"Ugh," Craig let a heavy groan slip from his mouth, prompted by the weight of dragging Clyde's stupid mini-fridge up four flights of stairs. "What the hell do you own so much fucking stuff?" he grumbled to himself as he stopped to lean against the stairwell for support. Craig closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He was so goddamn tired, exhausted even, and beyond pissed. Mostly pissed. At Clyde specifically. The little bastard had gone off with Token to God-knows-where as soon as the building was in sight, conveniently leaving Craig with all the dirty work of hauling their shit up to their new apartment.
Fuck, and Clyde had been sneaky about the whole affair too. That's what upset Craig the most. Instead of doing the polite thing, and you know, being a decent human-fucking-being, the asshole had silently slipped from the moving van they had hired while Craig was passed out in the passenger seat. He would likely still be asleep now if it wasn't for a nearby car's alarm being triggered not five minutes later.
Craig had so dearly wanted to give into the petty voice in the back of his mind that suggested he should leave everything in the moving van for Clyde to sort out when it deigned upon his so-called best friend to return. As tempting as the idea had been, the van they had used to move all of their belongings from campus housing was a rental and failure to return it within the day would result in them being charged triple their initial deposit fee. The cost of rent was already pushing his and Clyde's limited pooled budget, so that wasn't a thought he entertained for more than a few fleeting seconds.
Clyde was so going to pay for abandoning him. He wasn't sure how or when, but it was going to happen one way or another. Craig would make sure of it.
"Hey," a disembodied voice called out, rousing Craig from his musings. His eyes snapped open to glance down what he had initially assumed was the deserted corridor of the fourth floor landing. Craig remained frozen, silently watching as a slim, tall figure stepped out of the nearest shadowed doorway.
The person – guy – his mind quickly supplied him, was easily a foot taller than Craig and had wild, blonde hair that was stuck up in all manner of directions as though the stranger was constantly pulling at it. He was sporting a buttoned-up, ratty looking trench coat, dirty combat boots, and a large, manic grin that matched the over-excited gleam in his wide, light eyes.
"Hey," the guy repeated, waving his left hand lazily in greeting as he slowly walked up to Craig.
Craig didn't respond. He wasn't sure who this person was, but he looked kind of sketchy and Craig didn't have the energy to risk talking to someone who looked like they were either about to sell him drugs or try to rob him of Clyde's godforsaken mini-fridge. Maybe he could leave the thing there and save himself from having to physically deal with what Craig thought was undoubtedly going to be an unpleasant interaction.
"Do you need help with that?" the guy asked as his eyes skimmed over the mini- fridge which was presently balanced precariously on the edge of the top stair where Craig had stopped.
Craig impulsively snapped out a 'no' and immediately flushed with embarrassment when his sweaty palms lost their grip on the appliance and he had to quickly scramble forwards to make sure it didn't slip any further down the flight of stairs. He heaved a dejected sigh and decided it was time to admit defeat. Screw it. He was beat and if Clyde's dumb mini-fridge was stolen it was his own damn fault for leaving Craig to fend for himself.
"Actually, yeah. I do… Sorry," he mumbled in a quiet voice.
"It's cool," the guy waved Craig's admission away and proceeded to make grabby hands for the mini-fridge. "Let me take it, dude."
Craig obediently slackened his grip and stared in open-mouthed shock as the blonde merrily picked it up in one fluid, effortless motion. What the hell? The guy wasn't even breaking a sweat! He was acting as though it barely weighed a thing!
"Are you okay there?" Craig asked belatedly, realising that he had been gaping at the guy for more than it was possibly considered socially acceptable. "I can take the other side if you want?"
"It's not that heavy, man," he blonde laughed, his obvious amusement reaching his sparkling eyes. "I'm stronger than I look," he said, flashing Craig an awfully smug smile that made him want to swipe it off his annoyingly attractive face. Craig felt an odd swooping sensation in the pit of his stomach at the sudden thought and hastily chalked it up to jealousy.
Yeah, that was it.
Jealousy.
Because he was absolutely in no way attracted to this random, scruffy-looking guy he had just met. No fucking way. Craig was merely making an unbiased observation. That was all, okay? Despite his crazy appearance, the dude was kinda hot… and also insufferable in the kind of way that screamed the blonde knew it, the fucking prat.
"If you're sure," Craig huffed.
"I am," the guy nodded, jerking his head towards the flight of stairs that lead to the next floor. "Lead the way, cowboy."
