Craig asked Tweek in the quiet and dimly lit coffee house, "Don't goth kids hang out and have coffee in the evening anymore?"
"Not if they have to pay for it...And I can't stay open late enough to appease them. I should go home soon..." Tweek could easily be awake then, but keeping the shop open at night was asking for trouble. The register was empty, the counters were cleaned, and only one pot of hot coffee was left for the two of them to share.
Relearning Tweek's habits, Craig took notice of his body language: poised to say something and holding his breath. "Something on your mind?"
Tweek cocked his neck to the side and gave what looked like a toothy grimace, but was actually a smile. "Yeah, I was wondering if you wanted to...Come over to my place. Spend the night..." Tweek laughed nervously, scratching at the back of his scalp.
"I do want to come over to your place and spend the night," Craig confirmed with simplicity.
"Great!" Tweek replied thankfully. Someone had recently reminded him of how comforting it was not to be home alone every night, and thanks to that reminder he could share the night with Craig again.
He was ready to go home right then when his phone rang, and no matter what ring tone he chose, the infrequent chirping from his pant leg always made him flail and shout in surprise.
Fumbling in his retrieval of the device, it took a moment before Tweek could answer Craig's question of who was calling. "It's my dad...Why is he calling now? Can't it wait until tomorrow?"
Craig tried to level Tweek's anxiety about a sudden and serious talk with his father, first asking, "You want me to stick around?"
That was a difficult question for Tweek to answer. He did want him to stick around, but he did not want him to overhear anything either...To admit that would merit the question 'what don't you want me to overhear?', and it would be one can of worms after another from there. "No, it's okay...What will you do?"
Craig tried to think of a way to be useful, "I'll go to your place ahead of you. I could make dinner." Tweek wanted to ask if Craig could, not knowing him to be that active in the kitchen, but he could only nod his approval and answer the phone in one hand, with the other giving Craig a spare key to his house.
"Dad?" Tweek gulped and watched Craig go to his car outside. Tweek's parents have been scarce and stern in the past year, keeping tabs on him from afar while they were in Costa Rica.
"Hello, Tweek. Quite a shocker you left on my voice mail the other day. It's hardly been a year since you took over the coffee house and you want to relocate. You have to understand, I held that location for a long time, and I'm quite surprised that you would decide to make such a big change so suddenly. Could you explain for me?"
It was difficult to divine the subtext in anything Tweek's father Richard said, speaking warmly and smoothly no matter the occasion. Whenever he asked for Tweek to justify himself, he couldn't help but think there was some indictment lurking underneath. How would he explain this time? Tell him what he thought he wanted to hear about making the coffee business more profitable?
"It's not really so sudden, I just haven't said anything to you." Tweek bit his lip and questioned the meaning of his own words, clarifying, "I just wanted to be completely sure first before I decided to leave."
"Completely sure of what?" Richard inquired, audibly drinking coffee with the phone near his face.
"I wanted to know if my friend Craig loves me. He does. I love him too. I want to live with him, somewhere that isn't South Park." It was the sort of heavy baggage he ought to have strained to unpack to his father, but it all tumbled out at once.
"Is that so?" Richard began, "I didn't know you had an interest in love, Tweek. Love is a very special thing, I think. Saying you're in love is enough explanation to do just about anything. That's good for you, really good."
"Thank you," Tweek exhaled after a long spell of holding his breath.
"There's just one thing..." Richard began, "Leasing or selling our house and the store front in South Park is all fine and dandy, but there's something you're going to have to get rid of first. Well, not get rid of...You're going to need to sell it. You can find it in the crawl space under the house, and take it to the deal I've set up for you."
Tweek placed a hand on his chest, going short of breath with a feeling of being strangled and compressed. "What? What am I selling? To who? This is too much, I can't..."
"I'm going to give you the address," Richard said bluntly. "If you want my blessing, you'll do as I tell you, just this once more. Goodbye, son."
Tweek collapsed against the counter and slid to the ground, dropping his phone in a clatter. It took several minutes to compose himself, perching with his head tucked between his knees, and his fingers buried in his hair.
The meetings, the drop-offs, the ambushes, the guns, the killings, the money, the addicts. Tweek had been so dutiful to maintain the profits of the coffee house to justify not getting involved in any of that, but his father must have had other ideas leaving that contraband nest egg in the crawl space. Tweek fumbled with the phone, blubbering and shaking on the way out to his car, where he sat and took another concerted effort to try and collect himself.
