CHAPTER NINE

If sexual tension was a marketable thing, Craig would have been a millionaire just from being in the same room as Stan and Kyle all the time. He'd just writhe it out of his shirt every night and sell it for profit the next day. He could solve all of Tweek's monetary issues in a goddamn week.

He'd learned not to intrude on their private little bubble, and so he made a point to sit by his desk with his back turned to them. That way he wouldn't have to be annoyed with them for continuing their little charade of sitting too close or staring too intensely into each other's eyes while still pretending to be friends.

Stan might be the densest boy on the planet, but lately he seemed to have realized that the way he and Kyle behaved around each other didn't exactly mirror how he interacted with his other guy friends. Occasionally he'd blink rapidly as if just waking up, and then stop himself from resting against Kyle's shoulder or leaning in too close to his face when telling him something. It would have been amusing to watch if Craig didn't also notice the way the little interruptions made Kyle tense up.

Thus, the inevitable conclusion for Craig was to turn his back on the pair all together. It wasn't his problem; he wasn't getting involved.

'How booked are you tonight?' Craig texted Tweek, pointedly ignoring the room's other inhabitants while also attempting to study and finish his sandwich.

For some reason, it seemed easier to study than to eat that day. He'd woken up with an odd taste in his mouth and a strange feeling in his gut. He'd originally attributed it to his encounter with Warren the day before, but it was almost five in the afternoon, and he still hadn't found the appetite to finish a whole meal.

'Got the closing shift. Sorry'

Craig sighed and turned the sandwich in his hand. It did not get more attractive to him. He wondered if he should tell Tweek about what happened with Warren at work, but he ended up deciding against it. Tweek being who he was, the boy was bound to make a bigger deal out of it than it had to be. His mind was unhelpfully paranoid like that.

His phone buzzed with a follow-up text from Tweek. 'How's your tomorrow?'

He bit back the glimmer of hope. It might still not be possible. 'Morning lecture. Then nothing.'

'I don't have work till 6,' Tweek answered immediately.

Craig stared at the message in disbelief, a big grin spreading slowly across his face. 'Is that an actual gap in both our schedules? At the same time?' he wrote hopefully.

'Looks like it.'

'Tomorrow sometime after 12?' he asked.

His screen lit up with Tweek's 'Yesssssss' and the smile on his face grew even wider. Finally. He glanced to the side to see Kyle raise an eyebrow at the sudden mood change. He sent him back a pointed look in Stan's direction, and the redhead went back to ignoring him.

There was a tentative knock on their door. The three boys exchanged confused looks. Did they even know anyone who bothered to knock? Being closest to the door, Kyle got up to open. Standing in their door, with her long black hair hanging loose around her shoulders and her blue eyes widening with surprise, was Wendy Testaburger.

"Wendy?" Kyle asked in disbelief. From the sound of his voice, you'd think a dead person, resurrected from the grave, was standing in their doorway, not Stan's ex-girlfriend.

"Oh, hi Kyle," she greeted him when she'd poised herself. "I'm sorry. This is Stan's room, right?"

Stan's head tilted slightly at the sound of his name, and Wendy spotted him quickly over Kyle's shoulder. He was still sitting on his bed, looking very torn between several powerful emotions. Craig had personally never felt more invisible.

"Hey Stan," she said in a much softer voice.

"Uh, hi Wendy," Stan said. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," she said and walked past Kyle to stand by the foot of the bed. She eyed Kyle and Craig cautiously. "Could we talk … in private?"

The uncomfortably long silence following that question was rudely interrupted by the sound of Craig's phone ringing. He quickly picked it off his desktop and glanced down. Mrs. Tweak was calling.

It wasn't that he'd never talked to her on the phone before. Their calls just tended to be centered around locating or contacting Tweek whenever the boy lost his cell or was in too bad a state to pick up on his own. Tweek was fine now, though. Craig was pretty sure of it.

"Excuse me," he muttered, mostly directed at Wendy, as he got up to leave the room to answer the call.

Although it was confusing that Tweek's mom was calling him, it was a much welcome reason for him to leave that awkward situation. It didn't concern him after all. He wasn't getting involved.

