The Boy Who Sees Monsters

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Part I

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Chapter Three

Warning : Last chapter for Part I.

"I fix what's broken - except in the heart."
― Bernard Malamud, The Fixer


"Y-Y-You need to stop c-coming here, C-Craig."

Back then — or to put it simply, the past week — Craig would have probably settled on dinner with his family, the table brimming with a simple conversation which led to an endless (pointless) argument followed by their infamous flipping. He would flip Thomas Tucker, he would flip his mother and then Craig would not even care about flipping Tricia, who would flip him with a similar level of frustration. Then, he'd proceed to his bedroom, thumping his feet loud on the stairs just for show, and not that he would be doing homework — fuck homework — but to play around with Stripe and to ease himself from all monsters.

Occasionally, ignoring them was always the easiest method. But often, sightings are just as painful; they are still a bunch of hideous, murky unknown blobs feasting the sanity out of most people in the world. The noirette was left brooding with his thoughts every night, sometimes he'd cry from the curse he never asked for. But then, afterwards, he would learn not to care once again.

Block and forget.

It sounded so easy but even when he was living with the ability for sixteen fucking years, but Craig was still suffering.

Nevertheless, it started after that particular day, he would stay till 10PM watching a certain blond scurrying around the quaint coffee shop whilst maintaining the agitated twitching. Dark blue eyes shifted, left to right, to the corner of the shop and to the machine brewing the black, aromatic coffee (which he knew was laced with meth).

Even with trembling hands, Tweek was professional enough to brew his own coffee — in fact, he made better ones than his own parents. Craig wasn't one to drink caffeine, but he sure did love the new version of Sunset Blend.

Craig furrowed one brow, and he smirked at the emerald eyes nervously averting between wiping the interior of an ivory, porcelain mug and back to his own dark blue gaze. "But I like watching you work," he leaned toward the counter nearby the cashier, "It's fun."

"W-Well! It's not f-fun for me, hn," he mumbled, and proceeded to place the mug by the arrangements of similar utilities. Showing distress, he fisted the white apron donned on his frail body. The apron was his father's, who was slightly taller and had a stronger build than Tweek himself, thus it honestly made Tweek looked like a girl wearing a dress past his knees.

Craig pictured the mental image. Honestly, if Tweek happened to be a girl, Craig wouldn't mind dating him. The blond was way better than Bebe Stevens anyway.

"Just pretend I'm not here then."

"Oh god, h-how?!"

"Um. . ." he frowned, "Use your imagination?"

The blond yelped and pulled his hair, "No way, dude! T-That's way too much pressure!" The phrase had been Tweek's own catchphrase, and honestly, since the noirette had not been hanging out with him was hit with a sense of nostalgia. After a moment of silence, Tweek finishing his clean-up before they locked up the shop, the blond began a new topic : "What brings you here so suddenly anyway?" He wandered off for a moment, "We haven't talk for three years, Craig."

The boy with a chullo hat gulped. He glanced between Tweek and his monster, propping itself on one corner with its gaze lowered to meet his entire existence. Craig felt small, under the intense gaze and Tweek's supposedly innocent muse. "I just. . . felt like I wanna talk to you again, you know. It's been a while, whatever that we have back then, we should just move on from it."

For a moment, the noirette swore he saw the sparkle in Tweek's bright green eyes, glossed and gleaming with a shimmer of hope. His lips parted, almost pulling out a loud gasp and he leaned himself slightly onto the counter. "S-so you forgave me when I said. . . y'know?"

Craig looked at him incredulously. "What did you said?"

Upon his response, the glitter in his eyes dimmed and Tweek took his turn to mirror his own expression. But his lips were left quivering, and he retreated back to wiping the counter. "Craig, y-you don't remember?" Whatever it was, Tweek's melancholy returned. Drooped shoulders and lowered gaze, Craig felt the monster stirred and he knew he fucked up again.

