"So this whole time, they'd been hiding it from me," Craig finished. "And I mean—it has to be because they never trusted me, what with the way I was treating you."

They weren't in their usual spots—cross-legged and opposite each other. Craig had come home from his confrontation with Clyde and Token shaking, and Tweek had been alarmed immediately. "What's wrong?" he'd asked frantically, jumping up from the bed as Craig paced around his room. "What's going on? Don't hide this from me, please, Craig."

Finally, Craig had been persuaded to lie down. And while Tweek had considerately perched on the footboard, allowing Craig space, he hadn't wasted any time in shooting forward when Craig beckoned him closer. And so they lay together, Craig with his feet flat and knees bent toward the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach; Tweek, on his side supporting his head with his left hand, leaning against the wall and being careful not to touch Craig. He listened with his eyes wide as Craig recalled what had happened.

When Craig had finished, he waited for a minute, assuming Tweek would comment. Hearing nothing, however, he asked, "You're not even surprised about this?"

He turned his head slightly to look at Tweek, who bit his lip. "I knew," the ghost admitted simply.

"How?" Craig asked incredulously.

"Butters told me. He was there that night."

Craig's head somehow sunk further into the pillow. "So literally everyone knew except me."

"I guess so, Craig. But I'm not sure that that means what you think it means." He kept his gaze steady as Craig's brow furrowed. "They were embarrassed to tell you. It's not like they told everybody themselves. Kenny told everyone, as usual. And you just said that Jason didn't know, either. So it's not that they wanted everyone to know except for you exclusively. They just hoped you wouldn't find out about the gayest thing they've ever done. I thought that's how all straight guys worked."

At this, Craig had to grant Tweek a snort of laughter. "You think all straight guys have some secret gay experience? I don't."

"Craig, this right now is pretty gay," Tweek pointed out.

Craig paused to lift his head, after which he saw that Tweek was at most three inches away from him at the furthest. "I'll move over," he offered.

"Well, I'm not complaining. Just saying."

Craig sighed, sinking his head down again and closing his eyes. "I just don't get why they wouldn't tell me. We're supposed to be best friends. And I mean, I could believe their defense. They were high, or drunk, or whatever. Weirder things have happened under lesser circumstances."

Tweek nodded slightly. "Okay, but you just said you could believe it. Not that you do believe it." Before Craig could interject, he continued, "I'm not saying they're right and you're wrong. Maybe they should have told you, sure. They should have told you a long time ago. But they didn't. So what are you going to do about it?"

"I just don't feel comfortable around them anymore," Craig said slowly. "Not because I think they're gay or anything, but I do think there're probably a lot of things they haven't told me. I'm sick of people keeping me in the dark."

"That's okay," Tweek answered gently. "You don't owe them anything. I just want to make sure you're making the right decision for you."

Craig opened his eyes again. "I appreciate that." He thought for a moment, then added, "I would also appreciate a change of subject now."

Tweek smiled. "Fine with me," he said. "I don't suppose there's anything else you need to get off your chest?"

"Believe it or not, there isn't, for now," Craig replied with a laugh. He turned his head to look at Tweek again. "Actually, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"When you first, uh, showed up, you said you had some kind of task. How's that going? Is it still a secret?"

Tweek's smile didn't fade. "I still can't tell you about it," he confirmed. "And I would say it's going very well."

"Do you like, work on it when I'm at school?"

"Yes."

Craig sat up halfway, leaning back on his elbows. "Do you think I could guess what it is?" he asked thoughtfully.

"You could guess all you wanted, but I'd never answer," Tweek said, his eyes following Craig's movement. "If I told you about it, it'd all be over."

"Over? What would that mean?"

"Means I would go back to hell right away."

Craig thought before responding. He hadn't actually considered the idea that Tweek might indeed leave his world again at some point. The thought brought a lump to his throat. "And when you've done what you're supposed to do…You'll go back to hell? Or heaven?" he guessed.

"You know I can't answer that," Tweek reminded him.

The lump grew and Craig swallowed. "I don't want you to go back," he confessed. "At all."

