AN: Why hello there. First order of business- go read NightingaleLost's Your Seared Lips Say first. Seriously. Because this is a continuation of her story. Her's will probably be better too. Now go read it and come back.
Alright, now that that's cleared up, I do not own South Park, nor do I own the original story. I do own this fan fiction of a fan fiction, however, so I changed the mask. He wears a balaclava (which is a funny word) in this, the kind that covers everything but your eyes and mouth. Moving on-
…
I was in the middle of my shopping list (I'm running low on coffee) when the storm hit. It'd been dark and cloudy all day, but it was only supposed to rain. I like overcast. And I like rain. And snow.
I do not like thunder.
The first, loud, sudden boom is to blame for the coffee flying straight into my teacher's desk. It's not my fault! It was a reflex. I mean, he's a health teacher, he should know about uncontrollable muscle movements. But instead of him being an understanding mentor he just got a stereotypical Angry Gym Teacher look and told me to clean is all up and rewrite his lesson plans.
My hand jerked every time it thundered. He got the quality he deserves.
I was standing under the awning in front of the school for a solid ten minutes, just trying to convince myself that I'm not going to melt by getting a little wet. But I wouldn't be a little wet, I'd be a lot wet, and what if it was acid rain? It'd melt me then. I drink the coffee that's still left in my thermos hoping that the world would just behave for a day and not try to kill me.
I heard the door behind me and I jumped, expecting to see the angry face of an ax murderer. Instead I saw Craig's Mask. Not exactly an improvement. I give a little screech before I can remind myself that it's only Craig, plus Craig's Mask. Craig, being a decent person, does not deserve me screeching at him. "Hn, hi, Craig," I say, smiling softy at him. He just stares at me for a few seconds, a look in his eyes that I cannot identify, before giving me the universal male greeting of the head nod.
"Why're you here?" A man of few words, half of which are not actual contractions. It fits him.
"Mr. G-ah-Germer made me stay and clean his r-room." He nods, looking forward again. For some reason I really want him to stay here, with me, protected from the rain and thunder and just here with me. "Why are you?" I blurt out.
"Detention." That stands to logic. He goes to walk away again. I can hear myself make a strange whiney noise, and he pauses. I hope he didn't hear it. That'd be sad on more than one level. He looks back at me. "Need a ride?"
I feel my eyes widen at him for a second, watching his shift uncomfortably, before my brain quite computes and I nod. He hands me his jacket (when did he get that? He didn't have it this morning,) which I take full advantage of, pulling it over my head as we run to his car. Luckily another thunder clap didn't make itself known until after I was settled into his truck.
If he has a truck why does he come in so early? Christ, what if he's an FBI agent whose job is to watch me in the morning?
His truck was the old kind that doesn't have an arm rest in the middle, plenty of room for me to put my feet up.
…What? I hate the space between seats and the floor. And stairs. And behind toilets. And- well, anywhere I can't properly observe from my current position.
Craig gives me a weird look but doesn't say anything as he climbs in. It took a few tries to get the truck running, but then we were off. "I have, ng, work," I tell him. After thinking for a second I add, "I work at my dad's shop." He just grunts and give one sharp nod.
We ride in silence, Craig not being a huge talker to begin with and me not being sure what to say. I just sit here watching him, back against the door. My gaze locked onto the mask after a minute. Why does he wear that thing? Not only must the wet It's not like he's ugly or anything to want to hide it. He didn't get a disgusting flesh eating disease, because he would have been checked into the hospital, which he wasn't. I keep close tabs on the hospital and the genetic engineering lab. Both of which as surprisingly sucky security on their databases.
And then the idea to just take the mask off of him pops into my head.
I try, I really do, to make it go away. He would be angry, it'd piss him off, he might try to kill me for disclosing his secret identity if he's a CIA agent… but I really want to know. I start slowly inching my way towards him, his eyes completely focused on the road. I try to sneakily get my arm over his shoulders and up on top of his head. As soon as I even start to pull at the hat the car breaks, the hat is jerked out of my grasp, and he has me pinned underneath him, hands over my head. I can feel his firm weight on top of me. His stare is intense, sharp in a way I can't quite understand, but it's at least one part anger. Heart pounding in my chest, I feel completely vulnerable, week and powerless to Craig.