But it was better to be honest about it. It was like some memory loss curse, and he had enough of curses, but he seriously could not register any thoughts to what happened three years ago. "I couldn't remember shit. . . I honestly don't know why we were fighting, Tweek."

If Tweek had been much of a cold person, he would be downright offended. Not that he wasn't now, but he wasn't showing it to Craig. The blond remained muted, only heaving a small sigh before placing the dirty cloth in the sink. He shrugged off his apron, hanging it by the hook situated on the door which led to the store room.

"Tweek, what's wrong —"

"It's n-nothing, Craig," he bit his lower lip, turning to the noirette but refusing to meet his startled gaze. "It's guh. . . getting late, we b-better do the lock up n-now. . ."

Craig held him by the wrist before he could go anywhere else. The blue eyes hardened, an austere ambience spreading in between them, but Tweek easily shrugged him off this time.

"Why can't you —"

"Drop it. Let's go h-home."

"But —"

Before he said anything, Tweek reeled himself away from the counter, disregarding the other boy's presence for real this time. It was only the two of them left anyway, since the last customer left the shop about twenty minutes ago. He felt every morsel of his remorse growing, but Craig could only mutter a string of curses under his breath and do nothing.

At the very least, Craig thought, they were on speaking terms once again. He had grasped the chance last week, when he had invaded the coffee shop and Tweek had been a nervous wreck afterwards.

He remembered that, somehow, the gentle tug he was putting effort on. He was bringing the blond to stride, but his feet threading against the tiled floor was slow but not the least bit languid. There was an urgency to talk, and then when they reached the end of the store, resting the blond against the wall between two shelves full of boxes labeling coffee beans (and something else, their special formula).

"Stay here," he ordered the quivering blond, who had both eyes shut and beads of sweat nervously rolling onto his neck, damping his collar. "Where's the kit?"

Craig had to wait several minutes before the hesitant reply came, voice almost inaudible despite the silence warming up the room, "D-d-drawer. . ." Tweek lifted a finger and pointed to the cabinet on their right. The noirette nodded and moved swiftly to rummage through old recipes written on mini yellow sticky notes, receipts and bank logs and accounting shit Craig couldn't bother to look at before coming upon the white but dusty metallic box. He took out a band aid, some ointment and things he thought necessary to treat a small injury.

In all honesty, if it was Tricia or anybody else, Craig would only hand them the bandages. But this was Tweek Tweak he was going to tend — twitching, paranoid Tweek who would probably have a heart attack on Craig not cleansing his wound first with yellow solution.

"Why are you. . . you. . ." Tweek gazed him from the top of his chullo hat, yellow puffball bouncing to the bottom of his Vans sneakers, as if to confirm his existence, "Craig, why are you h-here?"

"I wanted to talk to you." The teen said simply, dabbing cotton onto streak, some blood still oozing out. It was just a finger wound, but the cut was long.

"Oh, don't fuck with me, Craig!" For a moment, Tweek was shocked at his own outburst, his expression in the aftermath was similar to Craig — wide eyes and gaping — "I mean. . ." he swallowed, "Y-you, Craig. . . You always said that."

He swallowed a lump in his throat, finishing his treatment by wrapping the bandage around Tweek's small finger. He had small hands. "Because I meant it this time."

"B-But why?"

"Why not?"

The conversation was left hung in the air. Craig somewhat concluded he won the tête-à-tête from Tweek.

The blond stood up from his crouching stance, Craig pulling him to his feet and he sheepishly smiled at the scowling blond. "I need to go now, I have work to do."

"Okay then," Craig's voice feigning disappointment before he lit up, "I could wait for you."

"F-For what?!" the coffee addict shrieked, "That's way too much pressure!"

"Oh, come on. You won't be alone for lock up, would you?" The noirette offered his hand, waiting for some sort of gesture on which the blond disregarded because he was currently distracted and yelping. He hid his hand right away (ashamed, slightly) but the boy tucked his chullo hat and continued grinning, "I could offer you a drive."