Tweek hummed. "I'll work slowly," promised.


Craig approached the next day apprehensively. He knew he needed time away from Clyde and Token, the last two people on Earth he'd considered friends besides Tweek. Consequently, classes were even more uncomfortable to sit through than before. He tried to focus on the class content, he really did. But his thoughts were unruly and wandered off before he'd even copied down a single bullet point.

Avoiding his friends—if they were truly his friends, after everything—was, at least, blessedly simple. They shot him pained looks when they saw him in the hallways, but otherwise, they made no attempt to initiate contact. Craig thought back to his theory that they were scared of him and had to push away waves of discomfort with himself. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing, but he knew that solitude felt right. Anyway, knowing that he at least had Tweek waiting for him at home was some comfort.

When the telltale lunch bell rang, Craig knew where to go. With a heavier paper bag than usual in hand, he headed to the far corner of the cafeteria by the trash cans. "Hey," he muttered in greeting to Butters.

"Craig, hi! Uh, it's been a while," Butters said, looking pathetically surprised and grateful for Craig's company. He finished scribbling a note in the margin of a thick book—Craig suspected it was an SAT guide—before looking up to watch Craig sit down. "How are you?"

"Fine." As expected, not a single food item was in sight amongst Butters' study materials. Craig opened his lunch bag and pulled out the sandwich, the plastic bag of carrots, and the Tupperware container of applesauce he'd brought for the poor kid. "These are for you," he murmured, pushing them towards him.

Butters stared down at the offerings wide-eyed and pink-faced before looking back at Craig. He looked like he might protest, but as he watched Craig produce the food he'd brought for himself without comment, he seemed to reconsider. "Gee, thanks," he said meekly, hesitating before reaching for the sandwich first.

Craig said nothing, simply taking a bite of his own sandwich. Butters might be taken aback under the assumption that this was an act of kindness. It wasn't. While Craig really did feel for Butters' personal situation, his decision to bring him food was payment. Payment for allowing Craig a spot to sit where he didn't have to struggle to "act normal," and payment for taking care of Tweek for the three years Craig had failed to do so. No matter how things had ended with Tweek, Craig knew that Butters had tried to help him. Maybe he'd even thought Tweek was his best friend, too. For trying, Butters deserved at least a lunch and a person to share it with, even if Craig couldn't really manage to be social.

When he felt that he was being stared at, though, Craig looked up. "Something wrong?" he asked, seeing his intuition had been correct.

"No! I'm sorry! I don't mean to be creepy or anything." Butters looked awkwardly away as he took a bite. "It's just…you've really surprised me. You're not at all who I thought you were, I guess."

"Who did you think I was?" Craig suspected the answer wouldn't be anything positive, which was actually his motivation for asking. "Be honest," he added in encouragement.

Butters chewed, looking thoughtful. "Well," he said, swallowing, "I guess, I uh, thought you were a little mean."

"Just a little?" Craig pressed. He repeated himself: "Be honest."

"Gosh, Craig." His sandwich gone, Butters reached for the applesauce. "We barely talked in football, so most of what I thought came from how you treated Tweek, and what Tweek said about you, I guess."

"What did he say?"

Butters took a large bite of applesauce, somehow managing to make the act look sheepish. "Well, I knew you and the guys were kind of, uh, pickin' on him."

Craig nodded impatiently. "Yeah, we were. But what did he say?" He wanted someone to just tell him he was a scumbag.

Wrinkling his nose, Butters squinted at Craig. "It was like he was obsessed with you," he admitted finally. "Even when he was angry about getting hit, he'd never blame anything on you directly. He'd sit right where you're sittin' now, and he'd vent a little bit about the others. He really hated Kenny and Cartman, I think. But even when you were involved with whatever had happened, he'd say, 'He just doesn't know yet. He'll see.' Things like that. And if he hadn't been picked on yet that day, or if the teasing just wasn't too bad, he'd go on and on. Like—'He's not one of them, he belongs to me. I know we're going to be together.' A lot of stuff like that. Honestly, Craig, some of it didn't even make sense. It was all a little weird." He looked apologetic, and it irritated Craig.

