Disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker

"Craig?"

"Hmm?" The sound of a page being turned.

"I... I've got s-something I need to t-tell you."

A raised eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Y-yeah."

"What is it?"

"... Nngh..." Nervous hands fist themselves in the hem of a shirt already frayed from being handled too much.

A sigh. "Tweek."

Brown eyes glance up.

"If you're too nervous to tell someone something, you should just keep your fucking mouth shut."

A face breaks, looking crestfallen. Soft swearing under breath.

"Tweek." Another sigh. "Just tell me, okay? I won't get mad or anything."

"... P-promise?"

"Promise."

Silence but for breathing. Minutes pass. Hands continue to fidget with the shirt hem while blue eyes look at a trembling frame, waiting.

Nothing is said. Another sigh, heavier this time. "Look, Tweek, if you can't--"

"I love you!"

"... What?"

"I... I..." A nervous, heavy swallow, and timid coffee-coulored eyes meet dark sky counterparts. "I love you, Craig."

"..."

"Craig?"

"..."

Panic sets in. "Ohjesusohjesus, Craig, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or awkward or mad, oh jesus, you're mad at me now aren't you--"

"... Tweek."

"--of course you are why wouldn't you be mad I'd be mad too if some freaky paranoid twitchy kid just told me he loved me! Oh jesus, Craig, I'm really, really sorry--"

"Tweek."

"--I should have just kept my mouth shut! God, I'm so stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, God you probably hate me now and oh jesus, I'm going to loose my best friend because I couldn't keep my mouth clo--"

"TWEEK!"

A startled jolt. "Y-yeah?" A tone so full of nervousness and trembling it's purveyor might shatter any second.

A smile, then leaning in, faces slowly coming closer together until warm breath can be felt on skin.

Confusion. "Crai--"

A kiss. Soft and sweet and gentle and caring but posessive and hard and raw and passionate, all at the same time. Spines melt, one body collapses into the other and it catches him with strong, warm arms. Thoughts lost in a sea of feeling, of lips against lips and skin against skin, more euphoric than anything before it.

Parting, breaths still mingling in the air together. "I love you too, retard."

"... Oh."

Laughter, deep, that rumbles in the chest. Strong arms draw the tiny body closer again and lips meet again, and again, and again, parting only for air when absolutely necessary.

Two souls, lost in the sanctity of a bedroom and each other's arms.

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