"N-No!"

"But you won't be walking right in the cold."

"I told you no!"

Despite his constant refusals and highly strung whimpers, Craig prattled on him until the girls left, having their work done which consisted of an intermission between doing Chemistry project and gossips — Wendy walked out last, she tapped Craig by the shoulder before squeezing it hard (some sort of indication of warning), her dark eyes glaring before putting on a glittery smile to Tweek.

"Bye, sunshine!" She said to Tweek, on which Craig opted to roll his eyes.

The blond, however, responded with an equivalent of bright smile though it never reached his eyes. It never did. Craig saw the lines above his eyes, the way his glossy green pools were looking in a distant than straight at Wendy.

He stayed until he received a text from Tricia — fucking annoying sister who seemed to nag at him at why he wasn't home for dinner yet.

Staying at Tweak's Bros. Just ditch me. It's not like I want to join your bullshit fights anyway. -Craig

Oh, fuck you for ditching me with them. Fine. But give me five bucks later. -Tricia

Five bucks my ass. -Craig

This was the reason why he felt like staying anyway. The Tucker residence was never a home sweet home to him — except for Stripe, on which he would feed later when he got back.

"Why are you suddenly friends with the girls, anyway?" Opening up a new topic, but mostly because Craig was curious.

"Is it wrong?" Tweek was facing the coffee machine opposite the customer's counter, so the noirette was left staring at the hunched back. "Wendy d-decided to work here during the summer, and B-Bebe always hung out with her. . . It's not j-just them, y-y'know. . ." He turned around, flashing a sad smile, "I hung out w-with Butters. And sometimes. . . When y-you're not around, Clyde sneaked to my house and we played games."

"Clyde?"

Clyde sneaked out? And he never told Craig about it, not that he was supposed to. But it left the noirette with a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps, this was proof to show how nescient he had become over the years.

"Yeah, Clyde."

He said nothing of the brunet afterwards, instead shuffling a few feet away to take a middle school girl's order, she looked like Tricia's classmate or whatever.

A part of him wanted to pry even further, but for that moment, Craig decided to drop the subject.


It was a few days after when he confronted Clyde who had finished his practice, just as Craig had finished his for football. The brunet was a part of basketball team with Kyle, he switched it earlier last week demanding that he wanted to push his co-curriculum marks up by the end of high school. That ass.

Craig had always been the tallest in their group, in fact the whole grade, reaching up six foot something but that did not mean Clyde was no something. He was only a few inches shorter, yet the brunet was one to hit the gym during the summer hols and he was bulkier than Craig himself, his shoulders broader and almost barrel-chested.

So even with Craig's attempt to look as menacing as he always does, the brunet gazed upon his standard eye level with ease, and only regarded his presence ever so casually. Typical Clyde Donovan — airhead, used to be crybaby Clyde Donovan.

"Oh hey Craig," he grinned, "What's up? I heard you've been hanging out in Tweak Bros lately. Bebe said you're always there till the lock up."

Before Craig could retort about his intention, he snorted almost sardonically : "Bebe? What are you doing with Bebe?"

"Is that jealousy I heard? I told you not to do it, bro."

"Jesus —" he stifled a sarcastic laugh, "I don't fucking care about Bebe. Just be careful she ain't digging your pockets sooner or later."

Clyde feigned an offended look, but they both practically knew most about the blonde herself. She was smart, yes — and beautiful in dramatic teenagers' standards — but damn, that girl had her own kind of snakes. "We're just chatting around, you know. Besides, I've asked Red out," he winked at his own achievement, Craig rolled his blue eyes, "We're going on a date this weekend."

"Well, let's hope you're not bringing her on McDonalds," the noirette retorted.

"Oh hell no, not McD, you ass," Clyde nudged him with his shoulder, "I'm bringing her to SoDoSoPa."

