I DO NOT OWN SOUTH PARK
It took me a while to figure out how I wanted this chapter, and I decided that it would dive a little deeper into Tweek's sort of mindset. It'll end up being the last evenly paced chapter until I start bouncing dates. (days to several days to weeks, etc.) If something seems like it was written with the intent of being funny, assume it was. I have a bad sense of humor.
I'm not sure about this chapter, but I'm never sure about any chapter, so I'll leave it up to you guys.
Remember, a review a day keeps me from sighing in discontent every time I refresh my notifications.
I awoke to the sound of a bloodcurdling scream and fitful pounding on the floor beneath me.
However, chronologically speaking, we should go back to a moment in time a fair bit before then.
Clyde Donovan's house was perfect.
Imagine that old, handmade dollhouse that you used to have when you were a kid, not yet even able to discern between which toys were designated for boys, and which for girls. It was a two story, stainless white walled, beauty boasting impressive architecture design and dully glimmering wooden floors. Large sun windows encompassed the house, exposing it to the natural light surrounding it. Antique toy furniture occupied the room, all placed to aesthetically appealing impeccability.
Imagine you became absolutely enamored, encapsulated, with the creation and the strings of emotion that seem just as tangible to you as the wooden frame itself. Afraid of ruining it, you vow never to play within its precious walls, and thus you are left simply staring at it with your plastic toy soldiers in one sticky hand and a dissatisfied frown on your face. You can only sit there as the walls yellow with nicotine, and the furniture becomes dusty and broken by age.
That's the synopsis of his house. Before his mother passed, she was an esteemed interior designer, and she had hand-placed every piece of fine decoration in the Donovan household.
Unfortunately, Clyde's not very good at severing the cords of emotion that spiderweb from our chests and string to what we hold dear. This house, the furniture, the very smallest of decorations- they all work in machine-like cooperation to serve as one immense trigger to him. Re-arranging anything in the house is a direct nine-one-one call for an anxiety attack for him.
As we walked through the doors, I looked about the home as I always do. Clyde's house is a fair bit fancier than most homes in South Park. Nothing like Token Black's, but still very eloquent. Hanging from the vaulted ceiling is an old bronze chandelier that doesn't work. Clyde and I broke it when we were kids trying to see if we could swing from it like in the movies. We couldn't, it broke, and Clyde wouldn't move from the bathroom floor until it was replaced.
Clyde eased me into a love seat that had been pressed to the wall. He offered Tweek a seat as well, receiving a shake of the head and a smart remark ("do I look like I need to be cared for? I don't think so").
He retreated into the kitchen, leaving a window of time for Tweek to speak up.
"You okay?" He asked, trying his best to rid his tone of the snarky sarcasm that usually doused it. I snorted in response.
"Fine." The anger I had experienced minutes ago was fading, much akin to the short lasting tang of bitter medicine. Unfortunately the aftertaste of sharp motor oil and the weak pungent artificial orange flavoring still clamped down on my tongue.
"You don't sound fine," he pointed out.
"Don't worry about me," I quipped.
"But I am worried."
"Why? I told you- I'm fine."
"Because I worry about everything!" He yelled, eyebrows drawn together in an ugly, irate fashion. Seconds passed. Awkwardly forcing myself not to look at Tweek, I wondered why Clyde seemed to be taking so long.
Tweek broke the silence. "You're mad at me," he whispered.
"I'm not, I'm just...agitated," I responded, sighing and letting myself glance at him. His bright blue eyes welled with uncertainty. I outstretched my hand and felt guilt spike in my stomach when he flinched and stepped backwards. He covered his shut eyes with his hands and clenched his jaw.
Like ingesting a mouthful of sugar to rid the stagnant choke of medicine, the taste and the anger fled down to the pit of my stomach. It's that rapid mood change from being angry, to holding a small animal in your palms that somehow mediates the redness in your vision.
"Sit down." My offer sounded more like a demand. Still, Tweek bit his lip and shuffled over, taking a seat down next to me and pulling his legs up to coil his arms around his knees.
Eventually, Tweek found himself bored. He pulled a pocket-sized sharpie marker from seemingly nowhere and pulled up his sleeves to his shoulder. I followed his lithe fingers as they rolled up the fabric past a moderately toned bicep and then retreated down his thin arm. He started scribbling down words on his arms, the pink colored words being spasmodic and illegible to all but himself.
The one word I did catch was 'snow', scrawled out at the beginning of each line.
Clyde came back shortly after, apologizing and informing me that he had been talking with his sister, Molly. He passed me the ice pack and consulted me to press it to my cheek to reduce the swelling.
