Total crack. Specifically, angstcrack, because I fail at making South Park serious. :) Hopefully I got Tweek in character. Experimenting a bit with POV. I did this mainly on sleepless nights while high on coffee and MGMT... when trying to de-stress over my 7 midterms... Man, the parallels between my life and Tweek's... Way too much pressure! Ahaha.
Rectangles
Tweek didn't sip. He was manly (to the extent of drinking coffee, anyway). He liked to down entire cups in single gulps. Tweek Tweak: the epitome of Ridiculous Lung Capacity.
His best friend and super secret crush, Craig Tucker, looked over at the row of empty mugs on the table. "Seven."
"Nngh." The eighth cup slammed onto the table. The spoon rattled noisily, and Tweek exhaled in relief. One fifth of his daily coffee intake, right there.
Clyde Donovan pushed a straw around his chocolate milkshake, leaning over the table to suck the viscous contents into his mouth. He was trying to not get brainfreeze this time. "Geez Tweek, do you feel better now?" he inquired, the hint of chocolate on his breath.
Bug-eyed, Tweek nodded and wiped his mouth in agitation. "I, agh, love coffee so much."
"It's good in a caramel macchiato," piped Token Black, who looked extremely sophisticated at his spot from across Clyde.
"Yeah, but anything's good with caramel," the brunet smiled dazedly. "Anything with sugar is amazing."
Craig blew at his bangs to get the misleadingly emo fringe out of his eyes. He was too lazy to get it cut, but Tweek thought it looked good no matter what. "We're meeting Thomas in ten minutes."
They were at Harbucks, exploiting free drinks from Tweek's family connections. Except for Token, who paid anyway, like a really polite douchebag. What the hell, man?
It was a good weekend for a party, so of course Cartman had organized a bash at Butters' house. Craig's posse wasn't technically invited, but they were rebels and party crashers. And Clyde was friends with Cartman, who would pull some easily manipulated strings if he really felt like it (more like, if Clyde begged). Tweek just went along with whatever Craig was doing.
"Hello?" Token slid his phone open. "Oh, you're early? Uh, we'll meet you in a second. Yup, see you!"
"Thomas?" said Craig, pushing his chair back eagerly.
Clyde rolled his eyes, and turned away to eye up the cashier. Tweek's dad had hired some hot chick to tally orders; people like Clyde thought it was awesome. "Like you don't see him every day at school," he scoffed.
"Ngh, yeah," added Tweek, with a twinge of bitterness.
Craig flipped them both off, and practically dashed for the door. Token, with a helpless shrug, followed suit. "Well," mumbled Clyde, clutching his plastic cup tightly for dear life, "we better go."
Tweek stole a glance at Clyde, who was staring at the wall ahead and steadily slurping the rest of his drink. The twitchy boy frowned. Either he was really jittery from his eight cups of delicious coffee, or Clyde looked depressed. And in Tweek's mind, that could only mean one thing.
Jesus Christ, it's a fucking love rectangle! Tweek, um, didn't like quadrilaterals. Those bastards.
The blond could practically feel the sparks of hatred in the air, and he wasn't quite sure if he disagreed. Thomas just had that incredibly offensive aura. Maybe the Tourette's boy couldn't help it, but Tweek resented him sooooo much – even to the point of ripping off Craig's tagline.
"Okay," shuddered the spastic teen, wishing he had something to hold onto. "A-At the bus stop, right? Ergh!"
Clyde wrinkled his nose and nodded. "Wonder why Craig's so excited anyway."
If you think hard enough, Tweek thought, trying to suppress his inner sarcasm in case Clyde could hear his thoughts, you'd know why he's so fucking happy. Of course, he knew that Clyde was just saying that to fill the not-so-companionable silence, but the resentment clouded every rare sane thought that crossed his mind.
Tweek and Clyde were not okay. Okay, so Tweek was never really okay, even after downing eight cups of coffee at ten at night. But in a matter of life and death, Tweek being okay and Tweek being not okay? Inevitably not okay.
"Do you – like him?" he burst out suddenly, clutching at his hair like he was going to tear it out at any moment.