"Real classy."

"I know," the brunet grinned, obviously proud at his own plan. The two of them walked past lockers, and Clyde waved to one of the cheerleader girls, "Anyway, why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at the shop right now, trying to get into his pants or something?"

Upon Clyde's satirical remark, the noirette almost slip himself to the ground but he held himself by one of the lockers. Craig was left choking by his own saliva, the shock attacking his ribcage, before sending a malice glare to widened hazel eyes. "Son of a bitch, Clyde," he hacked, hauling himself to a proper standing stance, "I didn't mean it like that, fucker." He flipped Clyde as a revenge, causing the brunet to feel intimidated and nervously laughed at the taller teen.

"You know I'm joking, right?"

"Yeah, but it's not funny." His voice returned flat.

"But —"

"And besides, I heard from Tweek that you actually hung out with him before."

There was a pin-drop silence enveloping the hallway for a brief second, Clyde with hazel pools showing the sign of an oh shit I got caught. It wasn't like Craig was pissed or anything, but the least that Clyde could do was assist him if they had been on talking terms before him.

His life could be easier, and Clyde — supposedly best friend since second grade — knew that he had been trying to confront Tweek face to face; but noooo. He had to bitched his way to Tweak Bros, caused Tweek to injure his own finger and had the monster sent ripples to his spine, because fuck Craig Tucker and his shitty attitude. That was the downsides of having a bad reputation after all; he might be famous but once he was in one corner begging for help, everybody backed off.

Maybe he was a little pissed.

Beside him, it was the basketball player who was left to be a stammering mess. The nervous dubious on his face, and he tried to smile back at Craig but failed miserably.

"W-Well," he swallowed, "It's not wrong to hang out with him, right? I mean. . . I'm not obliged to follow your orders around, Craig." The boy with chullo hat just huffed as a response, and Clyde took it as a chance to resume. This time, he composed his own self and the confidence returned, "Yeah, we hung out before summer came. I supposed I felt bad for Tweek, I mean. . . you did a number on him back then."

Craig sighed, "I honestly don't care about what you did with him or why, Clyde."

"Then? What do you want from me?"

"I just can't believe you didn't tell me. Honestly, I don't think chasing Tweek around would be necessary."

It was Clyde's turn to retort, and he wore a skeptical look on his face. The hazel eyes were stern, not cold like Wendy's, but somewhat it served as an almost similar warning. Craig knew what that meant. "To be honest, Craig, he doesn't really wanna talk to you. Even if I were to help you, he still wouldn't want it. Even now, I don't know man. . . Have you ever considered his own comfort or anything?"

That might have struck Craig hard. He halted his footsteps, head lowered to hide the realisation on his face — that, and maybe he was a little ashamed over his own insensitivity. Well, growing up with a family like the Tuckers, of course he was dense as fuck.

He learnt to ignore tiny details, and sometimes, that became a weapon of him to deny most of the things he thought would be on his way. And maybe that was true, with Craig around, he could see the blond attempted his best to stay calm whilst working, the wavering deep emerald pried to him sporadically. "Oh," was all that he could mumbled at the moment, and the brunet lifted his brows, skeptical. He leaned to one random locker. "I don't think I. . ." he swallowed, one palm touching his flushed face, Craig didn't notice he was starting to shake uncontrollably, "I just want to. . ."

"Yo, Craig," the brunet's voice tight and scared, "W-What's wrong, dude? You don't look well."

Craig flashed him a cold stare, trying his best to compose himself before pulling out a long strand of sigh. "I'm just tired. Bye."

He pushed the brunet, somewhat seething, somewhat perturbed. Craig didn't drive his way to Tweek's working place, he went straight to his home. Laura Tucker flashed him an alarmed look as he dumped his bag onto the velvet couch by the living room, he disregarded his mother calling out to him and rushed to his bedroom. All voices became an instant echo, the yells mingling with an endless whispers coming from all corners.