'Cowboy?' Craig mouthed in confusion before quickly shaking his head. "Right, I'm only one up," he murmured, trying his best not to throw caution to the wind and sprint up the last flight of stairs. His muscles were aching after hours of lugging his and Clyde's possessions up those very stairs and all he wanted to do was get into his apartment, shut the door and sit the fuck down. Maybe treat himself to a nap.
Craig exhaled in triumph when his apartment door number finally came into view. He hurriedly fished out his key from his back jean's pocket, unlocked the door and shuffled in before waving to an empty space near two beaten lime-green beanbag chairs.
"Anywhere there in the living room is fine."
Once the blonde had carefully set the mini-fridge down, Craig thrust out a hand and awkwardly blurted out "Thanks, by the way. I'm Craig."
The second the rest of his fatigued brain caught up with his actions, Craig inwardly balked. Not only had he given out his name, but his whole body had also decided it was a good idea to initiate the weird ritual of grasping another person's hand by way of an introduction. He never touched anyone if he could help it, and yet, here Craig was, acting like it was a completely normal occurrence for him. He shrugged it off as the polite thing to do since the guy had down him a pretty huge favour. Who knows how long Craig would've spent trying to haul the wretched mini-fridge up that last flight of stairs?
Stuck in his own head again, Craig almost missed it when the guy offered his own name in return.
"Tweek," he said as he shook Craig's outstretched hand.
Tweek's hand was surprisingly warm, calloused and almost entirely covered in multi-coloured band-aids. What the fuck had Tweek done to it? Craig briefly wondered if the other hand in the same condition. He hadn't paid attention when he first encountered him and now it was presently stuffed into one of the many pockets that belonged to Tweek's offending trench coat.
God, why did he even care?
Craig coughed and clearing his throat. "Can I get you anything?" he asked after he had the good sense to let go of Tweek's hand. A hopeful expression flitted over Tweek's face at the question.
"You have any coffee?"
"Uh, let me check," Craig replied, hurriedly turning towards the apartment's small kitchen. He rifled through a cardboard box on a counter labelled 'food stuff' in sharpie and grunted softly in disappointment when he couldn't find any. Clyde must've finished if off yesterday while they were packing.
What was the big deal anyway? Why did he feel so bad that he couldn't give this Tweek guy – a person he didn't even know ten minutes ago – a cup of fucking coffee?
"It looks like we're all out," Craig called out. "Is water okay?" he asked, already opening and searching the cupboards for a glass to pour it in. He sighed in relief when Tweek responded that water would be adequate.
"This is a pretty sweet set-up you have," Tweek's voice carried over to where Craig was bent over the tiny kitchen sink.
"You think so?" he answered distractedly as he filled a glass tumbler with tap water. Was it really? Craig mentally mapped out the condition he'd left the apartment in before he had gone back down to the moving van to fetch the mini-fridge.
It had mostly been arranged the way he liked his possessions – everything neatly arranged and following clean lines, except for a few arrant boxes that hadn't yet been shoved into Clyde's room. Sure the apartment was a bit cramped, and maybe it was on the wrong side of town and a whole six bus trips away from his shitty, low-wage job, but it was going to be Craig's home for now and he'd make it feel as such.
As Craig made his way back to the living room he heard a distinctive rustling noise that lasted for a few seconds and then abruptly stopped. At some point during his short trip from the kitchen, Tweek had taken off his trench coat and tied it messily around his waist like the girls from his hometown used to do in elementary school. Though it was an interesting fashion choice, it wasn't what Craig's eyes had decided to fixate on. His attention had been drawn to the lean, well defined muscles of Tweek's thinly covered torso and his heavily tattooed forearms.
One arm was covered in an array of finely-detailed sunflowers, each in a different stage of bloom and eerily reminiscent of Vincent Van Gogh's famous painting. The other arm had a scattering of Blue Moon butterflies in flight – aptly named for the three white spots surrounded by a ring of purple iridescence that set off the jet-black colouring of each wing. Craig didn't know how he knew that. Perhaps he'd come across a mention of the species in a book during a college class or something.
Fuck. Why did Tweek have to have tattoos? And such intricately designed ones too!
Tattoos were always a weak spot for him. Craig was absolutely fascinated by them and he didn't even know why. There was something about them that sparked an inner desire in him to touch, to trace them slowly with his fingertips, with his lips, with his tongue.
God, he was weird.
Craig swallowed hard.
