Author's Note; a second part of my one-shots for my soon to be collection, altogether this collection will include Stan-Gary, Tweek-Damien, Tweek-Christophe (Tweek's got a thing for bad boys) and Clyde-Token. This series will be called "Long Live Crack" (a tribute to my old name)

Visit;

Tweek flinched as a bullet whirled past his head and jumped back. The entire cafeteria had gone into a hysterical silence except for the gunshots and sobs. People huddled under the tables and clung to each other, probably wondering what the hell was going on. He lifted his gun and fired a round into the nearest man's stomach. Christophe tackled the blonde to the floor as the other side responded with bullets of their own. "Fuck, Christophe!" Tweek screeched "Why is it whenever you visit someone tries to kill us?"

Jealousy;

Smooth brown eyes glared at the raven haired boy with jealousy as he cradled the blonde to his chest. "It's gonna be okay," Craig soothed. Christophe growled as Tweek visibly calmed down and clung to Craig like a lifeline. Flicking away his cigarette, the angry French boy turned to his motorcycle and revved the engine. Taking off down the street, all he could think was that should have been him comforting Tweek, not Craig.

Watch;

Tweek glanced around nervously. He had the strangest feeling he was being watched. The blonde stopped and turned to look at a store window, it French boutique with clothes hanging in the window. Tweek paused and stared at a green silk scarf. The most expensive object on display, although undoubtedly the most beautiful. His fingers came to rest at his neck, fingering the scarf that rested on his it. It matched the one in the window. Tweek frowned and cocked his head. Who would leave him such an expensive gift? More importantly, how the hell did they manage to leave it in is kitchen cupboard?

Dance;

Tweek swayed gently, eyes half closed. Christophe briefly wondered how professional dancers could spend most of their life practicing and spending thousands of dollars on dance lessons and yet this short, scrawny, delicious fairy of a boy could still move with more beauty, more grace, then they could ever imagine.

Presents;

Tweek glanced up at his friend and grinned happily. "Happy birthday, Christophe!" he cheered. Christophe looked around. His entire apartment had been transformed from a secret agent's haven to a six year old's wet dream. Tweek bounced up and down excitedly, still stained with chocolate and gummy bears. "Do you like it?" he asked. The French boy sighed and looked again. The intricate patterns of candy that decorated the wall spoke of care and love, something you would do for someone you care about. The entire room was a tribute to that and, if Christophe's knowledge of American chocolate fountains and giant pieces of candy was still up to date, it hadn't been cheap for Tweek to do this. Christophe glanced at blonde who smiled up at him adoringly. (Although a bit of nervousness began to creep in) "I love it." He assured.

Pray;

Christophe ran his fingers through the tangled mess of blonde hair and sighed. Tweek was unconscious, but at least he had stopped bleeding, Christophe reasoned. Shifting from side to side, he tried to get comfortable, before rolling his eyes and leaning against the tree. It would be three hours until his faggot of a partner arrived with medical help. Scowling, the French boy dipped his head and did something he hadn't done in a long time. As rain fell and Tweek Tweak remained in a critical state from the bullet wounds that decorated his stomach, Christophe DeLorne began to pray.