Color And Contrast

A/N: Ohay, it's tweekers. :D One half of superbestfriends. The other half is eksley05 and this is our baby, CAC. Our co-Creek if you will. Because everyone knows the world needs more Creek. All right so here's the basic set up: I, tweekers, will write a chapter from Craig's pov, then the awesome eksley05 will write one from Tweek's. And so on and so on. It's going to be kind of epic. Maybe. We'll see. Without further ado (besides the further ado)...
Warnings
: Craig, he's an enigma all his own. And you know, slash and South Park kids all grown up into adult teenagers with gay urges.
Pairings
: Craig/Tweek. And you guys know us, there'll probably be some other stuff on the side, we'll see.
Disclaimer: Matt Stone and Trey Parker belong to South Park...or something like that.

Chapter One: Open Book

In the morning Craig Nommel was not a bright ray of happiness and sunshine.

Actually, you would not be far off if you said that he was never a bright ray of happiness and sunshine and that anyone who was put on top of the list of people that the world would really be better without. Although, that was a long list and there were certainly some people who ranked in the top five that were more dark rays of anti-Semitism and the excessive intake of any and all food products. In all truth, Craig was not a fan of people in general.

Waking up was, in Craig's opinion, the worst part of the day, which probably attributed to his normally unhappy morning attitude. He did it no less than three times every morning and was currently on the fourth time that particular morning. Usually he was awakened by his alarm clock, the one that no one – save his parents, but they had probably forgotten by now – knew he had. The alarm clock was old and it was only by the grace of Japanese technology that it was still working. It woke Craig up every morning to what was, quite possibly, the most embarrassing thing ever which was why no one knew he owned it.

It was a Red Racer alarm clock and Craig hid it in the back of closet most of the time. In fact, Craig hid a lot of things in his closet, literally. And possibly figuratively as well, but that was an abstract thought that would not have interested Craig, so it's better left to the imagination as to just what, if anything, was hidden in the non-existent closet. As for the real closet, well, there were a lot of things in. Clothes that weren't mostly black were hung up on hangers, not having been worn in some time, while clothes that were mostly black were strewn across his floor.

There were empty cigarette packs, a broken umbrella, Red Racer Seasons one through four on DVD, love notes from middle school, pens that had long run out of ink, CDs of bands that were technically too conformist for his lifestyle, underwear that wasn't his, underwear that was his, angsty poetry, angsty pictures, angsty everything, the gym class uniform from ninth grade, every homework assignment that had ever been forgotten, really old pieces of gum, photographs of memories long forgotten and, on that non-existent side of life, a few skeletons as well.

And, normally, once Craig woke up, he would unplug the Red Racer alarm clock – if only to get the obnoxious theme song it played to wake him up to stop – and throw it into the closet as well before closing the doors and picking out an outfit from the floor of his room. But that day Craig had looked at the clock, turned off the alarm, and left it there. Chances were if he was going anywhere, anyway, it would be to Henrietta's house. Because if Craig was going to be honest with himself he never, ever wanted the people he called his friends to come into his house.

An important thing to know about Craig was that he did not enjoy wearing the things he did. More than anything it was a shock factor on both sides of the electric fence. His so-called friends were alright with almost everything he wore, they just didn't like his hat. Everyone else, on the other hand, always squinted at him and seemed to be wondering how he had gotten from the slightly temperamental, but still rather normal, boy he had once been, to, well, whatever the hell he was now. Stereotypically, one of the Goth Kids, but otherwise a slightly temperamental, but still rather normal boy who just so happened to dress like those kids that were certain they were the epitome of non-conformism.

So when Craig put on his jeans, the ones that were so tight he was almost positive they cut off blood flow at some point during the day, he wasn't putting them on because they made him look good or because he really enjoyed barely being able to breathe. And when he found a generic band shirt that he had gotten at some store in the mall that was considered by the people he hung out with to be the least conformist, he didn't really like that band. When he was done brushing his teeth and running a hand through his naturally straight and slightly too-long hair and he put just a bit of eyeliner on he wasn't trying to accentuate his dark blue eyes.