"Better, bro?" Clyde asked.
"Mm," I nodded.
Nothing. Then:
"The Red Racer movie's on in fifteen minutes, y'know. Wanna watch it?" I uttered, my voice bouncing about the slanted walls like rubber. It'd be a dead lie to try and claim I didn't memorize the movie's time slot.
Clyde laughed cheerfully, visibly relieved, and plopped down on the recliner, flicking on the television. He made a smart quip about my apparent dorkiness or something of that regard and flicked the television on to Nickelodeon. Tweek smiled blankly.
"I used to watch this show when I was little," he remarked.
"I still watch it," I grinned back. "Have you seen my boxers?"
Tweek's eyes went wide and his face red. He spluttered out something about 'Indecent Exposure!' and waving his hands around dramatically. I cocked my brow and snickered.
"Calm down. Take a check," I eased my pants down so that he could get an eyeful of the unceremoniously garish RED RACER symbol. "Nice, right?"
Tweek said nothing, only offering me a flustered red-faced stare and crossing his arms, turning away abruptly. I let a small snort break through the barriers of my lips and heard the same amused type of noise from Clyde.
Watching the movie, along with the other ones that followed shortly after, made time slip by for me, and soon I was looking at my cellphone and realizing that it was past six.
"Dudes. Food," Clyde blurted out. With a nose like a bloodhound's, he drifted into the kitchen. Sharing a shrug, Tweek and I followed.
Standing in the kitchen and fending Clyde off with a bunny slipper in one hand and a large greasy bag of Taco Bell in the other, was Molly Donovan.
"Hey, hey, Craigster!" she announced, flashing me a brilliant retainer-clad grin. "Heard you got roughed up. Sorry. Anyways, I went and got us some food! The line at Taco Bell was so long, could I tell you! Say, who's that little mouse? One of your little friends?" Et-cetera. Molly had a real talent for rambling- and she even held an actual PTA filibuster for three hours. Something about Anti-Bullying week and the likes.
"Hey! My name's Tweek!" Tweek grinned back, obviously energized by her peppy attitude. He thrust his hand forward and smacked it on the metal toaster with a loud clang. He yelped, ripping his hand back on reflex, and shaking it wildly as if that would mollify the pain. "Right," Tweek hissed, still grinning. "Shoulda warned me about the toaster. Although someone probably set it up there just plotting for me to whack my hand on it."
"My... Mom always put the toaster there..." Clyde whispered, eyes wide and smile melting like hot butter. I frowned, and felt my stomach turn. Tweek had done it now.
Tweek said nothing except for an unapologetic, "whoops". Between the three four of us, he seemed the only one who was apathetic.
Clyde suddenly burst out into a fit of laughter. "Kidding! God, the look on your face was priceless, bro! Oh man!" I was still stone faced, but Tweek seemed to smile right along with him.
"No fair! Dead-mom jokes are off limits," Tweek snickered, shoving Clyde gently. Clyde shoved back and Tweek stumbled into my chest.
He jumped at the contact and used my stomach as a spring board to launch himself back at Clyde.
I noticed that he was making pretty light fun out of tragedy for a person who dislikes making friends from such. I wondered if it was just my presence that made the air tense and thick. I sighed, letting the over-thinking bypass, and laughing along.
I felt better already.
I awoke to the sound of a bloodcurdling scream and fitful pounding on the floor beneath me.
Tweek had agreed to stay the night after some convincing, and his dad had been ecstatic ("Making friends left and right! Such a dog amongst cats!")
Clyde and Molly had collected a heap of big blankets and had arranged them on the ground like a campsite. Pillows, snacks, and a laptop computer were sprawled everywhere like a haphazard tornado had tossed them about. Tweek had torn Clyde's room apart because he was certain that the government had planted cameras in acts of espionage. At first we thought he was kidding when he suggested a search, but he must've actually been pretty dedicated to the idea, because he whipped through Clyde's room like a blond tornado and after ten minutes of seemingly random destruction, deemed the area safe to sleep in.
Molly had considered staying home, as she stood at the doorway and watched us nervously.
"Hey, buttmunch, I might not go to Shelly's tonight if you have guests," she hummed thoughtfully, "don't want you weirdos to have a huge gay orgy without supervision or whatever."
Clyde laughed, and then, "don't worry, sis! I know where the condoms are if the moment is spurred! Go to Shelly's. Maybe you can finally make a move on 'er!"
Molly retreated from the doorway with a sheepish, "oh my"- hands covering her blushing cheeks.