Tweek parked a ways down the street and crept slowly to the side of his own house like a burglar, eyes wide, taking rapid puffs of air through his open mouth. He went through the crawl space access on the side of the house with his house key, and after pushing aside a few storage containers, he found the one he was looking for. Filled to the brim with brown bags of a "Colombian Blend", the hallmark of the Tweek trade. He dragged the heavy burden back to his car and locked it in the trunk. Tweek looked at the house with guilty trepidation.
Inside the house's kitchen, Craig was still rifling through pantries when he got a call from Tweek. "Hey, how was your talk with Richard?"
Tweek gave a forlorn sigh and clutched his phone with both hands. "He wanted to talk about me moving, and all that. I told him about us. He, uh...Gave us his blessing. I just have to meet someone about the lease. Tonight. Would you...Wait for me? Be there when I get back?"
Craig opened and closed the fridge for the umpteenth time, trying to process the variances of Tweek's tone. "Yeah, I can wait...I'll go to the store for you?"
Tweek got back into his car quietly. "If you don't mind. Shopping stresses me out. I shouldn't be long...Love you, bye." Tweek only heard half of Craig's reciprocated farewell, being quick to drive away. He stared numbly at the road, and soon he was crying again, spilling confused and bitter tears stained with fright. There was only one person who could see him through this safely...
Driving to his storage unit downtown, Cartman called Kenny, drumming his fingers on the wheel while listening to the phone ring once before it went to voicemail: "Hey, this is Kenny Mccormick. If I didn't pick up it's because I'm busy. Cartman. Just leave a message. Hugs and kisses."
"Come the fuck on," Cartman spat before the beep, "We've got work to do Kenny, call me back. Don't make me wait while you check some dickhead's engine, just tell him the whatever drive is broke and offer the poor sap some lube before you and every other mechanic in that garage pull a train on his wallet. Hugs and kisses, you grease monkey."
Cartman grimaced, locked his elbows, and squeezed the wheel tightly while taking deep breaths. He was going to die in this shit hole town, wasn't he?
Two weeks from retirement, went on the big score, got put under: classic.
Kyle Broflovski would read the obituary somewhere and say 'I wonder if they needed two urns for that fatass's ashes' while his sissy emo boyfriend (wearing nothing except for an apron and a jock strap) served him bagels and lox in bed.
This wasn't even the big score; this was the suicide mission before the big score, because the mayor probably wanted him to die. Then she could cozy up to his grieving mother. Scissor her, make an honest woman out of her, and adopt a kid that would get all the love and none of the mental scarring Eric did.
The station wagon nearly bashed into the gate of the self-storage center, and Cartman honked at it for being in his fucking way as it retracted apologetically. Blocking his storage unit off from view with the station wagon, he went inside to gather his tools of war.
Disassembling and re-assembling his handguns, checking the dates on canisters of gasses and smokes, studying a map of the coordinates he'd been given to plan his attack, and going across the street to the Kentucky Fried Chicken multiple times for snacks to feed his growling nerves; he paced the dark concrete storage unit like the next pig in line for the butcher. It was astonishing to realize how he had burned through the hours in this state of apprehension by the time he looked at his phone. Adding to the shock was the notice of a voice mail and a missed call from Kenny. He called back Kenny and got no response, so he was forced to go to his voice mail:
"Hey. You never said anything about having a job tonight until today. And you never said anything about meeting the mayor until last night...So, don't bitch me out, but I can't help you. I have business to settle too, something just came up. If you can't handle whatever this is on your own, then just walk away from it. Please? I won't be able to answer the phone again...Was hoping you'd pick up...Don't do anything stupid."
Eric sat in the corner of the storage unit with a defunct expression backlit by his phone. The guns on the table were each fully loaded with an extra in the chamber, but the gunman felt empty, with his hands too clammy and greasy to think of picking up his weapons. Was Kenny doing this on purpose? He couldn't do this on his own. The mayor would tell Cartman what a fuck up he was and RSVP to Wendy's party celebrating his deportation to the nearest city's gutters.
Cartman caught a glance at his reflection from the phone's screen after it went dark and he glared back at it, rising up from sitting on the ground. He wasn't going to pussy out, and if he died tonight, he'd leave no trace of himself behind.