Clyde pretended not to hear. They were at the door now, and Tweek could see Craig running across the street with that same ridiculous energy that he never showed for anyone else. "We should hurry," muttered the brunet. Clyde winked (discreetly!) at the redheaded cashier, who swooned at the sight of his shiny new dress shoes.
Tweek tried to forget he had even asked. Besides, if Clyde liked Craig, it would be too much pressure! Then he'd have to compete against him like some pussy faggot and it would be totally humiliating!
Anyway, Clyde looked straight, right? Oh Jesus Christ, it would be so embarrassing if Clyde was straight and he was only ignoring the question to save the moment from complete awkwardness. Tweek was starting to sweat. Clyde was probably wondering why he had to be stuck with such a stupid ditz! "Ergh!" he screeched finally, clamping hands over sensitive ears and shaking from the frazzled tips of his hair to his toes.
Clyde turned as sharply as he could, round face twisted in concern. "Um, I know this is a pretty stupid question, but are you okay?" Self-conscious, Clyde twirled a spike of heavily gelled hair around his finger.
"Nngh, yeah, I'm fine!" Tweek was quick to reassure him, bobbing his head up and down enthusiastically. He felt like his head was going to fall off and maybe he'd just die at the spot. Clyde pushed the glass door open and they finally got out onto the sidewalk.
Across the street, a grinning Craig (Jesus, when was Craig ever that happy?) was chattering animatedly to Thomas. Tweek and Clyde sighed almost in unison, then glanced at each other suspiciously. The blond felt his jaw clench, and the spasms suddenly decided to worsen.
The brunet motioned at him to stop for a moment. "Uh, Tweek?" he muttered, face burning as red as his jacket. "So about what you asked me..."
"Y-Yeah, Clyde? What about it?" It came out in a screech.
Clyde shifted uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Um, I guess I kind of like Craig," he whispered with a grimace that gave away his unease. "Christ, I feel like such a fag. Well it's not like I have a chance anyway –"
Oh God, he needed some Ritalin right now. He needed to be calm. Instead, he felt the growth-stunting caffeine rush through his brain, and there was an odd compulsion pushing at him. He stepped forward, wondering slightly at how he could possibly be three inches taller than Clyde, and breathed in deeply.
"He's mine," Tweek managed to hiss through clenched teeth. And now the only thing he could think of was how disgusted Clyde would be when he realized that the whole situation was morphing into a badly scripted teen drama (wait a second...). Seriously, was it even worth it to try to compete for Craig's affection at this point? Maybe there were alternatives – but no, that wasn't possible. Tweek was in love with Craig, damnit!
He found himself jabbering on without being able to stop. In his head, the gnomes laughed maniacally at the oozes of cheesinessthat spewed from his mouth.
"I've liked him for six years, so why can't you and Thomas –" he and Clyde pulled equally pained faces here – "just leave it the fuck alone!" His eyes bulged out and he struggled to keep the hyperventilating under wraps. "You're – you're ruining, ngh, everything!"
Clyde probably wasn't used to being yelled at by Tweek, of all people, so he looked a little nonplussed. "Umm, I'm sorry?" To his credit, it was a pretty sincere apology.
The blond was anxiously gnawing at his fingernails, green eyes blazing with righteous anger. "Damnit Clyde, you son of a bitch!" he shrieked through a mouthful of hardened collagen – er, fingernails.
"Oh, sick, dude." Clyde cringed a little at the nail biting. And perhaps at the fact that they were suddenly fighting over a guy who appeared to already be in a relationship across the street over there, but, uh.
In retrospect, Clyde probably hadn't meant to be offensive, but Tweek felt patronized. And rather enraged.
"Aaaaaghhh!"
To conclude, that Donovan kid was tackled to the ground by a jittery seventeen year old blond who weighed approximately five pounds. The waterworks arrived shortly after, then came the slew of profanities.
Geez, they hadn't even crossed the street yet, and Clyde had already started crying. And when did Tweek get so flipping violent?