"What do you mean, 'a little weird?'" he asked. "It just sounds like a crush. There's nothing wrong with that."

Butters seemed taken aback, but he pushed aside his applesauce and leaned in to elaborate his point. "No, listen, Craig," he said lowly. "It wasn't healthy. Sometimes he scared me a little bit. One time I tried to tell him he should think about meeting new guys or something, and he freaked out. He was yelling about how everything was about you, not him. He said there was no way there could ever be anyone but you, and if I didn't believe that, I should just stay away from him. Craig…It was definitely weird. I actually thought that if he didn't hurt himself someday, he might try to hurt you."

Craig was now thoroughly annoyed with Butters' bullshit. "He would never hurt me," he snarled. "And if you thought he was a danger to himself, why didn't you try to talk to a counselor or something? Because if you'll remember, Butters, he did hurt himself. I hope you're not actually fucking saying you thought he might do that beforehand."

Red-faced, Butters sat back. "I told his dad," he said quietly. "I told him about everything. He said he'd take care of it. That was a week before he died."

While he accepted this answer, Craig was still pretty fucking pissed. "Well, I don't like the way you're talking about him now," he said. "You're probably just remembering wrong. And besides, it's not cool to try to make him sound bad when he's not even here to defend himself."

"Craig, that's not—"

"What, it's not what you meant? You don't mean to spread lies about him? Look, I know Tweek. He's not like that." Butters was staring blankly, and Craig wanted to smack him for it. "If he could hear you now, I bet he'd be pretty disappointed to find out you were never really his friend."

Butters seemed ready to speak again, but Craig was over it. He stood, kicking back his chair as he snatched up his lunch bag. Tossing the food he hadn't finished back inside of it, he finished, "It'd be nice if you watched your mouth, Butters," and left, rage swelling inside.


His last class of the day was English, and he trudged into the classroom with dread. Token was staring at him from their usual seats in the far back corner by the window, so he naturally sat in the front row all the way to the right—the closest seat to the door. His bag was packed and his keys were ready so he wouldn't need to visit his locker again before making a break for the parking lot when school ended. Usually Ms. Voigt left him alone, anyway, so he at least took comfort knowing he could daydream through the period. His current C+ was inching steadily to a C-, so he really ought to pay attention, but he couldn't make himself care. He glanced at the clock as the second bell rang, signaling the start of class. Just fifty more minutes.

Countless distraction possibilities slid through Craig's mind. Should he go to the gym later? He'd skipped Saturday. Okay, he'd go to the gym. Should he make Ruby dinner first or just go right after school and cook later? Nah, he wanted to go at night. He'd make Ruby her favourite stir-fry. There was a pound of chicken in the fridge that needed to be used up, anyway. Too bad his useless fucking parents couldn't bother to make their own kids some food once in a while. It's not like Craig volunteered to do everything.

Jesus, what was Ms. Voigt wearing. Usually he didn't notice girls' clothes much at all, but thanks to this lady, he'd learned the term gaucho pants. How many pairs could one person own? The print reminded him of the drapes in his grandma's cat's bedroom. Why did his grandma's cat need its own bedroom? What did the cat do to deserve a room to its shitty fucking self? How did the cat feel about those ugly-ass drapes? Did cats form opinions about décor?

Still, at least cats were better than most people. At least if your cat was an asshole, you knew it'd always be an asshole. Cats weren't one way to your face and another behind your back. Cats didn't lie to you about having sex with other cats or pretend to be all nice and then talk shit about your dead cat friends.

Craig rested his head on his hand and glared at the clock. Shit, only fifteen minutes had gone by since he'd last complained to himself about the time. That meant thirty more minutes of class. He'd be counting them down, for sure. He wondered if Tweek ever looked at the clock waiting for him to come home. He smiled.

"It's about love that transcends."