"Here," he choked out, forcibly shifting his gaze away from Tweek's tattooed arms to his face as he handed him his glass. All he needed now was to make a fool of himself and spill its contents down the front of Tweek's thin white shirt. Craig had to minutely shake his head again to dislodge the devious thought that said it wouldn't be such a bad idea.
"Cheers," Tweek said in lieu of thanks, not breaking eye contact even as he took his first sip of the water. Craig felt his mouth go dry. Tweek was looking straight at him, eyes half-lidded and a growing smirk on his face as Craig's focus shifted from the bobbing of Tweek's Adam's apple as he swallowed to the purposeful, sure lick of his tongue over his lower lip in satisfaction when he drained the glass.
Craig's left eye twitched. This guy was fucking with him. He was sure of it.
And the worse thing about Tweek's actions was that he probably knew exactly what he was doing to Craig, the fucker. Craig needed to get a hold of himself. He wasn't some dumb, hormonal teenager anymore who reacted to anything that so much as looked at him with a hint of interest.
"You have a roommate?" Tweek asked, placing the empty glass on a nearby empty bookshelf that was soon going to store Craig's sci-fi novels, astronomy textbooks he'd used in college and a couple of weird board games he had collected over the years.
"Wh-what?" Craig was brought out of his stupor at the sudden question. "Oh, yeah. He seems to have conveniently fucked of somewhere… Hey," his brows furrowed, "how did you know I have a roommate?"
"You don't strike me as the kind of guy who reads Playboy," Tweek replied, his head nodding towards an open box across the living room.
"I could be!" Craig yelled back in indignation. Tweek turned to face him, an eyebrow raised in obvious scepticism.
"Really?"
"Okay, no, you're right," Craig answered sheepishly. Tweek snorted at Craig's admittance as he walked to the box of Clyde's dirty magazines.
"God," he sniggered as his long, band-aid covered fingers skimmed over the various covers that showed women in different stages of undress. "Some of these are ancient!"
"Yeah," Craig shrugged, "Clyde's been collecting them since he was twelve. Kind of gross actually."
"You don't look at porn?" Tweek asked playfully.
"Yes- I mean no… Fuck!" Craig spluttered. "Why are we even having this conversation?" he whined.
"I don't know, man. Why are we?" Tweek said in the same teasing tone that suggested to Craig that Tweek enjoyed saying things that would make him squirm.
"So," Craig continued, ignoring Tweek's question in favour of moving the conversation away from the subject of viewing porn. "Do you normally hang around apartment buildings waiting to offer your services to unsuspecting residents?"
Craig's eyes widened in alarm when he realised how the question might come across. It sounded like he'd just accused Tweek of being an escort.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, hoping Tweek wouldn't take offense to the suggestion.
"No-no," Tweek shook his head as his attention darted away from the box of Playboy magazines to the little coffee table in the centre of the living room that housed Craig's pet guinea pig Stripe's travelling cage. He watched as Tweek wandered over to the cage, paused for a moment to contemplate God knows what before promptly kneeling down and sticking a finger between the bars of the cage. Tweek slowly wiggled the finger around in a motion that Craig knew was an attempt to Stripe out to play.
"I live in the apartment below yours. I heard you shuffling about for an hour and thought I'd best come over and introduce myself. See if you need any help moving in."
"Oh, right… Well, do you have any advice about this place?" Craig asked. "You know, like leaky plumbing, noise issues, creepy neighbours – not that you're creepy!" he hurriedly added.
Shit. How many times was he going to put his foot in his mouth today?
"Yeah, actually," Tweek nodded. "The old man who lived in this apartment previously died in the apartment's bathroom about a month ago."
"Jesus Christ," Craig hissed.
"He was a total asshole. Always yelling through the floorboards and making bogus complaints about me to the landlord." Tweek continued. He grinned triumphantly when Stripe had at last emerged from his little wooden hide-out and gently rubbed his little fury body against Tweek's long finger. It seemed like Stripe liked him. That was good. The guinea pig was an extremely good judge of character in Craig's opinion. Stripe had once bitten Cartman so deep, the fuck-face needed stitches. It was a glorious moment that was forever etched in Craig's memory.
"… so don't even think about calling me if he starts haunting your ass 'cause knowing him that old grouch he's going to be a massive dick in the next life too."
"I won't," Craig quickly promised. He didn't believe in ghosts or any other paranormal apparitions, but he wasn't going to argue over their existence with Tweek. He had a distinct feeling in his gut that said it would not end well for him.