The 7.89 seconds it took to finally cross the street were filled with heavy tension. Tweek twitched with the urge to flail his arms at Clyde again, but he was worried that he would collapse under the pressure of being unnaturally violent. He placated himself with heavy outbursts of "Ergh!" and "Fuck!", and although that put him in a distressingly similar category to the hated Thomas, Tweek was too far gone to care.
There was a simple solution, anyway. He was going to kill Thomas.
"Tweek." Clyde's low voice sounded in his ear, and he squawked in surprise and attempted to kick the other boy in the nuts.
"Hey, what the fuck, man?" the brunet demanded reproachfully. He was a lot more agreeable than someone who'd just gotten F'd in the A should have been. "I just – uh, I don't think killing Thomas is gonna work."
Jesus Christ, he was thinking out loud again! Tweek could've kicked himself in the face. Except he would probably miss and end up strangling himself with his shoelaces, which would totally come undone if he swung his foot too hard!
Clyde frowned from beside him, but didn't bother saying anything else. He was probably too busy wiping at his eyes or something.
"Hey guys," Craig called from his seat at the bus stop. "Finally got here, huh? Fuck, you're slow. Okay, fags – oh, and Token – let's go." He flashed a painfully brief smile to the two of them before turning back to Thomas.
Craig didn't even notice the complete and utter carnage that was Clyde's tearstained face. Not even a 'Whoa, Tweeker, what's wrong with Clyde?'
Even Token, who usually would've been at least slightly concerned for his best friend's wellbeing, was preoccupied. Texting.
Tweek could've sworn he'd done a better job than that. The one time he got seriously violent, and no one cared. For Christ's sake!
...Four more blocks to Butters' house.
He resented the fact that Token had a girlfriend. And why did it have to be Wendy Testaburger? She was like Cartman, except more subtly conniving and totally straight! Tweek shivered as her calculating eyes razed into his fragile subconscious, no doubt tearing at his soul and ripping it to shreds. He'd probably end up a lifeless puppet of a person by the end of this damn party!
Then Wendy smiled at him, and her sinister stare made him grip his seat in terror. "How are you, Tweek?" she asked, pushing her hair behind her ears.
"Gah – I'm fine, damnit!" he managed to choke out before slamming his head onto the table.
Butters' house was small, but able to fit all the twelfth graders of South Park. There weren't many of those. Tweek was sitting rigidly at the neatly set dining table, still unable to figure out exactly how he was going to kill Thomas. If he could stop shaking – as if – for a few minutes, maybe he could find a knife in the kitchen and stab that annoying bitchy bitch bitch to death. Tweek lacked imagination; that was the paranoia's job.
What if the knife was blunt? Or what if he accidentally stabbed his own eyes out and somehow the knife punctured through to his brain and he died? Would that count as suicide? Then Clyde would tell everyone that he committed suicide because he was heartbroken and the facts would get all twisted and no one would know that he'd been trying to murder Thomas! It would be completely pointless!
Or what if he just missed Thomas and killed Craig instead? Then what was he supposed to do? Knives were dangerous, he decided, eyes wide with horror.
Besides, he'd have no witnesses! Token had gone off somewhere with his girlfriend, and Clyde was probably socializing in an attempt to forget about the dramatic stuffthat had just happened. The only other people in the kitchen were Craig (the love of his life!) and Thomas (what a fucking douchebag dickshit!).
Craig never talked to Tweek for more than five minutes, but there he was with Thomas, chatting as if he was the most amazing person on the planet. And what the fuck was with all the touching? Craig would put his arm around Thomas' shoulders, the Tourette's boy would blush, and Craig would smile that smile that he never got to see up close.
That was more than enough to give Tweek a reason for the unmanageable amount of hatred he was feeling.
His thoughts made themselves quite apparent. "Fuck you, Thomas," he snapped, hair standing on end. Immediately, he covered his mouth in dismay. He couldn't just badmouth Thomas and not have a murder plan! Now what was he supposed to do? Oh Jesus, I guess I'll just wing it!
Slowly, the other twitchy blond boy (There can only be one! Tweek thought murderously, wishing he was able hold a knife without injuring himself in the process) turned to face him. "I'm – aw shit! – not r-really sure what I – fucking pussy! – did, but I'm sorry I pissed you off!" Thomas' eyes were wide with worry and stress, but Tweek felt no tugs of sympathy whatsoever.