Later, as I jolted from my sleeping position and rapidly tried to locate the source of the tumult, it was four in the morning and cold as ice in Clyde's room. My eyes quickly locked onto Tweek's wild form, widening in shock as he banged on the walls and yelled until his voice cracked. There was a wild look in his eyes, as if he wasn't seeing what was actually there. I bolted to action and woke Clyde, desperately shaking him all while keeping a wary eye on Tweek.
"Where is she?! I need her! I need her! No!" He roared, repeating the chilling pleas over and over like an iPod on repeat.
He looked like a feral animal, eyes primal and black as iron, arms whipping around in furious haze, and shoulders tense and defensive. I attempted to edge near him, hardly managing to dodge a swing of his arms. I rested my heavy hand on his shoulder. He screeched as if I'd set it alight. I had never seen him like this. I had never seen anyone like this. I was scared. Really scared.
"Don't touch me!" He hissed. His voice shattered like breakaway glass. "P-lease don't... touch..." He flattened himself to the wall and slammed his eyes shut, trying to block out whatever horrible thing he was seeing instead of Clyde's safe room.
"Tweek, it's me! Craig!" I snapped, trying to inch closer once more. Clyde's warning came too late.
Tweek lunged forwards, delicate fingers drawn into tight fists. He swung like he was intoxicated, leaving what would become marks and bruises on my chest and arms. He scratched. The skin on my forearm ripped.
And then, he was gone. Using a blue pillow as a blockade, Clyde tackled Tweek off of me and pinned him to the ground. His eyes were a stern kind of concentrated that I'd only seen in my father before.
Tweek stumbled away, trapping himself in a corner. His eyelids were squeezed shut and he was sniveling now, curled up into a ball and rocking himself back and forth with his heels.
"Watch," Clyde demanded, shoving me back as I tried to move towards him yet again.
He stepped near Tweek, hesitant as his eyes tried to pick up and violent body language. When he found none, he advanced further, until he was but a few inches away.
"Tweek?" Clyde whispered.
"I hate cars," Tweek moaned hoarsely, choking on his own spit and coughing.
"Tweek, you're safe. It's not real."
Tweek shook his head. "I see headlights."
I furrowed my eyebrows together, and then popped my jaw ajar with a start. Tweek had been with his mom when they crashed. What he was seeing was flashbacks. I felt my throat lump up. They must've been strikingly vivid.
"Can I touch you?" Clyde asked patiently, his hands clasped together.
Tweek said no harshly, that maniacal glint returning to his eyes for a moment, and then fading.
"Alright. When you're ready, just lean on me, okay? It'll make you better." Clyde shot me a glance and then returned his view to Tweek.
Tweek nodded.
Clyde took a heavy breath. "Alright," he whispered.
"People smile and tell me that I'm the lucky one/ and we've just begun..."
He was singing. I'd only heard Clyde sing a few times, and they'd all been outlandishly out-of-tune as he tried belting to hip-hop or rap. This was different. I had never thought he'd have such a pleasant voice. I let myself drift off to it.
"Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you, honey/
And everything will bring a chain of love/
And in the morning, when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes/
And tell me everything's gonna be alright..."
Tweek calmed down drastically, swallowing his noises and leaning over to let Clyde wrap his arms around his small body. Clyde swayed back and forth, continuing the rocking motion. Tweek's breathing regulated and his eyes opened with tentative caution. His mouth hung open slightly, and he whispered, "I'm okay, I'm okay."
Clyde kept singing, and Tweek eventually stopped all erratic behavior altogether, contentedly pulling out a marker from his pocket and re-touching the swans on his arms.
"Where'd you learn how to do that?" I asked softly, leaning forward to examine Clyde's face.
It was the mix of determined calmness and sadness that set me off. He cracked a weak smile.
"I used to have episodes like that all the time," he whispered. "Molly used to sing that song to me to calm me down. You're supposed to distract them from whatever they see when they're experiencing flashbacks and shit so you can ease them back into the real world, y'know, man?" He offered me a fake chuckle and ran his fingers down Tweek's back gently.
I leaned down and looked into Tweek's half-lidded eyes. He looked far more serene than that of what I was used to seeing. Despite, a big, goofy smile was still plastered on his face.
"You alright?"
"Didn't you hear? Everything's alright," Tweek smiled. "Really, though. Despite the awkward situation of being wrapped up in another guy's arms... I'm fine." He cracked a signature grin.
"Good," I sighed in relief, tending to the sting on my arms.
"Craig, bro, I'm gonna go and get you a bandage for that. Is that okay, Tweek?" Clyde retracted his arms.