That thought makes me clench inwardly in an unidentifiable way.
"What're you doin'?" he says softly, dangerously.
"I-Iw-was, um, tryin' to t-take off y-your mask," I manage to stutter out. He just stares down at me for a minute. I try to explain that I want to see what's under it, I was just curious, and there's no need to kill me (not that I think he really would.) I'm not sure if it was in English, though.
We spend some time like that, Craig glaring at me in this strange way and while I wait for him to dole out the punishment. I wiggle a little after awhile, trying to relieve some of the built up tension. Not that it was uncomfortable to have Craig's considerably larger mass pressing down at me, but there was something hovering in the air that I wasn't familiar with and I felt like I needed to do something.
It kind of worked, I guess, because Craig hissed and moved off me at the motion. I can't really explain how suddenly felt too light when he got up. I rearrange my legs so he can sit and drive properly, but I don't actually sit up, choosing to remain down, watching the sky from this strange.
I get a few weird looks getting out Craig truck. I'll admit to it looking a little… no, it looked like nothing unless you're a perv! Yeesh.
The store is fairly packed, filled with people who obviously came in to hide from the rain. Most of the orders coming are hot drinks, which was a hazardous task due to how distracted I am. It's all Craig's fault. I cannot for the life of me figure out what happened in the truck.
I've come to the conclusion that he was a little angry at me, but mostly something else.
I spent the next couple hours trying to figure out what the something else was. I mess up four orders and burn my hand because out it.
It was near closing time when the store went dead silent. There was still some people putting off the inevitable trek through the rain they'll have to make, so the sudden silence was noticeable. I look up and see Craig. I wasn't expecting to see him for sure until tomorrow. He is pissed at me, right? My shock to see him outdid my shock of the mask. Nearly. A chill still raises down my spine.
He's walking stiffly like he's walking through hostile territory. Well, not that I can really blame him, he's not exactly walking through friendly territory. The whole town knows about The Great Danger of Craig Tucker. He walks straight over to me and says, "Need a ride? Still raining…"
"Ah… yeah. I could, gnh, use a ride. Wait here." I rush back to my dad's office. "Dad, can I leave a little early? One of my, ah, friends," we are friends, right? "is here to give me a ride." Please don't ask who. You know I can't lie.
"Oh, that's fine, son. May I ask whom?" No, no you may not ask! Did you not just hear my last thought? Jesus, never mind. That'd mean you can read my mind and my mind is the only place that isn't bugged yet to knowledge. Lord forbid there's a breech in security there.
"C-C-Cr-C… Clyde."
"Alright then. See you at home." I nod vigorously and run back to Craig, grabbing my- his jacket as I go.
"R-ready." He nods and I follow him as we leave.
Again the car ride is silent for the most part. I somehow end up lying down again, only this time with my head in his lap. It barely registers that we probably shouldn't be quite this close due to the fact we've only started talking regularly, like, last week. "What happened to your hand?" he asks after a minute of silent driving.
"I, um… burned my hand. Accidentally."
"Why?"
Jesus, it was an accident Craig. There is no why when it was an accident. "I-It w-wasn't on purpose. Accident. Nothin' happened. It's nothing…" It hurts though.
I hear him sigh. "How?"
"Coffee." I see him look down at me. A burst of something in his eyes spasms through me, making me tremble.
"Maybe you shouldn't drink so much. Can't be healthy." He said, resting a hand over my racing heart. Of course, my heart is always racing. It never stops, one of the reasons I can never sleep.
I shrug. "It's a h-habit. I need it."
He scowls, something I can see even through his mask. I flinch and he moves his hand. "Drinking isn't just a habit, and you don't need it." There's something in his voice that makes me think that maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to cut down. At least a little bit. We fall back into silence.