Thomas was just a stupid, pathetic gnome.
Tweek took quick, gasping breaths, trying to force himself to think clearly. The original fidgety-gay-for-Craig-blond felt a migraine coming on, the cause of which he quite rightfully attributed to the gnomes (but mostly Thomas).
Jesus Christ, they were singing again.
"Tweek, what are you doing?" Craig said it lightly enough, but the words made him freeze, just short of a stranglehold on an utterly bewildered Thomas.
It was difficult for him to string a coherent sentence together. "I – agh! – four years – everything's ruined – ngh – ! And that's why Thomas should die!" By Tweek standards, that was a kickass comeback.
His fingers twitched painfully, and he sank back into his chair. Why hadn't he planned this out earlier?
When he opened his eyes to see Craig kissing Thomas, he wanted to retch and puke blood out of his eyeballs. "Jesus, what the fuck!" he screamed, falling out of his chair and clutching at his heart like it was going to implode.
Before Craig could play the part of concerned BFFL and untangle himself from saliva interaction (agh, the germs!), Tweek scrambled to his feet and ran for the sake of his burning eyes. In a spectacularly, totally staged fashion, he smacked straight into Clyde – also known as "The Guy Tweek Bitched At, Like, An Hour Ago." Said brunet was failing miserably at flirting with Red, possibly because he was gay or something.
"Oh, hey Tweek," Clyde greeted, just as Red walked away. ("Why are you even trying?" she lamented.)
"C-Clyde, I think we should, ngh, leave. Right now!"
Clyde gave him an odd look. "Dude, I told you not to kill Thomas!"
The blond laughed shakily. "I didn't kill him. Do you know how bad that would look on my records? Ngh, I could've snapped his neck, though. I was, ugh, this close." He demonstrated with trembling hands. "S-So fucking close," he repeated for good measure.
Sadism and twitchiness didn't make a ballin' combination. Even Clyde realized that. "Ooookay, uh, let's go," the shorter boy responded, grabbing Tweek by the shirtsleeves. "Before you actually do kill him." As if for extra effect, Clyde added, "You hit hard," with an utterly not fake sniffle.
Tweek wondered if Clyde was really upset with him. Oh Jesus, he should apologize! Damn guilt-tripping gnomes.
The flush on his cheeks didn't leave, even when they stepped out into the freezing December air. "Uhh," he began hesitantly. When the other boy nodded to show that he was listening, Tweek continued. The apology didn't come out the way he wanted it to, though. "Ngh, I, uh, Jesus – they were making out and – ugh, Thomas is such a bitch!"
Tweek rocked hardcore at expressing his heartfelt regret.
He snapped out of the ranty haze when he felt a fumbling hand wrap around his own. Tweek tried to suppress the shudders of uncontrollable terror – oh God, was Clyde being affectionate?
"It's okay," the brunet mumbled softly, "I think I know how to fix this. I mean, I read about it online."
Fear gripped him, and he started to shriek at the top of his voice. Almost instantly he could swear he felt Clyde's grip tighten on his hand. Jesus, what did he do to deserve this? "Ngh, don't kill me!You don't know what conspiracies those crazy heterosexual prepubescent – aggh! – g-girls can come up with! I'm sorry about everything I did! I – please don't – "
It took approximately six tries, but the other boy managed to stand on his tiptoes and successfully brush his lips against Tweek's. The blond shut up on contact, torn between the forces of oh my God what the fuck and teen hormones.
He would probably have preferred coffee, but this – this, he was nearlycertain, as he leaned forward and squeezed his eyes shut,was just as good.
"Huh," Clyde remarked. "That actually worked."
And by the most goddamn not-angsty turn of events, Tweek decided that Clyde was right. Maybe he would let Thomas live, after all. They didn't need Craig anymore.
He latched onto Clyde's arm, and they crossed the street a lot faster this time.
No tackling to the ground involved.
Alternate ending: Then they had some tasty taco lattés.
Thanks for reading!