Chapter Three

Strange Meetings with Familiar Strangers

Craig stood casually, leaning back against the shop window with a cigarette dangling between his lips. My sudden stop captures the boys gaze and I instantly freeze in horror as our eyes meet. I knew this moment was coming but in no ways was I actually prepared for it.

I had been in the middle of inhaling when I caught sight of the tall stoic teenager. At the sudden shock that came with noticing the intimidating teen I managed to completely forget how to breathe. I begin coughing painfully as smoke gets caught within my chest.

It's official. I'm dying. I'm dying while looking like a total psychopath who can't even fucking breathe. Fantastic.

In a way I'm vaguely thankful that I can't breathe. If I'm not breathing I'm not over thinking and being my usual paranoid as fuck self. I'm so focused on trying to breathe I'm not worrying about what in the world is about to happen. In a way I'm being forced by nature to face my fear. I'm so preoccupied with the need for survival I'm not just running away, which is my usual go-to action when interacting with Craig Tucker.

I'm so solely focused on trying to push air into my lungs that I hardly even notice as Craig takes several steps towards me until there's only a foot of space between us. My mind is a blurry haze as I slowly glance up at the boy standing over me.

I'm not exactly filled with fear but instead surprise as I notice the height difference between us. I've always been on the shorter side of average, which is most likely thanks to a coffee addiction throughout my entire adolescence, so I stand only a few inches over five feet. Craig Tucker isn't unusually tall, maybe hitting six feet, but he's still pretty tall.

With the short distance between us he feels gargantuan. He practically towers over me. .

"Are you okay?" His voice is even and bland with no actual concern present. He's the prime example of mastered indifference. Even with his air of 'I-really-don't-give-a-fuck' he still manages to be really freaking scary. Nothing could change the fact Craig Tucker is terrifying, introducing reason number one Craig Tucker isn't just dangerous but lethal.

Craig happens to be equal parts intimidating as he is oddly attractive, in other words he's very much of both; which is reason two Craig is so damn hazardous. I guess you could say Craig Tucker is simply 'average' but something about him definitely makes him eye-catching.

He wears an old ratty chullo, which is at least ten years old (gross), which hides most of his mused black hair. His eyes are this strange blue-gray that seemed unable to make up their mind over what color they are.

His body is the better side of average and his teeth used to be kind of crooked before braces in middle school. Now his teeth are straight and shiny, bumping him back up to that above-average point. It's true Craig probably intimidates everyone but he still manages to have an impressive number of female admirers.

Craig Tucker is the classic bad boy with his 'give no fucks' attitude and alluring looks. These details alone make it painstakingly obvious why Craig Tucker is so fucking deadly.

I still can't breathe properly so I have no choice but to nod in response to Craig's question asking if I'm okay. I'm distracted by not only trying to breathe but trying to process what exactly is even happening currently. After my episode last night my head remains foggy and I fight to keep up with the world.

It feels as if I know I should be panicking but I can't exactly figure out why.

Craig doesn't't look convinced by my answer as his eyebrows shoot up and his lips turn down into a grimace. Despite his obvious disbelief he doesn't bother arguing with me. My mind clears slightly as he steps backwards and I have more space. Craig's attention goes back to his cigarette but I notice him staring at me from the corner of his eye.

Honestly, what's even happening?

I'm capable of comprehending the fact that I look certifiably insane today and I suddenly feel a little self-conscious. As my lungs finally clear of smoke, the fog in my head lessens and the reality of what's happening finally kicks in.

Holy shit. What the hell do I do now?

Craig Tucker is unpredictable; reason three Craig is horrifically dangerous.

Running away seems to be the only feasible answer to this problem. Unfortunately I'm frozen in place and still unable to move. How are you supposed to run away when you can't move at all?

Shit.

"Do-" The impassive voice suddenly speaking pulls a shrill cry of surprise from me. Craig pauses, giving me a look in-between annoyance and pity, before he tries speaking again. "Do you want me to put this out so we can get to work or something?"

Panic fills me and it takes much longer than necessary to realize Craig is referring to his half smoked cigarette.

"UAGH. Um, no! JESUS. N-No… I- I need to f-finish mine t-too." The words spill out of my mouth in a high pitched nervous rush.

Craig stares at me with narrowed eyes that make me squirm. Did he understand me? There was no way I could find the courage in me to say it all again. In fact I don't think I have the courage to do this at all. Maybe I should-

"Is that a joint?"