His phone lit up again, this time with a call from the mayor.
"Hello, this is Eric Cartman, how may I help you?"
"Just thought I'd check in, see if you were getting cold feet," the mayor needled at his pride, "You and your partner."
"It'll be just me tonight, so I'll want my pay to reflect that. And I assure you, my feet are well insulated."
The Mayor drilled at him now. "You said this was a two-man job, and that was cocky enough. Honestly, if you just want some money to get out of town I'd give it to you."
"Oh yeah? How much?"
The Mayor pinched her brow and sighed into the receiver. "Five...Ten grand."
"That's not enough," Cartman said coolly, "I've got a newer, more efficient plan, that I can execute on my own."
"It's your funeral," Mcdaniels acquiesced and lit a cigar before hanging up.
Over the train tracks, in the middle of nowhere...Begging to get dropped on by armed thugs. Thugs that the seller circumvented, outsourcing to outsiders. If Cartman didn't have so many things bouncing around in his head already, maybe he could have divined who the seller was...He only reasoned they must be green to drug dealing or stupidly desperate to make a quick buck.
"Tweek...Are you okay?" Kenny asked candidly in a low whisper, shouldering his hunting rifle as icy rain pattered outside the old, abandoned mill in South Park's back woods. Getting picked up from the garage, Tweek had taken him to the site early, parking behind the mill. The winding, neglected two-lane road running south and north of them hadn't gotten any traffic besides them, and the wait was proving treacherous.
Tweek took his time before responding, afraid to divert his attention from the ominous road. "No. I feel like I'm going to die. And if I did it would be because I deserved it," Tweek shivered and clawed at his own upper arms, "For lying to Craig after everything I said. Jesus, why did my father have to be a meth dealer? Does he want me to die here?"
Kenny struggled to console Tweek, who was certainly justified in his trembling anxiety. "I could ask Jesus the same thing, and I think he'd sympathize with us." Donning the black cowl and mask of Mysterion he spoke more gravely: "You got Craig back, you're severing the mistakes of the past and washing your hands of it. You can take that money and live a new life. You'll forgive yourself." Mysterion climbed some creaky wooden shelving and was gone to the rafters. "I'll be watching you. I won't let harm come to you."
The growling, masked crusader put Tweek at ease more than he had any right doing. Tweek had gone through this kind of negotiation before with Kenny at his side, but never for so much, and not to anyone his father hadn't introduced him to first. Tweek's gaze flickered back and forth between one of the filthy windows and the cache of drugs he'd set on the dusty concrete floor. "If I had found that junk by accident before, living alone and not wanting to think about how alone I was...I'd probably be dead." Mysterion remained silent in the rafters, but Tweek was grateful to have someone there listening. "I really am done with it now, though. It makes me sick being this close, I just want it gone."
The guilt of playing a part in the trade and proliferation of this dangerous drug was striking Tweek and Kenny in equal measure, but the dissonance of ideals was overcome by the call of filial duty and the desperate want of capital.
"It'll be gone soon, and I'm certain you'll be able to keep your word to Craig without your father or I fucking things up again..." Mysterion condemned himself, but Tweek was fast to absolve him.
"It's not your fault. You've saved me. After all of this is over...Don't think you can just say goodbye. You're not just some shady pusher to me, and Craig will come around to the reason why you're my friend eventually."
"Thanks, Tweek. Really."
Kenny didn't ask to be a shady character, after all. He wanted to be loved like a hero or a member of royalty. Being born and resurrected over and over again into a life of squalor had driven him to the bottom of every habit and every circle of hell. "Cartman will probably be a hard sell though," he chuckled darkly, unable to imagine the day Craig could stand the fatass.
"Yeah...But, there's a reason he's your friend...Right?" Tweek asked, and water dripped from holes in the ceiling during the silence of moments passing.
"There are reasons, yes. Though...Maybe it's not something I can explain right now," Kenny admitted.
Once, trapped between the planes of life and death, he had taken residence in Cartman's soul. It gave him an intimate understanding of Cartman that made him overlook many of his flaws, with a hope to bring out his strengths. In a way, since that time, he loved Cartman unconditionally.
For a long time, Cartman pined for Kyle Broflovski. Seeing as Cartman did, he could understand the attraction. Kyle was sharply intelligent, strong-willed, and very fetching if you've got a thing for gingers. Every time the two got put in the same room, sparks flew. Cartman mistook the reason why, and that contributed to their group's falling out when paired with Kenny's own untimely confession to Stan Marsh.
