Fall was a favorite season among the residents of South Park. The beginning of new school experiences, the faded longevity of endless humid summers, a gentle reminder of the new year coming on. The trees donned their best wear, outfitted in dancing flames of foliage in the cool breezes sent from typical Canadian weather fronts. Light sweaters were needed in the dusky hours….now, lightly wrapped around a thin frame of a blonde-haired boy, precariously occupying the edge of a rickety wooden dock protruding into the still waters of Stark's pond. Mist lightly danced upon the glimmering waters alight by the glowing orb sinking into the mountain line, painting the sky with hues of purple, pink, red, and deep blue along the axis that glittered with the coming night.

Nimble, shaking fingers picked apart leaves that fell from the surrounding trees and tossed them without thought into the waters, chewed around the nailbeds out of anxious habit. Hazel eyes, appearing gold in the setting sunlight, watched cattails wave in the chilling breeze of autumn, watched dragonflies dart around the pond plants, watched fireflies lazily float without a care and thought, "Damn, must be nice not to be a wreck".

And, although appearing calm, sitting with a foot swinging over the edge of the dock, tearing the leaves, blonde locks a messy ruin under the army-green hood, Tweek was anything but calm. Inside, he burned with anger, drowned in emotion, screamed at the top of his lungs wondering why, why, why, but those feelings were locked by his prescribed zanex, and for once, he was thankful for his medical cocktails.

Perhaps, a bit of explaining would do.

Tweek had always been friends with Craig Nommel, the apathetic, sociopathic, sarcastic, lithe soccer star of South Park high. Despite fights and arguments and fist that may have been thrown over the years, they had always been best friends, even when the blonde wondered why Craig would even pay a little freak like himself any attention. Craig may have been athletic, but that was a means to release the extra energy he seemed to storm that turned violent if it was pent up too much. So, despite hating rules, despite playing "fair", Craig excelled immensely at the sport and gave it his all.

In reality, Craig was the least jock-like athlete, ever. He was popular, by reputation, rather than by adoration. He was rough, brash, rarely used a filter when speaking, and otherwise crude. That was when he was with his friends…in public, he was the definition of introverted, preferring to casually watch everyone else while he absorbed the class material without ever lifting a finger to try. One thing no body could say about Craig was "he's stupid". Even when it appeared he was paying absolutely no attention with his head down, if he was called upon in class, he could give the answer without a moment's pause. He was top of the class with the likes of Kyle Broflovski and Wendy Testaburger, but whereas they were putting effort into their studies and extracurricular academics, Craig was slinging mud in the woods with his truck and fucking around.

And, he had good looks to couple with his perfect genetic material. It was still a mystery where his jet black hair came from, given his father's ginger roots, and his mother's sunny blonde hair, but no matter what happened to his short, wavy locks, it was perfect every time. It was almost a crime that he kept his hair shoved under a hat all year round, either a camo baseball cap during the summer months, or his disgusting blue lapringer during the winter. When he exposed his skin to the sun, it tanned gorgeous and freckled like a mother. He was unusually tall, built solid, and had enough broken knuckles to prove he packed muscle behind his short temper. Craig consistently complained about stereotypes and, as such, fell into no distinct "high school" style, wearing anything from jeans and camo to rock band shirts and checkered Vans. His best feature, perhaps, were his clear, meadow-green eyes that sparkled when he laughed and turned stormy with his unpleasant moods.

Craig, also, had the musical talent of a god, despite his nasally voice not allowing him to sing without sounding like a dying raccoon. Instead, he partnered his abilities up with Kenny and Kyle, both of whom had voices rivaling the Greek gods, and on Fridays would play at Tweek's parent's local coffee shop, if they weren't out in the woods playing accoustically around a bonfire.

Craig had, of course, stolen Tweek's paranoid heart by the time they were twelve. What had been absolute devotion to his best friend had slowly become entwined with romantic feelings of adoration, that Tweek had recognized when he wanted to throw up upon Craig's first girlfriend in junior high school. For a long time, Tweek avoided Craig out of shame, out of hate, out of disgust for himself, hoping that maybe hanging out with him less would dampen the feelings and he, too, would like girls like a normal little boy should. He cried himself to sleep most nights, because of the looks of confusion Craig would shoot him during the day, and he became closely intimate with a straight razor with the idea he could bleed away the gay one drop at a time.

Instead, when Craig had cornered him one day after school when they were freshmen and ripped his jacket off the blonde, Tweek had been surprised when the Nommel boy lost it seeing old mottled scars across Tweek's pale arms, seeing pink healing wounds mixed in, and scabbed, red slices of recent wounds. It was the first time, and last, Craig had ever cried in front of Tweek, desperate, shaking sobs that turned into small hiccups of "why".