It was relaxing. Listening to the rain without the Godforsaken thunder, shaking along with the car, head in Craig's lap…
There's a coffee cup carved into the roof. It looks fairly old.
I was in the house by the time I realized I knew that truck.
…
Craig doesn't exactly talk about it much, but his family has always been closer salary-wise to Kenny's than they ever had to Token's. They had inherited the nice house in the nice part of town from his grandparents. He had also inherited most of the funds from his grandparents, too, something that even less people know about. I'm fairly sure not even his parents know that.
His parents do not spend their money wisely. His mom is always on the hunt for the next Great Hobby, being scrapbooking one month and then photography, and then cooking, then gaming (Craig liked that one)then sewing, then gardening, changing to this very day I assume… all with the best equipment money can buy. New kitchen for the cooking, thousand dollar camera for the photography to name a few. Not to mention the second some crow feet and smile (ahem, frown) lines started popping up she started getting Botox, and then jumped onto the plastic surgery bandwagon. She used to be a MILF (well, not a MILF, more like a MOLF, as in others) but now she just looks like… Michael Jackson.
His dad spends a lot of time at the bar. A lot of time. His mom just "tsk"s her tongue in the corner, distracted by herself.
His sister wasn't born at the time, so she doesn't know that her family is really kind of broke.
But I digress. Craig's family isn't the greatest. I mean, they're not horrible or anything, I don't think, but either way it leaves him with a lot of time that he doesn't want to spend at the Tucker residence ("It's a house, not a damn home," he'd once said.)
We used to walk around town a lot. Not in public, because neither of us wanted to be the faces about town, we'd leave that to Stan and those guys. We just followed paths through the forest, although most of the time we'd ignore the paths and just pretend we're hermits, ignored and ignoring society and it'd just be us.
Not that we weren't friends with Token and Clyde, but to be honest it was more like we formed a habit of hanging out with them instead of us becoming friends.
One day, back when we were in sixth grade, a few miles away from Stark Pond we discovered this truck. I was complaining about being tired and that I forgot my coffee. His willpower finally broke and we took rested there. Back then we were both small enough to lay side by side in the bench, so we did. We just lay there silently, thinking about separate things. I was thinking about coffee, as per usual.
I soon found out what Craig was thinking about soon enough. "Tweek?"
"Wah?"
"What are you going to do when you grow up?"
I honestly didn't think about the future much. I can barely handle the present. "I dunno. Maybe take over my dad's shop…" He snorts. We both know that there's no way in hell I'll ever be able handle my own store. Even with coffee. Especially with coffee for the same reason a heroin addict doesn't deal heroin. "Or a librarian." There's a low stress job, right? He doesn't respond. "What about you?"
"A mechanic. I like fixing things."
"You could be a doctor. It pays better."
"I'm not smart enough."
"You're smarter than I am!"
"Let me rephrase that- I don't give a big enough fuck to be trusted with the life or death of somebody in my hands."
"Craig, don't swear."
"Whatever." He pauses again. "That wasn't what I was talking about, though."
"What were you talking about, then?"
"Like what are going to do? Stay here in South Park? Leave the county, the city, the state, that country?" He sounded wrong. This Craig sounded troubled and my Craig is supposed to be the strong one out of us.
"Craig-"
"'Cuz I want to stay with people-the person, to be precise- I care about, someone special. That's it. Screw everything else."
"So you're gonna leave South Park to search for your 'someone special?'" My voice was a lot harsher than I wanted it to be. I was Craig's best friend. I'm supposed to support him in choices that make him happy.
"No."
"So who, Sally?"
"No, Tweek."
"Then who?"
"You." Oh. And that's exactly what I said. "Do you think we can do that? Be friends 'til we're old and ugly? Maybe move to Seattle, I know you like the rain. Nothing ever happens in Seattle, either…" he trails off.
"Yeah." He looks over at me. Our faces were so close our noses would bump if we shifted a little too much. "I think that could work." And then the dimples explode, and he hugs me.