He was just trying to fit in with the people who thought they stood out and trying to stand out amongst the people who thought he was absolutely ridiculous. The best part of it all was, unarguably, the fact that Craig wasn't even the stupidest looking in his group of, if you could call them that, friends. Well, at least not until he put on his hat, because that was the real reason he stood out no matter where he went. Without the hat Craig would have been your average, every day, conforming to non-conformist standards, Goth Kid.

But, no, he wore the same hat he had worn for years, bright blue with that dreadfully optimistic yellow puffball on the top. It was the final touch to his already odd look, a fuck you without his trademark action, to everyone he could possibly want to say fuck you to. Oddly enough the rest of the Goth Kids seemed to respect him for it. As Sid had put it once, well, what was more non-conformist than not conforming to the rest of them? And so Craig was then on revered as the ultimate non-conformist and, whether he liked it or not, was the unofficial new leader, ever since Freddie had graduated the year before.

And, besides that, Craig looked phenomenal. In his own mind, at least.

That morning, though, was just a bit different than any other. He got ready, wearing much the same outfit he had worn the day before, putting on his hat before he left his room because no one, no one at all, ever saw him without his hat, and didn't eat breakfast, because, really, he needed to fit into those pants somehow, and that was all pretty standard. What wasn't standard, however, was the fact that he was in a pretty decent mood.

Now, despite what people might have thought about Craig Nommel, he didn't really buy into the 'life is pain' philosophy that his friends did. Sure life kind of sucked and, even worse, nothing ever really changed, but it wasn't a dark pit of decaying organisms and blood from the broken hearts that were perpetually being inflicted upon them all. No, that was a little – well that was kind of gay, really, and Craig didn't see life as being all that bad. Certain aspects were hell and when he needed to be in hating-life-unconditionally mode he thought about those things and of course he hated life at that point.

But still it was morning, and he wasn't what anyone would have called a morning person, much less a ray of happiness and sunshine. Most of the time he was simply indifferent to things, not caring one way or the other. Things like school, for instance, the place he went to five days a week. It consumed a lot of his time, he had been there for well over eleven years now, but Craig didn't have much of an opinion on it. He didn't love it, but he didn't hate it either. And such was life, really, in his mind and it was how it always had been.

While Craig walked to school, which wasn't very far away from his house, he knew most of the other people his age were either on the bus or in their cars. After all, when in South Park one wouldn't have found it very pleasant to be outside at seven in the morning. To top it all off Craig didn't even wear a jacket – because, God, how conformist would that have been – and it didn't take much to figure out that he was more than a little cold.

Park High School was a lot louder and much better at good-mood killing than one would have expected. Class didn't officially start until twenty minutes after seven and in a town as small as South Park no one lived very far away from the school. Basically, everyone was there earlier and most of them were hanging out with their friends outside or in the halls. That wasn't the good-mood killer. The good-mood killer was, and there was no doubt in Craig's mind that this was true, anyone and everyone who chose to try and make you do something before the bell rang to signal the beginning of school.

One of these people was Wendy Testaburger and though Craig knew fully well that Wendy couldn't stand him she tried to make him do something every single morning.

"Craig, hey," she said, just like she had every morning for months now. Craig did a quick assessment of the date – May first, that meant there was probably something new she wanted them all to try and save. "You know I'm the president of the Ecology Club." Yeah, President of all the three members, Craig wanted to say in answer, but instead he said what he always said.

"Yes, Wendy, I know."

"Okay, well do you think you'd like to – "

"No." And just like always he flipped her off and walked away. It had become sort of a routine. Wendy asked just about everyone if they would like to come to the Ecology Club's next meeting. But no one ever went besides Stan Marsh, who was forced to go by Wendy, Kyle Broflovski, who was forced to go by Stan, and Butters Stotch, who was just plain into gay shit like ecosystems and saving whales. Craig didn't have time for animals and nature; he was too busy worrying about people.