Stan Marsh...Just so classically handsome, sensitive, and sweet. Kenny misread that sweetness and sensitivity, and struck out so hard he had decided he would rather burn in hell for pride than live with the embarrassment.
Stan and Kyle loved each other. That's what hurt the most. How perfect they were individually, and how perfectly they complemented each other.
Full of self-loathing, jealousy, and envy; Kenny and Cartman licked at each other's wounds. Over time they healed and wondered what might come next, but the question lingered for some time...Were they each the other's second choice?
"Someone's coming!" Tweek shouted and staggered on his feet seeing a black Ford Taurus slowly coasting down from the north.
"They're on time." Mysterion tried to calm Tweek, "This is still going according to plan. It's just one car full of people. They'll have money to trade and be on their way. People respect your father's name a lot more than mine, and they shouldn't give you any trouble."
Tweek couldn't imagine anything but trouble from the thugs rolling to a stop outside the mill. Someone from the passenger side stepped out in a green rain slicker and took a look around. With a flashlight Kenny had brought from work, Tweek signaled the buyers into the lightless mill.
The look-out signaled to the car. From the rear passenger-side door, a man in a grey rain slicker stepped out and held a metal briefcase over his head, prompting their look-out to gesture with a beckoning hand. Tweek gnashed his teeth together and hissed, "They're not coming inside...They want me to go out there!"
"Don't!" Mysterion commanded. It was unreasonable and suspicious to meet outside, given the weather. "Just wait, and they'll come in if they want to make a deal." Tweek stayed put, but he could tell they were waiting on him, and it made him squirm where he stood, scratching at randomly positioned itches manifesting themselves from nervous tension. "What if they don't!? What will they do!"
"Tweek!" Mysterion pleaded for him not to shout and panic, "Just wait...! If something happens get behind cover." Tweek glanced at some rusted old shelving and heaped up junk, as well as the sturdy back-entrance with a secured bar lock, ready to hide or run to his car and try for an escape.
The driver of the Taurus layed into the horn to make an intimidating blare of noise, causing Tweek to shout and convulse, dropping the flashlight from his hand.
Mysterion fumed overhead, felling the pressure mount on him as well as Tweek buckled underneath it. He moved along the rafter to where it met the wall and found a broken window jam he could point his rifle outside. Sending Tweek outside to meet them introduced elements of risk he was not prepared to wager on, but if they started shooting first and assaulted the mill instead...
Searing highbeams flooded the mill and the yard before it, but it wasn't from the headlights of the Taurus. From the bend of road to the south, a rusty pale-blue canopied-truck came screaming into view with lights trained on them. On it's rapid approach, the passenger and someone in the canopied bed of the truck let loose with rifle fire that took out a front tire of the Taurus, and put the top half of the driver's head onto the dashboard. Tweek threw himself behind cover, and with trembling hands retrieved the revolver he had tucked away at his belt line.
His father had left it to him. It was the same one he'd pointed at his son's head, to teach him a lesson about not trusting strangers. He could point it in front of him and shoot it, but he wasn't going to hit anything at a distance. There were six armed men outside ready to kill him, and the only thing he could be thankful for is that, for the moment, they were shooting at each other.
Kenny used the scope of his Ruger 10/22 to get a better view of the truck that had ambushed the meet, difficult to see who was inside behind their vehicle's high beams. They kept enough distance to put their long rifles to use and put heavy pressure on the men in rain coats who were shooting back with pistols.
"One of them's running for the door!" Tweek shouted and Kenny struggled to snap to as he saw the front door of the mill get bashed open.
Before Kenny could withdraw the silenced muzzle of his rifle from the window jam, the man in the green rain coat was recovering from the tackle through the door, and raising the machine pistol in both hands to shoot.
Tweek went rigid and expelled a great cry of anguish as shots were let loose from his revolver at the attacker.
The first shot ripped through the thug's shoulder and made the rapid-fire pistol in his hands spray wildly against the far wall.
The next shot from Tweek went wide from the target, but his guardian in the rafters dealt a killing blow from above.
