Yes, okay.

Craig Tucker was steadily becoming the master of making omelets. He'd been cooking them for the last four days because Tweek had broken an entire carton of eggs and bought too many cheeses. Craig didn't mind much—they were bland and easy to make.

The front door of the apartment was thrown open with great force. The knob bounced off the wall, hit the kick-door-opener softly, and hit the wall again. Tweek was nearly screaming at this point. He stumbled around the tiny apartment, view semi-obstructed by the giant laundry bags in his arms. He dropped them at some point during the rumpus. While laundry was Craig's favorite chore, it was also the safest. The kitchen was too full of sharp and flammable objects and bathrooms were prime accident zones.

Tweek sprinted into the kitchen, jittery as always. He tugged open a cupboard, missing Craig's head by an inch. There was only one route he took through the kitchen; from the living room to the mug cupboard, to the almost always full coffeemaker, back to the living room. There was an unexpectedly long pause in front of the cupboard. Tweek groaned softly, taking down a chipped beige cup. He rushed over to his coffee maker, filling the cup to the brim. He sipped some of the top, replaced it, and sipped again. He clutched Craig's shirt affectionately for a second before exiting.

Not five minutes passed before Craig heard glass breaking and a shriek, stealing his attention away from plating the omelets he'd just finished. He ran into the living room, where Tweek stood quivering in the middle of a puddle of steaming coffee and the remains of his mug.

"Nnghhfuck," Tweek stammered, face contorting, "Godfuckingdammit!"

"You don't have Tourettes, Tweek." Craig walked around the shards and gestured for Tweek to get on his back. "Come on."

Tweek immediately clung to his boyfriend, practically jumping onto his back to save his bare feet from the sharp shards of colored ceramic floating around in his cooling coffee. He stared disdainfully at the mess.

"Shit," he whined, shaking like a cat hanging on to a branch.

"What's wrong?" Craig asked, sitting him down on the couch.

"That was my last mug."

"Oh," Mug-shopping with Tweek? "Fuck."

Tweek was still in the pots and pans section. Craig glanced back at him. "Are you coming?"

Tweek nodded, wringing his scarf nervously. Rows and rows of shelves filled with delicate glass item made his iffy. "Maybe you should just…go," he stuttered.

"No," Craig replied, "I'll get it wrong. You have to choose them."

Tweek chewed on his bottom lip. He'd only had one cup of Harbucks so far. He took a step forward.

Craig looked on, bored. "The earth hasn't moved."

Tweek blinked at him, laughing a bit. "Sorry." He shuffled over to him, holding on the back of his jacket. "Okay, let's go."

"You can't see anything from there."

"Yes, I can."

"Tweek—"

"I want that one."

"Which one?"

"The one… there."

"Tweek,"

"Oh jesus," he let go, and felt like he was going to fall over. Oh, shit, there was shelf behind him. Oh, wait. Thank god, Craig caught him.

"Tweek." Craig helped his boyfriend up, allowing him to breath properly again.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Tweek stared at him. He took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Good," and Craig led him through the aisle.

Tweek yelped as a kid walked by him. "Oh lord, oh sweet jesus, oh god." He grabbed a maroon mug off of the shelf and put it in Craig's cart, muttering all the while to himself. Craig took two more of the same mug. Tweek picked out one light blue mug and one dark green one. Craig took one extra for each.

"Craig!"

"What?"

"Look!" Tweek held up a mug, a huge grin on his pale face. It was a blue mug with yellow dots on the rim. "It looks like you," Tweek chuckled, gently placing it in the cart with the dozen mugs they'd collected by then. He kissed Craig on the cheek before sauntering off for more mugs. Craig went and took six more Craig mugs.

Hm.