Pausing to listen for a second to what was going on in class, he heard Wendy talking. Ugh, of course. The one drawback to the spot he'd chosen was that it was right next to Wendy's desk. Wendy lived for the front-row action of academics, he thought scathingly. He glanced at the board for the page they were supposed to be on in their textbook, and he flipped to it, just for kicks. Scanning the page, he saw that they were discussing what was titled as "Sonnet 55." Shakespeare wrote sonnets? As if the plays weren't boring enough. He read it quickly:

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

"Good answer, Wendy. Would you like to elaborate?" asked their teacher enthusiastically. Craig looked over and saw Wendy nodding, a big smile on her face. She just loved when teachers gave her attention. At least Butters was quiet about being a better student than everybody else.

"Sure. I really like this," Wendy was saying, her eyes glued to the words on the page. "Shakespeare is saying that no matter how much time passes, the memory of the fair youth will always last. Although states may crumble, and buildings will be lost to age, the fair youth will be immortalized through Shakespeare's words."

"Who's the fair youth?" Craig heard himself asking her. The heads of everyone in the classroom turned to stare at him. Somehow, he managed to keep his middle finger down. It shouldn't be that much of a fucking surprise that he asked a question. He was in this class like everybody else.

Wendy was looking at him too, but she didn't seem stunned. Rather, she looked at Craig with intrigue. "The fair youth was Shakespeare's boyfriend," she said, her voice lacking the snobbery that Craig had expected. "Well, possibly just a friend. But there Shakespeare wrote a ton of sonnets for him, and they all read as love poems to me."

"Good question, Craig," said Ms. Voigt, smiling at him. "Class, what do we all think of Wendy's interpretation?"

Craig sat back in his seat, rereading the poem. It honestly wasn't too bad. At least it rhymed, unlike shitty Walt Whitman that they'd had to read a few weeks ago. Fuck Leaves of Grass, honestly. He looked at the last couple of lines again. When he looked up, he heard Kyle Broflovski saying something. Asshole. Anyway, he had an opportunity. "Wendy," he whispered, leaning over to her desk. She wasn't actually so bad. "What does this mean?" He pointed to the part he meant in her book. "'Till the judgment that yourself arise?'"

Wendy smiled slightly. "The Christian judgment, from the Bible," she whispered back. "Remember, from Sunday school? In Revelations, when it says the bodies of Christians will rise from the grave and go to heaven? Basically, it's just another way of saying, 'Until the world ends."

"So it means his memory will last forever?"

"Exactly!"

Moving away from Wendy, Craig blinked. He thought about Tweek, and how Tweek was gone and yet not gone. Dead and yet living. How Tweek had changed every single thing about Craig's life, even after death. Tweek had helped Craig come closer to being the person he wanted to be without existing for anyone but Craig.

Craig wondered who had died first, Shakespeare or his buddy.

"Great discussion so far, guys. I'd also love to hear just what you think of this piece," Ms. Voigt said. She looked around the room, waiting for anyone but Wendy to raise their hand. "Someone we haven't heard from? For participation points, maybe?"

The class sat in a familiar awkward silence for a few seconds. Finally, against his better judgment, Craig raised his hand.

Ms. Voigt beamed at him. "Craig?"

He cleared his throat. "I guess this poem is pretty special, because it's true," he said.

"What do you mean by that?" the teacher requested.

Craig looked down at the poem once more. "Well, he says that the guy will live on through wars, and decay. 'You live in this,' he says. This poem. Shakespeare promises that he'll be preserved through words. And it's true, because here we all are now, talking about him. Shakespeare's word was good. The kid hasn't been forgotten."

Ms. Voigt looked ready to burst with excitement at his answer. To be fair, this was probably the most he'd said all year. "Very astute observation," she said. "Does anyone have a response?"

But Craig didn't have to sit through anyone else's shitty responses, because the bell went off, and Craig had his book in his arm and was out the door in two seconds flat.


"Ruby, did you fuck with the mail?"

Ruby Tucker didn't bother sitting up from her comfortable slouch on the sofa. She had a belly full of her brother's delicious cooking, and a One Tree Hill marathon was playing. Best show ever. "No!" she hollered back at her mother. "Why the fuck would I do that?"

"OH!" yelled her mother, approaching the sofa with one hand holding the day's mail and another proffering her middle finger to her daughter. "I guess my daughter thinks she can speak to me however she wants!"