"Okay."
…
I go through this five hundred times, and come to the conclusion that I am a horrible best friend. I spend the rest of the night trying to figure out how try and patch things back up. I come to the conclusion to just be clingy.
…
The day after it rains in South Park are always dangerous days. There's too much ice clinging to the road and freezing the ground. Then somehow the clouds over us manage to cough up a few inches of snow on top of the ice, and it's all horrible. Not to mention that Dad can't drive on ice worth anything.
He can drive on it about as well as I can walk on it. Which proved to be rather pathetically if me falling straight on my butt a few steps into the treacherous hike into the school building. "Crap," I mutter. I could feel the slush and dirt seeping into my clothes. I don't have any spares either, so I'm going to have to go about school for the rest of the day with soggy dirty clothes.
I know that sitting here dejectedly isn't going to fix anything, but heck if that stops me. After minute of staring at the sidewalk a shadow comes over me. I look up at the towering person next to me. It's fairly obviously Craig. "Hi," I sigh up at him.
"You okay?" I pout (yes, pout, stop mocking at me) up at him.
"My clothes are a mess." I see a twitch of a smile up the mask (gah!) as he helps me up.
"You seem like the kind of person with extras," he states quietly.
"I usually do! But I took them back home yesterday to clean them and haven't brought any back with me."
He eyes me for a second before saying, "Come on," walking into the school building. I follow him.
We end up in the boy's locker room, a place I haven't entered since P.E. became an elective. I was about to ask what we were doing here, but it got stuck in my throat and my heart skips a beat when I see him taking off his signature blue sweatshirt. I was strangely disappointed when I realize that he has another long sleeved shirt on under it. Does he have anything without sleeves?
Why do you care?
… I don't.
He hands me his sweatshirt. I look at him wide-eyed for a second before stripping off my damp shirts and replacing it with his sweatshirt, which smells very Craig-like- bitter, sharp, oily, and perfect. I look over at Craig and see him staring at me again with a look that's fairly similar to the one in the truck, minus the anger. He looks away as soon as he notices me noticing him and turns to unlock his locker. He hands me a pair of sweatpants. "They're not dirty or anything, just my standbys." I just nod my head and strip off my pants, too. This time Craig obviously turns away from me, and for a second I wonder if there's something wrong. Do I look bad or something?
I have to retie the string of the sweatpants and roll up the pant legs a ridiculously large amount of times to make them even close to my size. It didn't help at all that Craig's a freaking behemoth… well, kinda. He's like a boxer to my chihuahua.
"Th-thanks for the clothes," I say to him, going to leave, expecting him to follow. He doesn't though, he stays frozen and hunched over at a bench. "You coming?" He twitches and glances over at me.
"Um, yeah. Need to do something first."
"Okay." I stay rooted, waiting for him to do whatever it was that he needed to do.
"You can go. I'll meet up with you after…" Is he blushing under that mask? I wouldn't blame him. That mask has to be hot.
"I can wait-"
"No, Tweek. I need to be alone. Please." I could feel my face fall, but I mutter an affirmative and leave. A million thoughts go through my head. Did I annoy his somehow in between taking his clothes and going to leave? I didn't say anything…
My worries are squashed when I see Craig walk towards me. He nods at me with a look of guilt or something in his eyes. He sits down next to me and babble at him about everything I can think of.
…
I kind of make a point not to leave Craig's side whenever I can. I hunt him down the second I get to school, we sit together at lunch, walk together in between classes...
He seemed a little off put when I started publically stalking him, but he obviously didn't mind too much. After all, he was the one to offer to drive me to school and suggest we eat in the auditorium instead of the cafeteria. He draws the line at me going over to his house. He does not want me there often, end of discussion. I don't push it. He comes over to my house instead. I have a slow and steady collection of his stuff in my room, including his game systems (and his sweatshirt that I have yet to return and may or more not sleep in.) And his video games. I do not know why I am trusted with all this stuff worth this much money, but I take the job with pride. I have the games completely ordered in alphabetical order and in the right cases and everything.