Um- what?

By the blank look on my face Craig probably figures I didn't hear him so he repeats his question, which sure enough was exactly what I thought I had heard. Craig's question brings up reason four Craig is such a threat; he's fearless. Craig does whatever he pleases and damns the consequences.

My eyes slowly drift down to the pseudo-cigarette that's currently placed between my lips as I subconsciously inhale. As smoke fills my mouth and chest I inhale deeper to ensure it all goes to my lungs. I quickly blow the smoke out under the unforgiving attention of Craig Tucker.

"Well, is it?" His tone is borderline harsh. I'm quickly caught trying to decide whether or not to lie or tell the truth. The fear that Craig could smell the lies coming from me convinces me to tell the truth.

"Y-Yes! GOD, YES." To both my pleasure and surprise Craig just nods in approval.

"Can I have a drag?" His words are slow and thoughtful – each syllable perfectly chosen and placed.

I'm now officially starting to panic. I've never shared joints thanks to smoking with Kenny but I'm honestly too scared to say no to Craig Tucker.

Stiffly I nod and hold the given object out to the taller man. He reaches out and takes it from me, careful to make sure we won't touch. I watch in my never ending stupor as he brings the stick to his mouth, his lips gently caressing it, as he inhales deeply with a smoker's ease.

This doesn't feel real. I'm sharing a joint with Craig fucking Tucker! Jesus Christ. I can hardly even believe I'm standing a few feet away from him let alone sharing my joint with that beast.

"Uh, Tweek?" Craig's unsure question makes me realize with a start that he was trying to hand me back the joint. "Tweek!" He looks annoyed that I hadn't been paying attention.

With embarrassed sputtering I take back what is rightfully mine and without thought bring it straight to my lips with a grateful bob of the head. I ignore the thought that his lips had just previously touched what my lips are now pressed against. The action feels way to intimate, which I guess is one of the major reasons I never share joints in the first place.

The rest of our shared time of smoking is done in an awkward silence. The entire expanse of time Craig remains his usual stoic scary self and I continue to be busy being the usual spaz I am. I'm thrumming with nervous energy. My heart is racing and even if I'm no longer choking on smoke my lungs ache.

I've been in Craig Tucker's proximity for a total of four minutes and I already know today is going to be one of the hardest days of my life.

I finish my joint right as, convenience had it, Craig finishes his cigarette. I walk past him to the front door and shove my keys in to unlock it. I silently saunter in and a few seconds later Craig trails in after me.

I continue past the counter and into the backroom while Craig fallows obediently. I'm feeling a slight buzz from the joint but considering I'm currently dealing with Craig Tucker today I knew I'd need a lot more than one measly joint to get high and it's devastating that I have nothing to indulge in.

"H-Here!" I thrust an olive green apron at Craig and he grabs it with furrowed brows. "You have to wear an apron. It's the r-rules and you can't break-agh- the rules!" I swear I'm vibrating with this awful energy and it's making me feel sick.

"Are you okay?"

"JESUS! W- What?"

"You're not going to explode or anything, right?" Craig stares at me, showing no concern. The only thing he seemed to care about is not having to clean up the mess I'd leave if I spontaneously combusted. The thought of exploding is in no way pleasant.

It takes me several seconds of internal freak-out to notice the amused glint shining in Craig's stormy eyes. It's been years since I've seen the wicked shine in those eyes but I'd recognize it anywhere.

Craig Tucker was joking.

Craig doesn't exactly joke around much, he mostly likes to fuck with people's head, but occasionally the noirette did indeed try to tell jokes. Most of them lame. Was Craig seriously trying to tell a joke or is he messing with me? FUCK.

"Y-You don't j-joke about human combustion, man! That's a s-serious matter, OKAY!?" Craig raises an eyebrow and his lips twitch slightly.

Dare I say Craig Tucker might be amused? I may or may not be on the verge of shitting a brick. HOLY FUCK. "Anyways, you n-need a nametag but it'll t-take t-time to arrive! Actually I need to order it first." Craig's amused expression disappears and is replaced with annoyance. "D-Don't worry! I s-swear I'll order one today!" Craig rolls his eyes.

"I'll just be Kenny for now."

What?