"Uh-huh. I'll just awkwardly cuddle with Craig here," Tweek snorted back, pulling away so that Clyde could go and fetch a bandage.
Tweek crossed his legs and averted my eyes. His cheerful atmosphere left like a fleeting storm along with Clyde. He clenched his jaw and crossed his arms, making himself visibly smaller.
"You didn't see that. You didn't see any of that," he snapped, voice trembling. I nodded in reluctant affirmation.
"What was going on there?" I whispered. "You were yelling about needing something. Needing her."
"Just forget about it, okay? It didn't happen."
I formed an idle thought. A thought that constituted Tweek as a tangled piece of twine, one that you spent time trying to pick apart until finally, randomly, it unraveled before you- yet it still somehow seemed to appear knotted. He was a complex person with a knack for hiding away from others, a strange desire to stay that way.
I decided that we were not very different people.
Clyde returned shortly, wrapping up my arms and rubbing Tweek's shoulder comfortingly before crawling back to his space and passing out. Whispering a lazy "g'night", I also slithered back under the covers.
I let numbness take me, senses slowly ebbing into blackness. Then, an intrusion.
My eyes cracked open. Tweek was hovering above me, his finger pressed to my cheek.
"Let me sleep with you, please," he whispered, "I need something to hold or else I'll...y'know. Again."
"Why not ask Clyde?" I asked with a bitter edge to my tone.
"I don't want to bother him again. Plus you make me feel safer, alright? Was that the answer you were looking for?" Tweek snipped impatiently.
I did nothing except lift the covers invitingly and allow him to wedge himself between them. He squished his body close to mine and buried his nose into my chest. Small arms wrapped around my body, and I followed suit, covering us back up and pulling him yet even closer.
We said nothing for a bit, trying to push off our awkwardness. Tweek eventually blurted:
"Craig?"
"Hm?"
"Can I say something?"
I frowned. "If it's 'No Homo' I'm kicking you out."
"No. It's not that. It's...about what happened, okay?"
"I thought you said what happened never happened at all?"
"Well, I changed my mind. It did happen."
"... Go ahead, then," I prompted, reluctance oozing from my throat.
"Okay, uh, don't freak out," I decided that those probably weren't the best words to start the explanation of an emotional trauma with.
"I, uh, sleep with my mother's urn. Y'know that nice vase in my room? Yeah," he paused. "When I don't sleep with it, I get bad nightmares. I mean, I get nightmares with it, but it calms me down before I can make a scene. I guess I thought I'd be okay without it for just one night. The nightmares hadn't occurred in weeks. So, um, yeah. You can push me away if you want, now."
I shook my head. Tweek smiled into the fabric of my shirt.
"You didn't have it when I slept over," I observed.
"I did. I hid it so you wouldn't find out," his fingers tightened around the fabric of my shirt. "Sorry."
"So when you were saying, "I need her", you were talking about...?"
"Yeah." Tweek hummed. "I feel weird doing this," he blurted out in an attempt to divert the course of conversation.
"What?"
"Well, if you weren't aware: we're sort of snuggling. Like, doing a 'couple-y-romance-holding-each-other' kind of thing. I feel like someone's watching us." Tweek picked at the cotton on my back with his fingers.
"It doesn't need to be romantic." I reminded him. "Would this be different if I were a girl?"
"To be honest? Yeah, probably. I'd feel even worse," Tweek groaned. "All girls ever do is try to pretend they like me and then giggle behind my back."
"So I assume you've never had a girlfriend."
"One girlfriend," he corrected. "Heidi. Third grade, two weeks." His fingers got more erratic in their movements, and his body seemed tense.
"Oh," I offered a terse response.
"Uh-huh."
Pause.
"Let's go to sleep, okay?" I muttered. Tweek shook his head.
"I can't sleep now. Tell me a story or something."
I sighed. It was proving to be a long night. Relenting, I took a breath and spoke.
"Alright, um- so in a galaxy far away, there was a spaceman who-"
"What's his name?" Tweek asked, closing his eyes and loosening his hold around me. I rolled my eyes.
"Uh- it's Craig."
"That's your name, dipshit."
"Mere coincidence," I waved him off carelessly, continuing. "Who was racing through the mud-lands of Sylverslovakia, a distant planet. He ran to grab his phaser gun and..."
Not even ten minutes later, we both found ourselves asleep.
Kudos to: Impassive tears, BetsunoNeko, The Phoenix of the Night, and Kiagumo (I had to google-translate your Spanish- sorry!)
Music Track: Danny's Song- Kenny Loggins