Why, why, why, it was always "why" when it came to Craig.

They were seventeen now, soon to be graduating, and for the last two years had been an "unofficial" item. Off and on, behind the scenes, so no one would ever look at them twice and think "I wonder if...". Craig wouldn't have it, anyone ever thinking he might not be straight, even if it seemed to kill them both inside having to hide their feelings, having to take girlfriends for the cover. Knowing Craig had a girlfriend that he shared time with was nothing short of catching him, drunk, at the mud hole with his tongue down Kenny's throat.

Which brings us to the present, moonlight now the only glow of the chilled night, a single Converse idly swinging while Tweek chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking to himself, not noticing the acrid smell of smoke that hovered near, not looking at his counterpart as roughed-up steel-toed boots came even into his peripheral vision.

"Go away, Christophe," he mumbled, his last leaf fragments floating into the water.

"Not until you tell me why you are pouting," the gruff, French voice replied. Tweek glanced up at the lanky figure of his best friend, catching nothing but the lit end of a cigarette dangling from frowned lips at this angle, but he knew those steeling grey eyes the French boy harbored had to be brimming with the edges of anger.

Christophe was strange, silent, deadly, guarded without hesitation, but remarkably loyal. And when Tweek had needed a friend the most, when he felt like jumping off a bridge and drowning instead of ever seeing Craig during school, he had slipped through the cracks and was there to pull Tweek away from the edge. They had had their fair share of fights between Tweek's devotion of Craig and Christophe's inability to understand why the blonde would allow himself to be second best, but through it all, the French boy had been nothing but the best of friend's he could ask for. Sometimes, Tweek worried that the mussed-up boy held his life on hold to make sure Tweek was okay, but of course, Christophe denied any accusations of such.

But, the DeLorne boy knew this dock was where Tweek went to get away from reality, and knew that reality for Tweek was Craig and their relationship. "Come on wiz et, Twitchy, I 'aven't got ze patience zat you zink I my 'ave."

"You don't even like Craig, so you'd be happy to know he was making out with Kenny at the bonfire," Tweek sneered to seem tough, although the hitch in his breath said otherwise. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the tears that threatened thinking about anything to do with Craig at that point.

"Not as 'appy as you may believe," was the cautious reply. A cigarette butt glimmered in the misty darkness and sputtered out in the waters below their feet. "What was 'e zinking?"

Tweek sniffled to himself, brows drawing downward angrily. "I don't want to talk about it."

Christophe had to swallow back his laugh as he looked down at the boy, trying to act so tough, but knowing Tweek was slowly shattering. But he had to think, two years ago Tweek would have been an emotional wreck wallowing away, so even this angry ploy was an improvement. One, narcissistically, he liked to credit himself. He stretched out besides the blonde, gaze trained on Tweek's expression, having to temper his own anger at the events. If he could erase Craig from the blonde's foresights, he would gladly take on the job. Before, he may have argued it out of loyalty, out of seeing his fragile – now spitfire – friend hurting, but lately he attributed it to the rising edge of jealousy he felt in regards to Tweek's blinded approach of Craig.

Lately, he had to admit his own feelings for the blonde.

"Ze world won't come to a sudden halt, as much as you may zink et will, Twitchy. You may be better off zisway – Craig never would admit what you two 'ad to anyone but 'imself and you. Should you be bozered to be in a one-sided relationship, hidden away out of shame? You deserve more," he said humbly.

"You're saying that because you don't like him," Tweek replied, firing a glare in his direction. "You never have."

Christophe shrugged. "'e's a good person, 'e 'as qualities I do like, but 'e ez not what you need. 'e ez not good for you, and because 'e constantly seems to be 'urting you, no, I do not like 'im."

Tweek's shoulders slumped as he let his hurt shine through. A single tear streaked down his cheek, sending a pang of guilt through Christophe. "You don't understand, Christophe…I'm the freak. No one besides Craig would even bother looking twice at me, would even bother liking me."

"You're wrong," he said absently, instantly regretting it as Tweek's gaze narrowed on him. "You are often misunderstood, you are not a freak. You 'ave a different outlook on life. You 'andle zings differently. Zat does not make you a freak."

"It does too! And if you haven't noticed, Craig is the only one that saw through that! The only one that cares!" Tweek hissed, unpent sorrow in the form of a fist lashing out. His reflexes better, Christophe caught the blonde by the wrist and twisted to put enough pressure and pain to deter Tweek. But he wasn't going to be deterred, in a world of his own and he lashed out with the other fist.

"God damnit," Christophe mumbled as he took the punch to the shoulder, hating that Craig made Tweek into this emotional basketcase. When Tweek lashed out again, determination written on the blonde's face, Christophe knocked the arm away, tucked his shoulder, and caught Tweek off balance, knocking him straight over the edge of the dock into the waters below. A small squeak of shock sounded before water flew up over the edge as Tweek submerged, only to break the surface a moment later spitting and cursing.