At this, Ruby did sit up, lifting her own hand to flip her mom off. "What's with the mail?" she asked.

"Report cards." Laura brought her left hand back to flip through the envelopes she was holding once more. "I've got yours, but Craig's isn't here. They always mail them together."

"Why would I take Craig's report card?" Ruby asked, unflinching when her mom released the bird again. "Maybe he didn't want you to see it."

Her mother's eyes widened at this (obvious, in Ruby's opinion) explanation and she headed speedily for the staircase. "Craig!" she screeched from the bottom of it.

"He's at the gym," Ruby said, turning her eyes back to the television. Dammit, a commercial break again. This was a good episode. Bored, she shifted her cleaned plate onto the sofa cushion next to her and slowly stretched out her legs, standing. "I know where he hides stuff. I'll go find it."

She darted past her mother and up the staircase, into Craig's room. If it was in there, and it was bad, she would just say she couldn't find it. They didn't always get along, but siblings had to have some form of an alliance against their parents—especially with parents like theirs.

Opening the door, she looked around. What a fucking mess. Boys were so dumb and gross. Ruby was a self-admitted slob herself, but who the hell kept used coffee mugs everywhere? Since when did Craig even drink coffee? She'd never noticed. Glaring at an opened bag of kale chips on the floor, she headed for his dresser, pulling open the drawer Craig apparently thought was a better place to keep unwanted papers than the recycling bin. Dumb and gross, gross and dumb.

As predicted, a ton of fucking crumpled papers were in there. She scooped up a handful, sifting through them slowly. Old assignment, old assignment, bus ticket printout, old assignment…Hm. She paused at two looseleaf pages folded neatly together. Dropping the other papers back into the drawer, she unfolded them. Holy shit, this was a lot of writing. Not Craig's writing; Craig had never learned how to write legible cursive. Four pages of writing, front and back. Seeing that the first began with "Dear Craig," she paused to read:

Dear Craig,

Today is such a special day. Do you know why? As I write this, you're probably at home watching Red Racer. I know you still watch that show, even though you pretend you don't. Well, I wish that stupid shit would get cancelled, because as you lie on your couch, completely absorbed into some happy fictional reality, I'm sitting at my desk crying like an idiot and writing a suicide note. You see, my love, not everyone can just turn on the TV and enjoy a night of nothing. Some of us spend all day at school getting pushed around by football players—your best friends, actually!—and then head straight to work for six hours, after which comes homework. And after three solid years of this half-life, some of us can't take it anymore, and we snap. I've snapped! Through all of this, I never once felt crazy. I've felt plenty depressed, and 99% of the school calls me crazy, but everything has finally become clear to me. You haven't seen crazy like I've been for the past couple of hours. This is crazy, Craig. I'm crazy in love. And that's why I'm doing this for you. I will be dead within the hour. It's 10:03 PM as of right now. Just in time for today to become your favourite day.

I know I've been pretty forward these past few years. And I know how much you hate it. But even though everybody told me that it was a lost cause, I was just never able to hide how much I love you. Don't get me wrong—I feel plenty stupid about this. I would absolutely love for things to be different. Wouldn't it be great if I was like, well fuck Craig then, and fell for somebody else? A girl, even? It would be super! But that's not how love fucking works. So you treating me like crap and getting your friends to treat me like less than crap didn't change anything. Remember that time you spat at me last year, Craig? In the parking lot? I was trying to remember where I parked, and while I was looking around, I saw you talking to one of your random idiot friends who get to follow you around without getting beaten up for some reason. Anyway, all I did was let myself look for a second. Sorry, but you're really nice to look at, babe. During the maybe five seconds I wasted on you that time, your friend caught me looking, and you spun around all pissed a second later. Like I even did anything. Do you remember storming over to me? I knew you were mad, but my heart was beating like crazy anyway. I don't recall the particular form of "fuck off" you yelled at me, but I do remember you literally hawking up a fucking loogie and spitting at me. Now, if the spit had hit me, maybe I would have been embarrassed. Maybe it would have ruined my day. But you noticing me and caring enough to come over just made the whole thing surprising. Not scarring in the least. And that's the extent to which your discouragement has gone.