"Got any cigarettes?" was also part of morning activity. The person who asked varied from time to time, but whether it was Sid or Henrietta didn't really matter, because Craig's answer was always the same.

"Of course." Then he reached into his pocket and threw the pack of cigarettes to Sid, who had been the one to ask that morning, and Sid had swept his red and black bangs out of his eyes to look at the brand – like it really mattered – before he lit up. "You guys going to school today?" Craig asked, shaking his head when Sid offered the cigarettes back to him.

"School?" Henrietta answered, like that was simply the most ludicrous statement she had ever heard in her life. "With all those Justin Timberlake wannabes?" She narrowed her eyes at two people in particular and Craig turned to see Stan Marsh talking to Clyde Donovan. Both of them were rather normal and, quite honestly, only looked like Justin Timberlake if you were high and squinted a little. Craig looked back at Henrietta as she continued. "I don't even know how you can stand being around all of them every day."

"Yeah, and why does that girl in the purple sweater always come up to talk to you?" Sid added, narrowing his eyes as he took a drag from the freshly lit cigarette he held. "God, conformist bitch."

"Yeah," Craig agreed, although he really didn't. On all counts Craig did not like Wendy and sometimes she could be headstrong and intrusive into one's personal business, but she wasn't exactly a bitch and much less a conformist one. But he was supposed to hate anyone and everything that could somehow be seen as the same as something else, so 'hate' Wendy Testaburger he did. "I think I'm going to go to class though, so I guess I'll see you guys later."

"We're going for coffee today," Henrietta said, as Craig turned to walk away. He stopped, sighed, but didn't say anything else before walking away. He had avoided it long enough, anyway, he was going to have to get coffee with them at some point, he just really didn't want it to be today. Today was going to be an alright day, maybe not perfect or wonderful, but sure as hell not shitty like his days usually were. Perhaps he would even put in a little effort – his grades weren't exactly the best in the world.

To Craig the whole divide at school was stupid. The fact that everyone had their own little groups and very rarely branched out of them. They acted like, within those groups, they were all so alike and had the same interests and same musical tastes. It was bullshit. You could see it in the way people walked. The way they talked and if they dotted their i's and crossed their t's at the very end or not. The color of their backpack and the frequency of their voice. No one was really the alike and no one was really different for the same reasons.

They were all the same for being different and Craig didn't get why it had been decided that they all needed their own little groups to stay in at all times, lest they be caught out in the open without their 'friends' and torn to pieces by the bigger packs of popular kids. He had seen it happen before, to the unsuspecting, self-conscious kids, in their Old Navy discount sweaters and brand new Chuck Taylor's, realizing that high school was more of a shithole than they could have imagined.

It was times like these that Craig thanked the almighty for his cocky attitude. Maybe he was the only Goth Kid that regularly attended classes, but he did it unflinchingly so and no one really messed with him. Well, all right, a lot of people messed with him, but Craig didn't mind it so much as secretly found it amusing. The fact that people he used to be friends with looked at him like he had gone insane over the past few years, it made him laugh inside because who really cared?

The clothes didn't define him, he didn't even like the clothes, the clothes were just to get reactions out of people who otherwise wouldn't have given him the time of day.

First hour was another one of those good-mood killers. It came in the form of Debate class. Craig did not want to be in Debate class. He was senior, after all, and most of the kids in Debate class were either freshmen or sophomores who had failed their required public speaking class. Craig hadn't failed, he had just not taken the class in his ninth grade year, just like the rest of his friends, because they would be damned if they were going to take the mandatory classes, that's what everyone else was doing.

And by this point – senior year – the school wasn't feeling too lenient towards Craig, so they couldn't just give him regular Speech class, oh no, he had received Debate. Honestly, Craig liked the class if he could get through it without noticing a certain student. So far in the semester he had succeeded in winning the two debates he had been in, mostly because the freshmen he was against seemed intimidated enough to piss themselves when the teacher pitted them against Craig Nommel.