I suck at video games. I'm much better at cheering him on and spazzily telling him to kill that thing at the corner. He plays a lot of Silent Hill. If I didn't know any better I would say that he plays that freaky game just for me to cling to him like a blond little monkey.
And through all this, he's still wearing the mask. I still flinch every time he appears in my view despite the fact that I'm now sure that we can be filed under the "friends" category.
I'm not completely oblivious. I may not be great at reading people outside of anger and paranoid to the point that reality is blurred at the edges, but I can still see how things really, really are sometimes. Like I know the sad look he gets every time he sees me cringe at the sight of him.
I wasn't going to bring it up. Really, I wasn't. I was just gonna drink my coffee and wait for him. But Craig suddenly decided he's gonna be confrontational with something other than his fists.
"Do I scare you?" he asks. I was in the middle of my chemistry homework. He was low on gas and funds, so we're spending the time at his house. He seemed jumpy for awhile, and I offered to make some coffee for him. He declined, but I made some anyway. Coffee does wonders for the nerves.
"What? N-n-nnnnnnnnn… No." And I started blushing, and my eye starts twitching, and I try to fight off my "I'm lying but innocent none the less" face. It's not like I'm really lying, but I'm omitting some truth, which has proved to be an impossible task for me to do to Craig.
He notices and looks away from me. I moan silently, before climbing closer to him. He tries to elbow me off but it doesn't work all that well (it was a fairly pathetic elbowing anyway.)
"J-jesus, Craig, it's not you." He still doesn't look at me, staring defiantly at the wall in front of him. "It's the f-freaking mask. I mean, Christ, it's creepy! It's the mask of someone that's gonna kill me!" He looks at me then, sending a scathing look in my direction. I flinch myself right off of his bed.
I land with an "oof," right on my butt. I hear a shift above me, and Craig looks down at me. I can't help but flinch again. Even though I know it's Craig under there, it's just… jesus, what if it's not Craig and it's some serial killer instead or the mask takes over his brain and he decides to kill me? "Too much pressure," I mutter as I pick myself up. Craig's looking at me again, a kind of pain in his eyes.
"Do you really want me to take the mask off?"
"Gng. Yes." He looks away again, finding a sudden and intense interest for the covers.
"But… it's bad. It's really bad," he mutters, picking at the hem of his shirt.
"P-personally, I kind of think that mask is the -ah- worst thing on Earth." He tightens up, and for a second I think he's pissed. Gah, that would suck! What if he threw me out the window? Jesus, what if he hates me now and decides to kill me and break my face and steal my coffee and-
Craig pulls his mask off, and the first thought that pops into my mind is, Put it back on.
His face… no one's face gets that messed up. "Holy shit," I say. I really don't like swearing. I mean, what if the FCC has bugs everywhere and comes busting down my door for censorship issues? I don't want to get arrested! I'll have to go to prison and some big muscle-man named Bubba will make me his bride and I DON'T WANNA BE ANYONE'S ELSE'S BRIDE.
I remember before he wore that stupid mask, he had dimples. Massive dimples that popped up every time he spoke. He had these awesome dimples and now they're gone, replaced by these scars… He looks like he's been mauled by a bear. Three ragged scars stretch from his hairline diagonally down to his jaw, another two crossing from just below his eye.
I'd be lying if I said it isn't one of the worst things I've ever seen.
Since I live in South Park, you'd think I've seen some weird shit. But I haven't. I stay in my room with my coffee and wait for the screaming to stop or hide in the cellar until someone comes and gets me. There's no way to run from Craig's scars, though. There they are, standing out against Craig's stark white face.
I could just run. Grab my thermoses and ignore Craig for the rest of my life, forgetting I ever saw what was hiding under that freaking mask. Leave Craig alone, going back to my solitary life style.