"Did you bring more bullets?" Mysterion shouted over the din of noise, and before Tweek could reply that he had not, there was an eruption of sound and purple smoke outside. The rapidly diffusing smoke engulfed the car of the ambushed buyers, and Tweek called up, "I saw someone run into the smoke! They were wearing a cape or something!" Gunshots went off in the haze of smoke like lightning bolts in a tumultuous storm cloud.
"Watch the doors for movement!" Mysterion instructed, returning to a position pointing out the window. He managed to shoot out the high beams on the truck outside before they retaliated with blind shots at the mill.
Not to be forgotten, from within the plume of smoke, another metal cannister was flung toward the truck that seeded a new cloud of dense, colored fog. Before the ambushers could drive out of it, Kenny emptied the six shots from his rifle's rotary magazine into what he estimated to be the truck's windshield. The third gunman ran out from the canopy of the truck, and the smoke surrounding it, but he was cut down in a crossfire of bullets.
"Who's left out there!" Mysterion threatened, hurrying to replace the empty magazine from his rifle.
A vague, stocky shape wreathed in smoke and a black cape stepped into view.
His face was hidden behind a mask, but the identity of the Coon was no secret to Mysterion.
"Just me," Cartman shouted up, "What was that thing you told me about walking away from something I couldn't handle on my own?"
Kenny scrambled down from the rafters in a rush to meet Cartman at the door, spotting the briefcase in his hand. As if an afterthought, Cartman cracked it open and whistled at the crisp stacks of bills inside.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" the bitterness of the words melted with the warm delivery behind it, and Kenny shouldered his rifle to hug Cartman.
"Uh...Yeah! What the fuck are you doing here? That's Cartman, right?" Tweek couldn't bring himself to rise from the floor, pins and needles still running up and down his legs from deathly fright.
"Here for the money and the drugs, same old-same old," the Coon shrugged, looking to the drug cache still on the floor by the fallen flashlight.
"You're not taking the money, fatass, it's Tweek's." Mysterion dropped the warmth and pulled away with a stern expression, stepping back between Eric and the goods.
"I'm here on the mayor's behalf, putting sanctions on a deal that was made on her turf without her blessing. If Tweek's here, I'm guessing it's because of his dad. So, I'll call my boss, and Tweek, you call your boss," Cartman kept up a cordial air, but the tension had not dispersed entirely, and Kenny remained out of the negotiation, asking himself uncomfortable questions as he waited.
Why didn't Richard pay off the mayor before he set up a deal?
What would Kenny have done if The Coon hadn't ambushed the ambushers?
Who tipped off the ambushers in the first place?
Tweek asked himself the same questions even as he was talking to Richard. He wanted to scream and shout at him for everything he went through, but he felt so drained he just nodded along until he could forward his dad to the Mayor.
Mcdaniels would take a cut of the money, and all of the drugs. She would offer the drugs back to the original buyers for a low price, saying it was recovered from local meth heads who had ambushed their men. This would bring her the profit she was after, and keep the Tweek name off of their shit list.
"Are you alright to drive back on your own?" Mysterion hugged Tweek after getting a nod to his gesture.
"Follow me back to town...? I better hurry...Shit..." Tweek mumbled and rubbed at his puffy, red eyes, "I have to drop this briefcase off with my dad's lawyer before I can go home..."
"C'mon Kenny, I've got the wagon on the other side of this trail to the east." Cartman gestured in the direction of the rear entrance to the mill, explaining how he had spotted Tweek's car out back when he was sneaking up on the meet. They trudged through the muck in their costumes to the car and followed Tweek back to South Park, leaving the mess at the mill to get sorted by the mayor's cleaning crew.
"Well, it's a good thing you were looking out for him, wasn't it?" Cartman scoffed once they saw Tweek off and headed for South Park's Town Hall.
Kenny shed his costume down to the damp, form-fitting, black thermals underneath. "It's a good thing you were looking out for him, too." He leaned over and pecked the fatass's cheek to spite his transparent jealousy.
Without someone actively shouting back at him, Cartman's blustering frittered away. "Well...He is pretty hopeless isn't, he?"
"I can't say I agree with you," Kenny spoke up, "I have a lot of hope for him."
"Psschyeah, right," Cartman rolled his eyes and got caught up with Kenny's smile. "We'll see how he does without our help. And where's my handout, huh? Who's gonna fix me up with a date and keep me from getting popped at a drug deal?"