No, the problem was not the class. It was that one student, the only other senior in the class. Tweek Tweak, who sat in pretty much the center of the classroom for no apparent reason. Craig could have told you exactly why he did not like Tweek. He didn't hate the blond boy, that was too strong of a word, but to say he disliked him…well, that just wasn't strong enough. The way that Craig felt about Tweek was something that only he could really understand but never fully put into words.

Not only was Tweek constantly making little outbursts and freaking out over things that could never happen, he also drank coffee all the time. Craig definitely hated coffee. He hated it like most people hated politicians. It was part of his daily life – his parents drank coffee, his friends drank coffee, when forced to Craig drank coffee. But he hated the stuff, it had too strong of a taste and always burned his tongue and it was so fucking expensive no matter where you went.

So it wasn't much of a stretch to say that, in a way, Craig hated Tweek Tweak in the way that he hated coffee. Because how much could you hate a caffeinated drink? Neither coffee nor Tweek had ever really done anything to Craig, at least not on purpose, but he thought the world would be better off without either of them. The list of things and people that the world would be better off without was long. Craig was what you might call a list person and he was constantly making new lists of various topics.

People And Things The World Would Be Better Off Without
1. Eric Cartman
2. Tweek Tweak and coffee
3. Any and all romantic comedy movies
4. French people (with the slight exception of Christophe DeLorne…maybe)
5. Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh
6. And, honestly, just about everyone else in the world

The fact was though, that this list was made while Craig was in a lighthearted mood and, after the first five things, didn't hold much truth. He had more than enough reason behind those five – past experiences, present experiences, what he was sure would be future experiences – but as for everyone else in the world? Sure they all annoyed him to a certain point, but the world without them? Well, quite frankly, Craig didn't have enough hate in him for that – even if he pretended he did.

God, though, did Tweek ever bother the hell out of Craig Nommel. Ever since, well, what felt like forever. Forever did seem like a long time, too, when one considered that it never really ended. But Craig had shared debate class with Tweek for quite some time now and although it was common to find him both annoyed and amused by the workings of the blond boy it wasn't as common for him to be entirely hateful towards him. Well, maybe a little.

Still, there the blond boy sat, in the center of the room, behind the third tallest person in class. Craig was the second tallest, but knew full well that Tweek would have rather jumped off the Empire State building than to have sat behind him. And, besides, Craig sat in the back row, all the way in the corner. The tallest person in class was – with the aide of high heels – their teacher. At the moment, Tweek was not Craig's problem. He would be, soon, but for right now Craig's problem was his debate teacher.

Most of the teachers at Park High were known to Craig by distinguishing features. His Reading Techniques teachers, for example, was just that guy who with the pathetic comb-over and his Sociology teacher who was kind of Indian looking. Things like that tended to stick out to Craig more than actual names. He even had a list for his teachers, ranking them in order from the one he liked the best to the one he liked the least and, ironically enough, the teacher he liked the least was the only one who's name he had never forgotten.

She was last on the list, the first being his drawing teacher who thought letting them go outside to smoke was part of his job, but she wasn't last without reason. Mrs. Monroe was loud, abrasive and didn't put up with any shit, especially not from defiant seniors with a penchant for flipping people off. Her name was not forgotten for one simple reason and that was reason was Marilyn Monroe. It wasn't even the sex symbol aspect of the famous woman, at least it wasn't just that. Maybe. Well, sex has something to do with it.

But besides making lists about who he didn't like and the best flavors of popsicles (blue was at the top, incidentally) Craig spent a lot of his time sitting around the house watching television. And not just any television. When reruns of Red Racer weren't on Craig watched shows like Loch Ness Monster: Fact or Myth? and What Really Happened September 11th? Everything always ended in a question mark and Craig liked that. Questions were his forte, even if he didn't always believe the answers given. Fact was, there were quite a few specials on the death of Marilyn Monroe and that was the only reason that Craig dared to remember a teachers name.