But I can see Craig looking at me, expecting me to do just that, running and screaming away from Craig the Monster. Instead I reach a trembling hand out, fingers gently tracing the scars. He looks like he's still waiting for me to run off. I rest my hand against his cheek. "Oh," I say softly.
And we stayed like that, silent, until I say, "What happened to you?"
He doesn't reply, but after a minute I sense a hand hovering hesitantly over my head. After another second I feel it in my hair. It was nice.
…
"Tweek!"
Oh, Jesus, what? Had the apocalypse started and I slept through the alarm? Gah, all the shelters are gonna be full and I'm not going to be able to get in and I'm going to die from radioactivity- wait, does Craig have a shelter? I mean, I've been trying to get my cellar ready for years but I still need some supplies. "Do you have a bomb shelter?"
"What? Tweek, you got to leave." I finally got around to open my eyes. Craig was staring down at me, an unrecognizable look in his eyes. It was kind of scary, though… what if he's planning on murdering me and he's nervous about that? Oh, Jesus…
But Craig wouldn't do that. Craig's a nice guy.
"What?"
"You gotta go home, Tweek." I slowly start to take in my surroundings. I was in Craig's room… did I fall asleep? Man, that is so embarrassing! Why do I keep falling asleep around him? Should've drank my coffee before he took off his mask. And then I looked at the clock.
"It's midnight." Which means it's dark.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, you fell asleep and-" That's when I noticed that the scars seem to mess up his speech. His mouth doesn't move as much as it should. If I was just reading his lips (which I can do because what if someone is conspiring against me across the hall? It's just be a stupid way to die) I'd have no idea what he was saying. Even now he's muttering.
"I can't freaking walk home at midnight! It's dark! I'll get mugged and they'll kill me because I don't have any money on me or Bubba will get me or the drunkards will get me and shove their beers down my throat-"
"Okay," he interrupted. "I'll walk you home. Just... " he shook his head and left his room. I scurried after him, grabbing my thermos as I leave the room.
"Can I make some coffee first?" He shoots me this look. "What?" After a short staring contest he swears quite colorfully and plops down in a chair, head in hands. He groans in a manner I interpret as a yes.
After I feel that I have a comfortable amount to last the trip we're out the door. Craig looked tense, and I realize he forgot his mask. This has to be the first time in forever that he was out in public without the mask. Granted, it's midnight, so not a lot of people are out-
But, God, the people who are are going to kill us. I shiver and press myself closer to Craig, who could totally kill the people who could kill us.
That's a comforting thought. But what if he did kill them and he got arrested for it? GAH, it'd be all my fault that he's in jail and he'd probably hate me for it. Or maybe he wouldn't. I could hazard the inside of prison for him, I suppose.
I didn't notice that we had reached my house until Craig was pulling my front door open.
"Gnnhg, thank you." As he turns around I remember that I'm still have his jacket. It was supposed to really blizzard tomorrow, so I thought I'd at least be nice enough to return that. I refuse to give up the sweatshirt. Only because it's comfortable. "Oh, wait, wait, wait! Craig!"
"God damn it, Tweek, what?" he yells, turning on his heal, glaring at me. Very angrily.
I'm not sure the scars are any less scary than the mask. And in the mask he never glared at me. "I-I s-still, hng, h-h-have y-your sssweatshirt a-and I cangogetitforyou. Nnnnnn, o-or what-ah-ever ya want." Why would anyone be stupid enough to fight him? I can't stay together if he so much as looks at me weird.
He sighs, and runs a hand through his hair. "Shit, Tweek, I don't fucking care." He jogs back to his house. Ah, God, what'd I do?
Crap.
…
I'm a jittery mess by the next morning. After running into three walls, stubbing my toes on five separate occasions, and burning my tongue on the coffee (the coffee, for Pete's sake!) I manage to make it into my living room.
Completely convinced that Craig was currently hating my guts, you can imagine my surprise when I see the truck outside the window. It takes me a moment to get over the shock and I grab my bag, hauling my behind into his truck.
"Craig, I'm sorry-" I start, but he interrupts me.