Kenny scooted closer over the seat and held a hand over Eric's thigh. "Me, obviously." He started to stroke up and down in with slow, grazing circles. "I know just your type: blonde-haired, blue-eyed..." Kenny leaned into him and trailed teeth over his neck. "Flirty, fun, crack-shot with a rifle...Just make sure to schedule your dates in advance, and you'll be sure to get a hand."
Eric let out an amorous grunt, leaning in his seat and craning his neck, giving Kenny's fingers more access with a spread of his knees. "You think I'm what they're looking for..?"
Kenny's nose nudged up and down against Eric's neck with a nod and made him shiver, "Mmhmm. They've got this thing for big, beautiful males. Bad boys, too. Is that you?" Kenny grabbed a handful of Eric's bulge to fondle as he cooed, "Are you a bad boy...?"
Cartman tried to say 'fuck yes', but the words oozed into each other as one long wanting groan as he struggled to stay on the road; enjoying the friction of Kenny's palm firmly grasping and stroking him. When the blonde's fingers tickled and trailed the underside of his belly trying to snake into his pants the car swerved a bit and Eric had to bring his knees back together. "Fucking tease..." he whined, speeding downtown.
"I don't tease about fucking," Kenny chided as he released Eric and scooted back to his seat.
"What are you doing?" Cartman asked breathlessly as he parked in the alley beside town hall and observed Kenny rifling through the glove box.
"Getting ready," Kenny explained, "Hurry up and make the drop, because when you get back...Well, I won't tease any more."
Cartman could clearly make out Kenny's endowment straining the wet material of his thermal underwear, and his hungry stare lingered even as he moved to get out of the car.
At the Tweek household, all the lights were off, and the master of the house found his home empty. After hiding his pistol back in his bedroom, he came to the living room. Plugging his phone in and collapsing onto the couch, he called Craig.
How long had he been gone...? How long had it taken until Craig got fed up with waiting?
Within the few seconds he allowed himself to close his eyes, Tweek had fallen asleep, and left a full minute of himself breathing into the phone on Craig's voice mail.
Forty-five minutes later he awoke to Red Racer on the TV, and a warm body spooning behind him. He tensed and tried to sit up, but he was held put, and so he went slack again.
"You weren't here when I got back..." Tweek mumbled sleepily, feeling very warm under a quilt with Craig on the couch. The freezing rain outside felt far away, and his clothes had dried out some.
"It's a long story," Craig droned in that deliberate, even tone that made Tweek's scalp tingle when he heard it so close to his ear.
Tweek turned away from the bright light of the television set and burrowed himself against Craig's chest. "Tell me anyway? I'll try not to fall asleep."
Craig took a moment to condense the story to its most pertinent details, and related, "I went to go shopping for you, but I saw Clyde at the store buying tampons and energy drinks for Bebe. He said he was going to Dave & Buster's, and that I should go with, but I said I was busy. He told me they had a new Red Racer driving game there, and I called him a lying asshole, but it turned out they did. So I played that for awhile, and had a beer, and I brought home half of my sandwich and fries if you want any."
There was a long pause, and then Tweek stirred with embarrassment. "I might have fallen asleep a little. I'm not really hungry..."
Craig asked, "Did everything go okay with what you had to do?"
"I talked with my dad's lawyer for a long time. I'm liquidating the house and the Tweek Bros. coffee here," Tweek explained, and Craig tried to clarify, "You're not just relocating?"
"No. I'm quitting Tweek Bros. for good. I need my dad to know he can't boss me around anymore, for anything." Tweek unfolded his arms and looped them around Craig, "We have the money to go somewhere new, and do what we wanted to do before, so let's do it. As soon as possible."
"Sounds good."
Craig shut off the TV and closed his eyes. He had not allowed himself to dream that dream for a long time, and as he built the dream up again in his mind's eye he fell into a deep sleep.
The cozy apartment that allowed a cockatoo and a guinea pig under the same roof. The cafe they owned, where he could play music, and Tweek could hang his art. The next morning, those images would remain just as vivid and familiar when he awoke, all of them affirming his renewed desires...Except for one.
He could hardly understand why his subconscious put them there...But in that dreamy, dimly-lit cafe, he saw Eric Cartman and Kenny Mccormick staring into each other's eyes and holding hands under the table. In the world of that dream, he knew the two of them being together somehow made Tweek happy, and that made the Craig in his dream happy too.