Mrs. Monroe had been living forever. Chances were that she hated her own life and Craig hated people like her. The sort of people that didn't like their own life and consequently had the need to make everyone else around them miserable. Then again, that was most people in the world, himself included, so it was possible that Craig hated himself at times.

"Debate assignments today, any volunteers?" Mrs. Monroe asked as she walked into the classroom. Everyone who was talking stopped doing so, Craig leaned forward in his seat so he was just barely visible in his seat. No one answered the question; there were never any volunteers. Mrs. Monroe hardly looked surprised. She was tall, taller than all the freshman at least. Almost as tall as Craig who was cursed with his father's height and his mother's high metabolism, making him look slightly awkward in just how skinny he happened to be. But, as said, the teacher was wearing high heels, it was all just an act for her. Craig wondered sometimes what she was like at home around her husband. He figured she had to be a lot different or else he was simply crazy from her constantly uptight attitude.

"Come on kids, we're doing health debates," she added like that was supposed to excite them. "Alright, no volunteers? How about you, Tweak, hmm?" Tweek Tweak, the little blond gaywad Craig thought, amused as Tweek let out a little cry when the teacher called on him. All the freshman visibly perked up slightly. Debating against Tweek was no challenge, they all seemed sure they could handle it. Craig sniffed at this, he had to wonder who the next poor bastard would be. "Nommel, you'll be for the argument."

"What?" Well, Craig certainly hadn't been expecting that. "You didn't even tell us the topic!"

"Topic number one from the sheet you were supposed to pick up from the front table, Mr. Nommel," Mrs. Monroe shot back at him. Craig, not in the mood to actually get up and get the paper, snatched it from the freshman sitting next to him.

"Whoa, are you telling me...," Craig drifted off into a snort of laughter as he read the topic he and Tweek were going to be debating over. "Are you telling me that Tweek Tweak and I are going to be fighting over the medical affects of...coffee? I'm sorry that's just too, like, this is proof. There is a God. Here, kid, have your paper back." He threw the paper back at the freshman who scrambled to grab it before it drifted to the floor.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he heard Tweek mutter from the center of the classroom. Craig wasn't sure whether the blond said it because he was debating against Craig or because of what they were debating about. Maybe it was a little of both. Craig found it funny either way and didn't try to hide this fact. Tweek was practically a walking example of all the bad things coffee could do to you. All the raven-haired boy had to do was point to his opponent and tell the class that, well, they didn't want to turn out like that did they? He would win automatically. Debate was turning out to be the best class ever.


The rest of the day wasn't much different from any other day. Craig spent most of it feeling rather indifferent. He wrote some poetry in Sociology class and then threw it away because it sounded way too depressing – even for him. The class was not one Craig's favorites, mainly because he shared it with Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh. The two weren't exactly mean to Craig in any way, in fact Craig kind of doubted they even had a problem with him. They didn't acknowledge his existance much, that was for sure, but they weren't outwardly rude to him like some people were.

The problem that Craig had with the redhead and his best friend was, well, that. Best friends, Craig had long ago decided, were put on Earth to make everyone without a best friend feel like shit. Especially best friends like Kyle Broflovski and Stan Marsh who were about as close to conjoined twins as you could get without that whole, nasty, conjoined stuff. That was a bit unfair, they were different, somehow, Craig just didn't pay enough attention to know how exactly. With Kyle and Stan they were always so...together.

The teacher would give them a project they had to do with another person. No questions asked, no faltering, nothing – Kyle and Stan were always working together. And where was Craig? Getting awkwardly paired with another group of two people, not just because there was an uneven amount of people in the class, but also because no one wanted to work with him and, arguably, he didn't want to work with anyone else. Group projects, how conformist, they all ended up doing the same thing every time.