Droplets of water clinging to his mousy hair, Christophe peaked over the edge at the glowering, soaked boy treading water. "That was not necessary!"

"Don't pick a fight wiz me when I am just trying to 'elp," he said with a chuckle as he was replied with by a tongue sticking out in his direction and an angry pout.

"Well fuck you too. Now help me out of this water! It's cold and I'm going to get hypothermia and die and then buttfucking Craig will be the last of my worries," Tweek said reaching his arms upward toward Christophe. "Come onnn!"

"What do you say?" Christophe asked with a mischevious grin.

Tweek's brows furrowed even more, face flushing out of temper. "Don't be a little French fucker and let me die and help me!"

Blowing air, Christophe rolled his eyes and mumbled, "Fine, fine." Getting on his belly he reached over the edge to grab Tweek's shaking hands. Tweek grasped one of the outstretched hands and let himself be pulled up just enough to grab ahold of the shoulders of Christophe's sweater, and let his weight do the rest. Eyes wide Christophe cartwheeled, yelled "Sheet!" and tumbled head over heels into the brisk water.

The first thing he heard when he surfaced was the tittering, musical cackles of Tweek. That alone almost made it worthwhile…almost. Instead he launched at the blonde to get revenge, and Tweek tried to take off. They wrestled in the stark chilling water, splashing, laughing, pushing and pulling at each other as each tried to get to the bank of the pond first. Weighed down by his boots, combat belt, heavy micro sweater, and his own body mass Christophe fell behind in the race…that is, until Tweek yelped and tripped in the sinking sand, falling with a splat into the dirt. Unexpecting Tweek's misfortune with gravity, caught offguard Christophe ran smack into him and fell as well on top of the blonde, survival mode flashing for an instant as he took the brunt of the force on his forearms to keep from crushing Tweek with his heavy body.

Christophe looked down at the shivering boy underneath him. "You okay?" he asked, unable to keep the husky undertone from his voice.

Tweek gave a slight nod, lips parted and trembling, but the cold of his wet clothes clinging to him and the chill of the breeze couldn't dampen the heat that rushed over his face. Maybe it was the heartache that Craig caused him, but for once Tweek looked at his best friend as more than just his friend. He noticed that the grey eyes looking down at him in concern sparkled with starfire and looked almost like liquid mercury. That Christophe's day worth of stumble was ruggedly attractive. That even dripping wet onto his face in the moonlight, Christophe's hair had unmistaken natural highlights of caramel and amber.

And without a second thought about his current emotional state or the harm it may cause, he pushed himself up those few inches and landed his trembling blue lips on the boy's above him. An intake of breath was Christophe's response as his muscles shook in taut control. Tweek didn't focus on the heated look in Christophe's eyes, or the trembling restraint, instead he focused on the look of shock and elaborately wove rejection into the reason.

Before, with Craig, his heart broke…now, it stopped dead in humiliation and he fought white hot tears, reading Christophe's command completely wrong. "I-I-I'm sorry," he managed to say behind the tightness in his chest, the feeling that his throat was closing.

Christophe smiled sadly as he watched Tweek sink into himself. "Don't be silly, Twitchy," he said, kissing the tears out of his eyes. "Don't be zorry. I am zorry for making you zink you need to be."

"W-w-what…?" was all Tweek could manage to stumble as he looked up into those eyes softened by what he couldn't distinguish. "You mean….you didn't mind…?"

Taking a risk, he responded with a kiss of his own, nuzzling Tweek gently, warming the blonde's blue lips with his own. He pulled back, a mischievous smile flittering across his face. "Ez zat answer enough?"

Butterflies erupted in Tweek's stomach, a feeling he hadn't had in a very long time, even kissing Craig. It wasa welcome change and sent heat all the way to his toes at the look Christophe gave him. Licking his lips, tasting the nicotine that had transferred, he bit his lip. "Ca-can we do that again?"

The response was a throaty laugh that was silenced by Tweek's eager lips.

***

Unbeknownst to either, a lithe, raven-haired boy watched on by the trees edging the pond, through the world spinning from intoxication, a frown painted on a shocked, freckled face, tears stinging green eyes clear with the realization Tweek was no longer his.

A/N:
What in the Hell did I just do? Normally, I'm not an author for short stories. Normally, I'm not an author without a plan. This just kicked me in the face and went WRITE ME NOWWW. Ever since I started E86, I've always enjoyed the dynamic of Tweek and Christophe as friends, and wondered about the dynamic of them as more. I guess this is my answer to that! This will end up being a multichapter, short story, because damnit, finishing E86 is my priority. So expect more eventually ;)

-Corrie