He passed Kyle who stood as if frozen with his fists clenched and his arms crossed. Craig gave him a single sympathetic pat on the shoulder as he walked past him and left the room.

"Hello," he answered when he found a silent corner with a windowsill big enough for him to sit on.

"Hello, dear," Tweek's mother spoke in her usual soft voice. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. How are you?"

"Good, good," she answered. "Keeping busy with the shop, you know."

"Of course." He thought he could detect a slight tremor in her voice. It was barely there, but it reminded him so much of how Tweek sounded when he was suppressing concerns that he felt like the boy's mom probably had another purpose for calling than just to check up.

"I know you're probably busy with your studies, but I just wanted to know…" she started

"Yeah?" he encouraged.

"Have you been seeing much of Tweek lately?" she asked. Craig hesitated. He knew Tweek hadn't told his parent about the break-in, and it really wasn't his place to be the one to break the news.

"… Not in person," he said. He couldn't out right lie to her. "But we speak on the phone every day."

"Oh, okay," she muttered, voice wavering a little more this time. "That's … good, at least."

A part of Craig worried she knew something about Tweek he didn't. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"That's … what I wanted to ask you, actually," she said carefully. "Is he alright? He seems a little off lately when I call him. And he keeps insisting that nothing is wrong, of course, but I just have a feeling. And I can't let that feeling go, you know."

He knew. He'd been dating her son long enough to recognize that kind of thought pattern. Tweek did it, too. He'd latch on to a thought that seemed insignificant at first. Then he'd twist and turn it into any possible scenario, until he'd convinced himself that the absolutely worst outcome was the only reasonable way for things to end.

"He's just a little stressed lately," Craig explained in a calming tone he usually reserved for her son. "He's working a little more than he's used to. But he'll be alright."

She exhaled loudly as if she'd been holding her breath waiting for his response. "I see."

"He'll be fine," Craig insisted. "Don't worry. I'm keeping an eye on him."

"Of course. That's good," she said, sounding significantly better. "I know you're always there for him, Craig, but I do worry."

"That's understandable," he said. "But I am here for him. Always. He'll be alright."

Then as an afterthought he added, "In fact, I'm seeing him again tomorrow."

"That's good. I'm glad." She sounded like she was smiling. "Well, as long as he's got you, I suppose it really will be alright, then."

"It will," he promised. He almost felt the need to cross his fingers since he couldn't possibly make those kinds of promises, but he didn't. Because he would do anything in his power to ensure that Tweek would in fact be all right.

"Just promise me that you'll call me if something - anything- happens to him," she said more severely. Craig smiled at the motherly display of protectiveness.

"I promise," he said. "I'll tell him you said hi when I see him tomorrow, alright?"

"That would be lovely," she said. "Thank you, dear."

However much Craig had looked forward to see Tweek again the next day, he knew it couldn't happen before he even opened his eyes. He woke up bathed in sweat. His head was spinning with dizziness, and he barely made it to the trashcan by his desk before emptying his stomach for every bite of food he'd managed to get down the night before.

"Aw, dude. No," Stan whined from his bed. "You're gonna make me throw up too."

"Sorry to be of inconvenience to you," Craig muttered spitefully and spat into the can one final time. "I thought you left with Wendy."

Stan stumbled out of bed with a queasy look on his face. He eyed Craig's vomit bin with disgust before heading straight for his dresser. "She drove back to South Park to stay with her family. It's not like she can stay here."

"The fuck did she come all the way from Massachusetts for anyways?" Craig wondered aloud while Stan got dressed and ready to evacuate the smelly dorm room.

"Who the fuck knows," Stan muttered before retrieving his jacket off the floor and fleeing the room with a "get well soon". Craig winced at the sound of the door slamming. His head was killing him. There was no way he was making it to that morning lecture.

Trying to stand, but swaying pitifully from side to side, he hated to admit that he wasn't making it to his meet-up with Tweek either. With great effort, he pulled himself up into his bed, cursing himself for choosing the elevated one every step of the way. He curled up under the covers and grabbed his phone from underneath the pillow. His head was still spinning, and he figured he should probably call Tweek before he ended up sleeping again.