So the rest of the day actually was a bit different from any other day. But only because he got put into Kyle and Stan's group this time. Craig was pretty sure Kyle visibly paled when the teacher pushed them together to create a group of three. Stan didn't seem to have much of a problem, maybe because he had fallen into the pool of despair that was the Goth Kid lifestyle years ago, but Craig wasn't really into sympathy, so that didn't help much. Stan stuck to writing things down from the book, Craig stuck to looking disinterested and Kyle stuck to being an asshole, complete with muttering things under his breath.

"Are either of you actually going to do anything?" Stan had finally asked, turning a page in the book and looking up at them, after about twenty minutes of the other two simply sitting there.

"I'm not," Kyle said in answer. He was, after all, the only person who's temper was a near equal to Craig's. They all knew it, everyone who knew Kyle. Everyone had been on the receiving end of his bad mood at some point and no one enjoyed it. Craig's bad mood was perpetual, even when he was in a good mood there were undertones of his annoyance at the world. Kyle exploded often – with anger, you pervs – and there wasn't much warning. People like Stan who were around the redhead more often than not were obviously used to it, but some people simply couldn't understand why anyone wanted to be his friend.

Craig was used to it and he still didn't understand why anyone would want to be Kyle's friend.

During lunch Craig was informed that they were going for coffee later. Crag was informed of this every day at lunch and every day at lunch he refused to go. Most of the time they listened to him, they respected what he had to say and, if not completely skipping going to get coffee, they would put up with walking the longer distance to one of the diners to get some instead of going to Harbucks. But that time when Craig shook his head in answer to Sid's suggestion they all looked at each other. Georgie, who had walked over from the middle school to make the group complete, was the first one to speak up.

"We used to go to Harbucks all the time, Craig, and we haven't gone in a really long time, it's kind of getting, well, it's getting a bit conformist to not go, if you see what I mean." Craig glared at him, resisting the urge to flip him off. The youngest member of their group looked to the other two for support. Henrietta sighed and pulled Craig to the side, as was tradition. Out of the whole group Craig found her to be the most tolerable. Somewhere between fourth grade and now she had started to become a bit less despairing, not completely of course, but Craig found that they could at least have a conversation without mentioning 'conformists' every few sentences.

"Just go along with it, alright?" she hissed at him. "You know Georgie's just talking for Sid, anyway, and you know how Sid feels about you." Craig did, indeed, know how Sid felt about him. Sid did not like him and the feeling was mutual. They were friends by association and there wasn't much more to it than that. Given the choice Craig probably would have kicked Sid's ass, or at least tried to. But, as Henrietta had once pointed out, they had an obligation to stick together whether they were happy about it or not. Craig grudgingly agreed to this. There weren't many people he trusted in the world, but the Goth girl was one of them.

"You know how much I hate that place," Craig reminded her. Henrietta didn't need to be reminded. They all knew. But in the end there he was, after school, walking with them to Harbucks, arms crossed angrily and nails digging into his skin.

"Craig, you need to stop being so easy to read," Henrietta advised him.

"I am not easy to read," Craig replied defiantly, glaring at the girl who was walking next to him.

"Are you kidding me?" Sid said, turning around from where he was walking a few feet in front of them. Georgie snorted into his hand but didn't even bother looking back. "You're like a slut book or something, everyone's checked you out and read you cover to cover."

"You are kind of a slut book," Henrietta said with a small smile.

Craig Nommel, slut book extraordinaire, proceeded to flip them off and, in doing so, proved their point without even saying a word.

A/N: Honestly...don't ask about 'slut book.' I don't think I could give you an answer that would make much sense. Just know that I will be calling people slut books from now on. Admit it, if anyone is a slut book, it's so Craig Nommel. And maybe Kyle. And maybe all of them. But God if that's the case, I love slut books.
So, the next chapter will be from eksley05 and you'll get to see what Tweek's up to. I think you'll be pleasently surprised by who he's become friends with and how he feels about Craig...hmm.
So a review or two would be nice, but you know the drill...
Until next time, tweekers