"No, don't worry. I acted like a dick. Wasn't your fault," he says stiffly. I look over at him, trying to avoid looking at the mask (something I've gotten very good at doing, thank you very much.) He looks as tense as I've ever seen him and tired. He doesn't look great.
"Are you okay?" I ask him. I hear him sigh before opening his mouth to say something before closing it again.
After a moment he opens it again, "Yeah, Tweek. I'm fine. Everything's fine."
"Okay," I say, smiling softly at him. I go to rearrange my bag to make myself comfortable, but because I am a clumsy, clumsy person I ram my elbow straight into the window. "Ow, sonuvabiscut, ow!" Craig looks over at me, eyebrows obviously up even through the mask. I wonder if I can get him to take it off more often, know that I know what's under it.
"What?"
"I hit my elbow…" And then the jerk starts laughing at me.
"Ah, shaddup!"
So I think everything is back to normal, and slink myself closer to him once again.
…
A unsteady breath escapes me. Try as I might, I can't catch my breath. I feel like I might suffocate. Maybe it's because the air's too hot. Everything is too hot, on fire. I can't move a muscle, paralyzed. I've signed myself over. He leans down, breath in my ear. "I own you, Tweek."
…
I wake up gasping. I had a dream about Craig, and it was definitely not a nightmare. "Hng," I hear myself gasp. That… was a first. "Oh."
Ah, God, what just happened? My heart starts racing, more than it was before. Oh Jesus, what if he finds out. Man, he's gonna find out that I had that kind of dream about him. He'll never look at me again- how am I supposed to look at him? He flashes into my sight again, face twisted and red, jaw locked. A tightening starts in my stomach again, and I try to shake the image from my head. But it's stuck there.
He's totally going to find me out. I mean, I'm wearing his sweatshirt… what if he smells it? GAH, what if there's a mark on it? After a quick check I come (Jesus) to the conclusion that his sweatshirt is fine, which is not something I can say about my boxers. I hear myself whine before changing out of them- do I even have another pair? What if the underpants gnomes find that pair and tell everyone? I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, this is too much freaking pressure.
It's official, I am never sleeping again, I don't care what Craig said. There is no way any of this stuff is natural or necessary.
…
I don't sleep that night, drinking a cup of coffee every five minutes, trying to distract myself. He's going to be here in an hour. I need to look casual. What do I look like casual? "Ah, God, I'm going to die." And now I'm talking to myself.
After spending half an hour trying to look casual (how am I supposed to do that? Seriously. Tell me.) I realize that I don't need to ride with him. "Dad!" I screech. "Dad, I need a ride."
"I thought you were riding with Craig."
"GNHG." Lie, Tweek, lielielie. "H-he's busy t-today."
"Oh, well, Tweek. You know I once had a friend who drove me places, too. One day, he was too busy to drive me to a date with your mother, back when she was attractive. Now, this was back when I had to fight men off with sticks, so it was essential that I met her at the diner." And then he stopped.
"And… what happened?"
"Oh, I got a ride with one of my other friends."
"Gah, for just once in my life will you please tell me something worth listening to! You never help me with anything!"
….
I go into ninja mode trying to avoid Craig in the morning, which was as simple as not going to where we usually meet and staying quiet.
Of course, like always, it doesn't work. I run straight into him going around a corner. The mask was back, and I still couldn't stop myself from flinching away from him. "Gah, Jesus."
"Tweek." God, his voice. "Fuck, Tweek, you're so …" Oh, man, I can't freaking do this. I jerk away and take a few steps back, not being able to look at his face. I dig around my bag, dragging out his jacket.
"H-here's your jacket back," I stutter out, shoving it into his hands. He catches it, our fingers brushing. I snap my hand back because he is too freaking warm, and even his hands are so… Craigtastic.
"Tweek-" "Tweek!"
"I g-gotta go." And then I make a run for it like the coward I am and lock myself into a janitor's closet.