"Good. Your guinea pig is pretty-" Tweek paused mid-sentence as the unmistakable chorus of Party Girls rang out from one of his trench coat pockets. "Shit," he cursed, pulling his hand away from Stripe's cage and hurriedly searching for his mobile. "I'm gonna…" he said, motioning towards the kitchen.
With nothing else to distract him from Tweek's sudden absence from the room Craig strode over to Stripe's cage, jimmied the lock open and cupped his beloved guinea pig into his hands.
"Tweek said you're pretty something, Stripe. Pretty what though? Pretty clever? Pretty handsome? Pretty much the greatest guinea pig in the whole entire world? How about all of the above," Craig cooed. "You're so-" his fussing was cut short by the interruption of the sharp, raised voices of Tweek and whoever else was he was talking to on the other side of the line.
"What the fuck? Kenny, slow down. Where the hell are you?" Tweek's voice echoed into the living room.
"Downtown. City Wok. I need you to come fetch me and Marjorine… and before you think about protesting let me remind you that you still owe me for covering for your ass last week."
"Fine," Tweek dragged the word out in exasperation. "You know, you're dragging me away from an incredibly cute guy who just moved into the apartment above me."
"Oh? Do tell, Tweekers! I bet that's not the only place you want him above you!" Kenny's voice sand out, which was swiftly followed by an annoying high-pitched howl of laughter.
"Fuck off, Ken!" he shouted down the receiver before cancelling the call and re-entering the room.
"Sorry about that," Tweek apologised as he slowly made his way towards the door. "I, uh, have to leave now to pick up my stupid best friend and his girlfriend… I guess I'll see you around?"
Craig nodded absently as he closed Stripe's cage, chewing on his lower lip while he pondered over what he had overheard a few moments ago.
Tweek thought he was cute? Him? What fucking dimension had he crossed over into where this insufferably gorgeous, albeit strange, person thought that he, plain ol' Craig Tucker, was cute?
"Wait!" Craig yelled, following Tweek out the door. Tweek hadn't gotten that particularly far so when he stopped in his tracks and turned around to face him he was very much invading Craig's personal space.
"Yes?" Tweek said, staring down at Craig with wide, bright eyes.
"Listen… I… uh," Craig took a deep breath and tried in vain not to focus on how close Tweek was to him. "Would it… Would it be alright if I call you? You know, for other reasons besides dickish, elderly ghosts?" Craig swallowed nervously. Okay, maybe there was a chance he hadn't thought this through.
"I don't know… We could, uh, catch a movie or something. You like those right? Or dinner? Yeah, dinner! Everyone likes to eat!" he was rambling, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop. His brain was scrambling to come up with plausible excuses to see Tweek again that weren't as lame as 'I think you're hot and weird and kind of interesting and my guinea pig likes you.'
"Are you asking me out on a date, Craig?" Tweek murmured, voice low and husky.
"N-no," Craig shook his head vehemently. He was blushing now – he could feel the heat of it spreading across his face. "I just wanted to repay you for helping me with the fridge!"
"Sure," Tweek said in a sultry tone, sounding out the word in a way that told Craig he didn't believe him for a second. Christ. He gulped. Was the really that transparent?
And then, without so much as a warning, Craig felt large hands cupping his face and suddenly Tweek's lips were on his. Tweek was kissing him! His lips were unexpectedly soft and covered in what tasted like Cola-flavoured chapstick. Tweek was surprisingly a good kisser – the way his tongue slowly licked inside Craig's mouth in slow, confident caresses made sure of it. Craig moaned deeper into it and pulled away when he finally needed to breathe.
"What-" he manged to gasp out. Tweek chuckled and captured his lips once more, gently biting into Craig's lower lip and only releasing it when he groaned and tried to push him away.
Tweek's lips quirked in a faint, knowing smile before he leant down again to whisper breathily in Craig's lower ear. "See you later, cowboy."
By the time his momentarily lust-stricken brain cleared enough for him to formulate a response, Tweek was already walking away and turning in the direction of the stairwell. Craig numbly retreated back into his apartment, closed the door behind him and rested his head against it with a soft thud. He shut his eyes tightly and brought a hand up to lightly trace his kiss-swollen lips.
"What in the fucking hell just happened?"
Creek really is a gift that keeps on giving, you know? If you have any suggestions regarding their date that's not a date (it totally is, Tucker) feel free to hit me up!
I hope y'all enjoyed this, and if you did, please let me know... I honest to God want to know what you think.
P. S. What are your opinions on the name 'DJ McSqueak' for a guinea pig?