Craig felt small.

His visions narrowed into a straight path leading to his awaited bed, the sheets and quilts all messed up, draping to his carpet, since he didn't bother to neaten them. Not that he could care for now, his thoughts were slowly eating his rationality away.

When Craig came to his senses, was the time Kenny called him for the twelfth time. The simple iPhone ringtone blaring up to its full volume jolted him from the mattress, alarmed. He picked up the line with a groan, an ache starting to form in his head.

"What?" His voice sounded as if he was having a hangover, and exhaustion followed suit.

He could imagined Kenny's surprise with his silence. "Dude, you wanna come over? You sound like shit."

"Jesus —" he muttered, and then cursed afterwards when he caught himself tangled in between duvets, "Wa, wait. What time is it right now?"

"Around twelve, midnight. Still cool for me though, I'm hanging around at Kyle's."

"Kyle? No, I don't wanna talk at Kyle's," he rasped, water would do him some good for now, "Please."

There was some chatters in the background, the noirette could sense disappointment in Kyle's voice from a distant — "Let's talk later, Ken," in a soft, non-Kyle-like manner — before the blond reached out to him. "Okay, how about this? I'll come over for a while."

"You wanna creep into my bedroom?" Even with his stress, Craig returned to his stoic, sardonic mien.

"Jesus," Kenny snorted back, "Fine, I'll just wait at your backyard."

"Good enough."

The blond did came an hour later, a sharp 1.04AM blaring at his alarm clock before he received a text from McCormick. He didn't reply, instead grabbing a black and white varsity and crept slowly down the stairs. Thomas wasn't around, fortunately, thus slipping to the back door located in the kitchen was an easy work for him. Kenny was leaning at the oak tree by his backyard, holding a beer can by one hand and motioned him for another. Craig responded with a shrug, it was better than smoking anyways. It was something about Kenny, raised from bad parents who were often high from weed and alcohol, the blond was neither of them two. He drank sometimes, but it wasn't to an alcoholic stage like Marsh. The two of them sat on the grassy ground, not paying any attention to the dirt caking their pants.

Craig took the beer, cracked it open and took a sip. "This is much better," his lips curling to a small grin.

"That's why," Kenny held his own Cheshire-like smirk, "Anyways," he started, "I saw you in the hallway, talking to Clyde. You looked like you were passing out, same like when we were in AP Lit."

The noirette puffed out a whine, "Ugh, don't remind me about that. It's bullshit, I tell ya."

"Was it the monsters again?"

The taller teen bit his lip, "Kinda."

The brighter blue gazed at his face for a brief while, and he chortled a small laugh, "You're lying, I can tell." The blond chugged a large content of cheap beer into his throat, grimacing at the burn before continuing, "A half-lie though," he smiled crookedly, "You're thinking about Tweek, aren't you?"

"Jesus, you got me on that one."

Fucking Kenny and fuck Kyle's smart ass influence, maybe. The fact that he could read Craig like a book made him felt uneasy. But he stayed put, since the blond was the only person he could talk these kind of stuffs to. Kenny spoke again, "Were you guilty of what could have happened to Tweek?"

"Because I fucked him up and left him alone for like three years? Wouldn't you?"

"I guess. . ." he blinked at the harsh tone, "But you were guilty only when you saw that,right? Before this, I kinda doubt you cared."

That, again, was true. And Craig was having enough of the outburst of bitterness welling in his gut. He bit back his tongue, and almost yelped like an angry dog upon his outburst ; "Yeah, well maybe that still makes me of an asshole — I know? I've always been one anyway. Is it wrong to only feel guilty now when I'm getting crept out by some eight foot monster?"

"Dude, Craig, calm down! Nobody said you're wrong."

"Yeah, but all of you makes it feels that way. And I know it, Kenny. It is my fucking fault!" By now, the noirette was standing. He had dumped his half-empty can by the ground, its content leaking to the soil and grass. He felt the headache multiplying, like his skull was about to split into two.