But wow, good thing you have so many friends! So many scummy fucking friends. When did you get so close with people like that? I know you're different, no matter how much you lie to yourself that you enjoy their company. Your friends do have that protect-the-leader thing going for them, though. Is that the appeal? Even so… Kenny McCormick, Craig? Do you know what he Since this is your special day, I am not going to disclose what Kenny McCormick did to me. I wouldn't want to ruin any friendships, ha ha ha. Although I predict that once I'm gone and you feel comfortable with your sexuality again, you might not be quite as close with your little secret service. Shall we make a bet on it? I give you until Thanksgiving before you've completely ditched those idiots. Just kidding about the bet, of course. I will be dead.

I will be dead. Wow, I am practically a ghost already. I feel more like a demon. I think I have a fever. Maybe I should wait until I feel better. Kidding again! I know that I'm crazy and I'm crying but somehow I have never been better. I think death really becomes me. Baby, you are so good to me. I wouldn't be doing this without you. Which isn't to say I am blaming you for anything. I'm not! This is my choice, police officers who will potentially read this note! I'm just giving Craig his credit where it's due. Okay, back to you, Craig. Sorry about that. Cops can be so nosy.

Craig, this is your special day because I am going to be gone by the end of it. My death is my gift to you. I hate myself and I love you, so this is what I want. But I do believe in karma and I know you do too, so here is my warning. This is the catch.

One day, you will be mine.

I will die. But I think I'll be reborn. And if I don't earn you in my next life, I will find you in your next one. I will die a million painful deaths if that is what I have to do to be with you. No one can stop me, Craig. Even God couldn't stop me. I am killing myself. I lost this battle, but I will win you eventually. You know me, right? I can be so determined. I think I will finally deserve you after this. I will take your heart and we will be together. I don't care about the timeline. We belong together. I wish you would have seen that during this lifetime. But it doesn't matter, because fate is fate. I do wish I could kiss you goodbye, though. I wish I could touch you, even if Cartman or some asshole would break my arm for it. I'll miss the memories we made in this life. Oh well. There's always the next one. Or the next one.

Wow, I just looked at the time. It's almost 10:30! I better hurry this up, even though I could write to you for hours. Don't worry, everything is all set up. I'll be gone before you know it.

You should've let yourself love me while this was easy. But Craig, lover, don't get too comfy. I'll be there soon to collect my prize. Nothing will keep me from you.

XOXO and lots of love,

Tweek

"Jesus Christ," Ruby muttered to herself. This was brutal. And from that Tweek kid…Ruby had remembered him from when she was younger, always clinging on to Craig. She hadn't known how to treat him, what with him constantly looking like he thought the world was about to explode. She knew from overhearing her brother and his friends talk about him that the friendship had ended badly, and that Tweek had had a crush on Craig. When Tweek had died, Ruby had heard some people saying that he'd done himself in because of Craig. But…surely her brother didn't deserve this.

Good riddance. She crumpled the papers in her hands, closing the dresser drawer with her knee. "It's not in here!" she yelled to her mother. She brought the note with her as she left Craig's room, shutting the door behind her and crossing the hall to enter her own room. Picking up the lighter from beside the candle on her bedside table, she lit the pages before tossing them into her trash can. Craig shouldn't be holding on to shit like this.

AN: What could it all mean?

Sorry the lunchtime with Butters segment ended so abruptly. I was trying to keep the word count down, since it seemed like you guys didn't like the longer chapter so much. My bad! I can't help babbling.

There are four total chapters left including the epilogue, and I am going to try my best to release them rapid-fire within the month of May, since I know I'll be super busy this summer. Finals dost swiftly approach, though, so they may come at odd intervals. Or not. Who knows.

P.S. Have I made it obvious I'm an English major yet? All about that Shakespeare love. For the record, I don't think he's boring at all, though bb Craig does apparently. Or not. Who knows.

-Cpt. Essex Cole