sending sketchy glances at Token and Clyde. Token notices that Tweek is not wearing his usual button-up, a sure sign his fingers were trembling so badly when he got dressed that he could not do a single button.
Clyde pushes a thermos across the table. "Here, buddy, drink this."
Tweek's eyes finally lock on a target. A thermos. Coffee. His hands shoot out from his lap, grasping the mug in an earthquake grip. It has a screw-on lid. He looks down at the thermos pathetically. So close.
Token has always been the more observant one and he rolls his eyes at Clyde before yanking the mug out of Tweek's surprisingly tight grip. Unscrewing the lid so Tweek can smell it, bitter and beautiful. The dark-skinned boy raises an eyebrow at the wide opening of the thermos.
"I might s-sp-spill; I w-wouldn't w-want to spill your c-coffee," Tweek interjects.
But, as the words struggle out of his mouth, Token is already leaning over the table so that he can hold the thermos while Tweek gets his fix. The shaking boy gulps down the beverage quickly. Token can't help but think how Craig ought to be doing this.
Clyde's head meets the table with a thud. It always rubs him the wrong way when Tweek has an episode this bad. When he can't get dressed, can't write, can't feed himself, for Christ's sake. He can't help but hope to God that Craig doesn't stay home sick again the next day.
A/N: Um...I had a really long a/n that disappeared when I posted the first time. grrr. It said something like: I'd adore feedback, even if it's bad; I hope I didn't butcher everyone's characters; and Sami is apparently never wrong because she just knew I'd love CraigTweek?