"Okay, okay — fuck, you're becoming worst than me," Kenny mumbled, "Let's get back inside, you're —"

"What? I'm drunk? Taking a fucking look at yourself."

"Jesus — stop interrupting me!" The frustration was clear in Kenny's voice, which suddenly ran deeper than Craig's nasal tone and said Craig was taken by surprise sealed his lips into a taut line. He gazed at the bright azure pools, anger still evident but he pushed the emotion back into his chest, and he just stepped away. "Craig," Kenny called out to which the noirette responded by calling his name with a colder but hushed tone, "Just, don't get it too much inside your head, y'know? Don't you ever thought that maybe. . . you could have your own monsters?"

His own monsters.

Well, god be damned, he probably have a lot chasing him by now. For once, Craig felt the ignorance getting to his own self. And maybe having those monsters made him felt a little less lonely, just a little bit crazier.

"I think my curse is already one," he laughed at his own statement, before leaving the blond out in the cold and alone.


Sporadically, when Tweek was all alone in the coffee shop, Craig took it upon himself to play his Bandcamp playlist — Alvvays' Antisocialites running in the background, clashing with the generic pop from the radio.

"O-oh god, I honestly can't focus on Ariana Grande like this," the blond complained.

"My playlist is better, really. Ariana sucks anyway," Tweek pretended to scowl at his statement, "I have Japanese Breakfast if you want," the noirette flashed him his iPhone, on which Tweek scrutinised it for a moment — green eyes narrowed before pulling a small smile.

The blond tapped his fingers by the island, "How about Panic!?"

"Too rock-ish for a coffee shop setting."

"Tame Im — Impala."

"You listened to old songs?"

"I, hn, listened to everything," Tweek shrugged. The entrance door rang its indicator of a new customer, and he peeled himself from the iPhone screen before giving his attention to the newly arrival. He wore his custom, poised smile and the noirette snorted at the sight.

Craig grinned nonetheless, "Cool." He switched to Spotify, typing Tame before coming across the artist and let his phone drowning the volume of the radio.

And half an hour later, they would be alone once again. Sometimes the two did not speak a word, only drowning themselves with each other's presence, sometimes Tweek would play around with Craig's phone, switching from the noirette's most hated genre to his favourites and the two would leave with a light ambience filled with hushed laughter, even with the eight foot monster huddled in one corner — dozen eyes flashing a glare. Sometimes Craig would help the blond with his Astronomy homework and the two promised to go stargazing one day.

A promise. It was something.

Apparently, the time rolled on a similar routine for almost a month. And Craig felt the blond easing up to him. The sense of melancholy was still apparent at most times, something that Tweek tend to hide from the noirette. But it was a micro expression, and Craig could see his mask slipping up and the distress was there. Dubious.

"Hey, Tweek," he called out before the blond locked the shop. The two of them standing in a dark alleyway, totally not a cool time to ask for a hangout. "Wanna go for the stargaze tomorrow?" It was Saturday the day after, and Craig made sure both their assignments were cleared.

There was a brief flash of pure shock crossed his face for a while, the blond lowered his face — the change of his expression unknown — before he nodded slowly. "Yeah, let's do that."

Craig grinned, "Saturday night, then."

TO BE CONTINUED


Mozu : Part I done! Anyway I have nothing against Ariana Grande, but I don't really like generic pop too. Anyway, the timeline is a bit fucked up in this one. Let me explain how this goes :

Tweek's outburst when Craig first confront him Craig talked to Clyde Craig met Kenny Craig and Tweek start hanging out again, aka the first and last scene.

I am so connected to Craig writing this : His guilt which leads to his own depression. It's like, you're so caught up trying to fix someone you forgot about your own demons. So yeah, enjoy!

-Mozu The Mochi (2018)