A/N: This story will deal with substance use/abuse issues as well as boyxboy scenes. Just as a warning.
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Chapter song: "I'll Believe in Anything," Wolf Parade
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"Dude what are you doing?"
"Nothing," Tweek muttered, averting his eyes, and continuing on under his breath.
"Turned off the stove, locked the door..."
"Are you counting?" Craig asked, glancing over his shoulder as Tweek raced after him up the stairs, carrying a bowl of popcorn. "There are fifteen, remember?"
Tweek reached the carpet-covered landing, tried not to chew up his bottom lip.
"No. I have to remind myself out loud that I didn't forget everything. Otherwise I spend twenty minutes running up and down the stairs wondering if the house is burning down or being broken into."
Craig laughed again, harder. Asshole.
"Shut up," he said. "You know it makes me paranoid."
"Yeah, I know. Why do you keep doing this if you know?"
Tweek scowled and declined to answer, taking his hot pocket off the plate Craig was carrying and taking a large bite.
Craig settled onto his seat on the couch, still wearing a smirk but also turning his attention to the re-started cartoon.
Truth was, Tweek wouldn't quit this for any reason in the world, even though recently there were more reasons than usual. Tweek needed this- Craig on the right, Tweek on the left, stupid TV and weed- he was starting to think it would be harder to fight those not-great times if it stopped. But lately every time he started thinking too long and forgot to talk he felt self-conscious of the awful silence between them, and sometimes it would just suddenly feel as if they were sitting too close.
"What do you think?" Craig asked several minutes later. "Round two?" He held up a lighter, wearing a sloppy smile. That was the good thing about Craig. He really didn't care if Tweek forgot to say anything for long stretches of time. He never said much himself. Tweek had to smile back.
"Sure. Outside?"
Craig shrugged. "Nah, we can just open the window."
They had both taken two hits off the new bowl when the garage door sounded. Both pairs of eyes rounded in terror.
"What the hell dude?" Tweek hissed. "It four o'clock, I thought you said seven-thirty. Craig?"
Craig was frantically waving his hands towards the window, as if that would help ferry the air out. Tweek let out a squeak, trying hard not to panic. He threw any evidence in the nearest drawer, and grabbed a can of air freshener, spraying it over the room like he was fighting forest fire.
They could hear her steps on the stairs, she was talking angrily to someone on the phone. Tweek grabbed Craig's math textbook and ran to join him at the window, using the flat surface to fan the air.
Craig's eyes lit up when he saw the book and he wrenched it out of Tweek's hands before pulling him back to the couch.
"What're you-"
Craig shot him a terrifying glance to shut him up and opened the book. When Tweek tried to stand up, Craig grabbed his wrist and forcefully pulled him back to his side.
"No... No, Kathy I told him five-thirty, I'm sure, but I don't..."
Tweek was full-on panicking. He was high. He was definitely high. So was Craig. And his mother was walking up the stairs for sure. She was going to catch them, and then, and then... He wanted to run, hide, obey the frantic beat of his heart.
He knew Craig could tell what was happening. Craig's hand gripped Tweek's, holding him firmly down on the couch.
Craig lazily half-matched the erratic posture Tweek had assumed, knees bent toward his chest. He held the book between their bodies with his free hand, and hid their joined hands behind the wall of their thighs.
Craig's bedroom door creaked open, just as Craig used his free hand to expose the textbook title to the incoming intruder and Mrs. Tucker stuck her head in.
The phone was tucked against her collarbone. "Craig? You home- there you are." She wore her hair in a messy, faded bun, phone pressed against her collarbone, overloaded purse dangling off the crook of her elbow.
"Hi Mom."
"Studying math?"
"Yes."
"Good boy." She glanced around the room and scrunched up her nose. "Smells awful in here. What is that?"
Craig was still clutching his hand sweatily against his own. Tweek stared unseeingly at some equation on the page between their inches-apart legs.
"Probably my gym clothes."
"God, Craig, that's gross. You have company."
Tweek started laughing nervously, stopped when Craig squeezed his hand. The pressure of his larger hand was somehow calming and terrifying at the same time.
"Are you hungry?" his mom asked, retreating slightly from the room.
"We ate, thanks."
"Okay. Stay good." She smiled and closed the door before loudly resuming her phone call.
Tweek's heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his throat and ears. He didn't have a fucking clue whether it was due to his paranoia or the close call with parental authority or Craig's hand loosening slightly, moving to his wrist.
More clearly and intensely than he had ever before felt anything, he felt the touch of Craig's fingers on his wrist bones, against the quick-thumping beat of his vulnerable pulse. Somebody's knees shifted and the book fell to the floor. Tweek felt electrically frozen to the spot by tension strung tight in the air, ready to burst.
Craig was still staring at the still wood door, listening intently. Tweek's gaze darted over his face, his light freckles, straight eyebrows, dark eyelashes on heavy-lidded eyes. Suddenly he turned his head and was staring at Tweek with unreadable eyes.
"That was close," he said. His voice was warm, close, too close.
"Too close," said Tweek, echoing Craig or his thoughts.
"Yeah," echoed Craig. The subtle, tense lines written across his face were unreadable.
Tweek swallowed- tried to swallow. Craig Tucker was holding his hand, or caressing his wrist, or something, and staring intently into his eyes, their neighboring knees barely touching. It was... intimate. The thought jammed Tweek's heart straight up into his throat.
"I- I have to..." He stood suddenly, breaking the connection. "I have to go," he said, throwing his things into his backpack and walking out the door.