…
I avoid him for the rest of the day. And the day after that. I plan on avoiding him until I can so much as think about his name without his imagined up face popping into my brain, something hasn't stopped happening since It started (and repeated a few times.)
Really. I swear to God, someone must have put a XXX Craig chip in my brain. But they haven't, trust me, I've checked like twenty times for any scars or injection spots.
This is a problem, because I miss Craig. I miss the protected feeling I got when he walks with me, and his staring, and how he doesn't judge me, or have already judged me and hates me… I'd be lying if I said I miss the mask, but at least I understand it more.
On the fourth day of The Avoidance of Craig, there was some yelling going on in the hallway. Presumably from a fight. Fights happen a lot in South Park. I didn't find it particularly alarming. The crowd it creates is more of a problem. "Pressure," I mutter, taking a sip of my coffee. I very loud yell came just then, and I recognize it. Craig.
I run out the door, finding the fight easy enough. People were crowding around Craig and the other guy, creating the fight ring. I elbow my way through, getting a few shoves in return. Once I get in I see Craig, fist raised, aimed right at Cartman's face.
I rush forward again, throwing myself at him. Not that I made much of a difference, but he noticed my presence. He looks down at me, mask and all, anger in his eyes. "Get off."
"N-no."
"Damn it, Tweek-"
"N-no, Craig, you can't get in another fight! Y-you'll get expelled a-and-" And just to prove how pathetic I am I started bawling. In front of the whole school- in front of Craig. The snickers and whispers are impossible not to hear, but I don't care. Hiccups start up. I feel myself getting picked up (jeez, I hope it's Craig- I can't quite see straight,) hear the nasally voice that never quite left Cartman say, "Oh, look at Craig taking care of his little fag boy-," the sound of a boot connecting with blubber, and presumably Craig carts me away.
When we make it into the bathroom Craig snaps at someone to get the fuck out, sitting me on the sink. You'd think I'd manage to stop crying, but no. Craig stands there in front of me, wiping the tears off of my face with his sleeve, silently waiting for me to unwind. It's after the bell rings that I manage to pull it together. He's standing there staring at me. "Do you want me to leave?" I shake my head no. "Are you planning on telling me what that was about?" I shake my head again. "Tell me anyway."
"T-take off," hic, " the mask." He hesitates, but after a second he slowly peels the mask off. The scars were no less of a shock this time- I'd forgotten they covered so much surface area- but it didn't take as long to get used to them. Even if it did cure my hiccups. "I d-don't want you to get expelled! I'd have to go back to only my thermos as company, and as much as I love my thermos, I'd be lonely without, hnn, you. You can't just leave me with them!" I wail, throwing myself at him.
Man, Craig massive.
Again, who is stupid enough to fight him? He's obviously capable of twisting you into a pretzel, physically and mentally. But I know he won't tie me into knots, so that's just an odd comfort. Other than the gnomes and the government, I can't really think of anyone who'd bother me enough to get Craig punching (not that it takes much.) Which reminds me-
"W-why were you trying to kill Cartman?" He sighs, vibrating through his chest straight to me. It's nice being this close to him again, his arms wrapped around me slightly.
"It's nothing."
"Didn't l-look like nothing. And nothing is what they say when they're trying to cover up a conspiracy."
" Tweek. Don't worry about it." He says strictly.
"Okay," I sigh, resting my head on his chest. His hand eventually finds itself into my hair, and we just stay here in each other's company.
…
AN 2.0: Man, I'm a lazy ass. A lazy, procrastinating (as in instead of writing the last bit of this chapter I was looking up British slang [oh, how I love the British… well, the accents, at least {actually, ALL accents}. How kickass do I need to be to get into college over there? Procrastination]) , writing-blocked ass. Who spent the last, like, a week swearing angrily at this story for writing itself. Do you know how much it pained me not to swear every other sentence in this? But nooo, it would have been out of character. Bah. Never again. This is so freaking long for me. I'm used to, like, two thousand words and done. AND I'm still writing another chapter or two, damn it.
Now that the random babbling is done, review pretty please.