"Dude, don't tell me you're skipping your lecture," Tweek said when he picked up the phone. Craig eyed the clock on the wall across from his bed. He hadn't even noticed how much time had passed. The lecture started twenty minutes ago.

"I had to actually," he said and groaned as another wave of nausea hit him hard. Why was the trash can so far away again? Tweek picked up on the difference in his voice immediately.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

Craig groaned again. He hadn't been this sick in years, and he was pretty unaccustomed to the amount of self-pity he was currently feeling.

"I think I'm sick. I don't know. I feel like shit," he said. "I'm sorry. I can't make it today."

"Sick? Sick how?"

"Like everything hurts … and I'm dizzy … just a little, though," Craig answered. His stomach turned. "And now I have to throw up again. Shit, sorry. Hang on."

He barely made it to the trashcan. There was absolutely no food left in his system, and he spent a good four minutes dry heaving before picking up the phone he'd dropped a few feet away.

"Sorry," he said and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "I'm back."

"Get the fuck back to bed."

Craig glanced up at the bed once more several steps up in the air. He'd never missed his home this much. Looking at the trashcan full of sick, knowing he was the one who would have to clean it up, he'd honestly never missed his mother so much either.

"I'm going," he said. He eyed the first step. "Soon."

"Go back to bed and stay there 'till you feel better," Tweek ordered. It might have been the first time Craig had ever felt slightly good about hearing concern tint his boyfriend's words.

He pulled himself back up in his bed, panting and groaning the entire way.

"Are you dying?" Tweek asked.

Yes, Craig's mind yelled. "I don't think so," he answered and buried himself under the covers.

"You have to tell me if you're dying, man."

"I will," he promised. "I'm not, though."

"Alright." He didn't believe him. "Get some rest. I'll see you soon."

Craig was only semi-sure he ever told Tweek goodbye before drifting off into a dazed sleep. He woke up when he thought someone was at his door. The knocking on the door was so soft, Craig wondered if Wendy had returned.

He was vaguely aware that whoever it was must have been knocking for a while, but he couldn't find the motivation to get up. He heard the sound of another person approaching the door, and then Stan's voice asking questions.

"Hang on. I'll let you in," Stan finally said. The door was unlocked, and either there were two sets of footsteps, or Craig's ears were lying to him again.

One of Craig's arms was dangling off the side of the bed, and upon the feel of someone grabbing his hand, he finally opened his eyes to see what all that noise was about. Big chestnut brown eyes that could only belong to his boyfriend looked back at him with massive amounts of sympathy.

"Hey you," Tweek greeted him. "You're awake."

"Yeah."

The part of Craig that wasn't preoccupied with feeling immensely sorry for himself was relieved to see that Tweek looked about as composed as he got despite obviously being worried.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Awful," Craig answered truthfully. "When did you get here?"

Tweek glanced at the clock out of instinct. "Fifteen minutes ago," he answered. "Stan let me in."

As if waiting for his name to be brought up, Stan made his way to Tweek's side. "You good here on your own?" he asked, looking uncertainly between Tweek and Craig.

"We're good," Tweek answered. "Thanks for letting me in, man."

Stan shrugged. "No problem." He grabbed his phone charger off his desk and moved to leave. "I gotta go meet Wendy. See ya later."

Craig whined when the door was slammed again. Did Stan not know he was splitting Craig's head in two every time he did that?

Tweek let go of Craig's hand to take of his jacket. He eyed Craig's elevated bed calculatingly before eventually deciding to also remove his shoes.

"I'm coming up, okay?" he said as he ascended the steps with his bag. The bed was just big enough that Tweek could sit himself next to Craig after he scooted over. Tweek opened his bag and pulled out a water bottle and some pills wrapped in tin foil.

"Take these," he said and held them in front of Craig.

"I don't need to," Craig muttered into his pillow. He didn't like pills. He liked them even less when nausea was still pushing at the back of his throat.

"Yes, you do," Tweek insisted, staring him down. Sometimes Craig forgot that Tweek could be stubborn too. Most of the time Tweek was the least assertive person on the planet, but when he really believed in a cause, he wasn't backing down for anything. Craig was too weak to argue. He admitted defeat and swallowed the pills.

"Thank you." Tweek flashed him a radiant smile. Craig would have rolled his eyes, had his head not been hurting too much to permit it. He couldn't fight that smile. It wasn't fair, and Tweek knew.

"Can you eat?" Tweek asked.

Craig's stomach growled simultaneously as another wave of nausea rolled over him. "No."

"You should, though."

"I can't."

"I brought soup," Tweek said, ending the argument at that. He fished one of his thermoses, usually resigned for coffee only, out of his bag. "You should at least try some. It's only gonna get worse if you're fighting it on an empty stomach, dude."

Craig attempted to glare at him, but it probably wasn't as effective as normally. He was weak, and Tweek was gorgeous. Tweek stared him down again, not blinking once. Craig groaned.

"One sip," he said. "I'll try one sip."

"Two."

"Tweek."

"Two sips and I won't push it anymore," he offered. Craig tried glaring at him again, but his empty stomach protested loudly. He sighed in defeat at reached for the thermos.

"You should sit up straight," Tweek said. "You're less likely to be sick then."

"Sounds made up, but okay," Craig muttered as he sat up with Tweek's help. The blond tucked his pillow neatly against the bed frame to fit his back, and Crag sent him a small, grateful smile.

He screwed the top of the thermos and tried smelling the soup. He couldn't. His nose was too stuffed. Looked like chicken, though. He forced the two sips down, and then a third when he felt somewhat sure he could actually keep it down.

"You didn't have to come all the way here just to watch me be sick," Craig said, despite being extremely thankful for the company.

Having him so close again, Craig remembered how long it had been since he'd seen him in person. It was stupid really. It was just at little over a week, after all, but for all the years they'd been together, they'd rarely gone more than a day or two without seeing each other again. Lately, the closest he'd been to being near Tweek physically was when he dropped off food, treats and bedding for his guinea pigs while the blond was at work. Thank God, Craig had a key to the apartment, or he'd never see his pets anymore either.

Tweek watched him take an extra sip of the soup and then brushed some of his hair out of his face for him when he put the thermos down again.

"I want to be here," he said. "You shouldn't be all alone when you're sick."

Craig took his hand and entwined their fingers. Every one of Tweek's nails was bitten down, and a part of Craig felt bad for only just noticing it. Even if he did have a somewhat reasonable excuse. His nails weren't the only part of Tweek that seemed in less pristine condition than the last time he'd seen him in person. Tweek looked exhausted. He had darker circles under his eyes than Craig had seen in years, and his shirt was clearly buttoned wrong under that sweater.

"I'm really sorry," Tweek spoke suddenly, breaking the comfortably silence Craig had spent watching him.

"'Bout what?"

Tweek eyed him sadly. "About being away so much," he muttered and moved to put a finger near his mouth. Craig grabbed it to stop him from biting.

"That's okay," he said and stroked the back of Tweek's hand. It was nice to feel Tweek's skin under his fingers again, he thought. The soup and pills must have been helping a bit if he was present enough to notice.

Tweek was staring at their joint hands, looking way guiltier than he had any right to be. "I get it if you're mad at me," he said.

Craig squeezed his hand at the sadness in his voice. "I'm not mad at you," he promised. Tweek didn't look like he believed him in the slightest, but he meant it. He wasn't mad at Tweek - he almost never got mad at Tweek - he was mad at the situation. And the situation was, hopefully, a temporary one. He was sure Tweek had worked enough that his next paycheck would allow him to relax a bit. Everything would be all right then.

He was sure he could reassure Tweek that they were going to be alright much better if he wasn't feeling like shit, and he made a mental note to remember this conversation when he was back to normal. He knew that a lot of Tweek's anxious thoughts took him in a direction where it seemed like Craig was fed up with his quirks and ready to leave him for someone better. Tweek didn't know that to Craig, there was no one better.

When Craig had managed just a little more food, Tweek fetched his computer and put on some stupid cartoon show. They snuggled up close under Craig's duvet and before even the first episode had ended, Craig was fast asleep.