Craig points over my shoulder, into the locker that is currently hanging open. Sitting on the shelf is Kenny's nametag. I glance over at Craig open mouthed. He raises an eyebrow at me as if silently telling me I'm an idiot and honestly I feel like one.

"I- I don't know…. JESUS. Isn't that….like identity thief? I can't h-have the police showing up!"

"Don't be a dumb ass, the police won't show up." Craig reaches over me and grabs the name tag. "I'm doing this for my own amusement. Just humor me."

I really don't want to let Craig wear that badge but I keep my mouth shut. I watch as Craig clumsily puts on the apron and pins on the shiny white badge that proudly says, 'Hi, my name is Kenny!'. Once he's properly attired he just stands there staring at me. I'm trying to figure out why he's staring when he speaks.

"Are you going to show me what's next or are you just going to stand there all day?" I flinch and step away from him.

"R-Right." I turn to walk out of the backroom but pause in the doorway and slowly turn around. "B-By the way you're g-gonna have to t-take off your h-hat." Craig does not look amused. "It's s-shop policy."

"Are you kidding me?"

I shake my head and fight every instinct to cower or run away. Craig isn't going to beat you up… Craig isn't going to beat you up… Craig probably isn't going to beat you up…

Craig sighs and tugs his hat off, revealing unsurprisingly messy black hair. It's always weird to see Craig without his hat. "Y-You can p-put it in the l-locker." I squeak out nervously. Craig stows away his hat then follows me out into the shop.

I hesitantly instruct Craig to help me open shop by opening the blinds, flipping the closed sign to open, and turning on all the coffee shop equipment. In the usual ten minute period after opening when there are no customers, I briefly show Craig the fundamentals of our old standard cash register. I'm pretty sure my dad bought that stupid cash register at a garage sale several years ago.

Since it takes time to learn how to properly brew coffee the shop always starts with having employees working the cash register and taking orders. Craig is already struggling.

"I don't fucking understand how this till thing works." Craig grumbles for probably the fifth time since we've started.

"W-What don't you get? That's w-where the m-money goes!" I'm actually starting to get very frustrated to the point I'm not even afraid of the ridiculous teen in front of me... that's saying a lot.

"I get that but it won't fucking open when I fucking want it to!" My hands are latched tightly in my hair and I'm trying very, very hard not to rip it out. With next to no patience I show Craig how it works for the millionth time and finally the machine complies with the noirette.

"You u-understand now?" Craig scofs and he raised his hand as if to flip me off but then stopped last second.

"Don't be a smartass Tweek." I don't quite understand how I'm being a smartass but I'm sure as hell not going to argue. "Now how am I supposed to know what prices to enter into the machine for the coffee?"

"You just l-look at the menu, it s-says so! Or you c-can look at the price g-guide right in front of y-you." Craig rolls his eyes. If he was actually Kenny, not just pretending to be Kenny, I would probably be sassing him hard core right about now. Kenny always laughs when I sass him. Man, I miss Kenny.

"But it's all complicated and shit. People order weird ass coffee, how the fuck am I supposed to know what a fat free sugar free soy what-fucking-ever latte is supposed to be. This paper just says a latte is three-fifty for a medium."

I was about to point out all the details on pricing to Craig but a businessman walks in, interrupting me. As he slowly walks to the counter I turn to Craig. "Take h-his order," I walk away to the coffee machines so he doesn't have a chance to yell at me or whatever.

I start grinding the dark roast blend this regular always orders. When I glance over at Craig his jaw is slack and he looks ready to start complaining. "$3.95," I inform him in hopes that maybe he won't yell at me.

Craig looks annoyed as he turns to the customer. "What do you want?" He grumbles sounding like an angsty teenager.

"Yeah, can I get a large dark roast hazelnut latte?"

The coffee is just about done by the time Craig stopped scrutinizing over the pricing sheet and shoots me a look. He turns to the customer and says, "That'll be $3.95." The regular hands Craig a five dollar bill and the teenager successfully opens the till and hands over the man's change. By the time the man walks over to the pick-up counter I'm already handing over the coffee.

As soon as the man turns and silently walks out of the building Craig turns to me with crossed arms. "How the hell did you know how much it'd cost before he even ordered?"

"He's a regular." Craig shakes his head as if he's annoyed that he didn't figure it out himself. "By t-the way, you're s-supposed to greet the c-customer politely and w-welcome them."

"What the actual fuck."

"Y-Yeah. C-Come on, I-I'll show you the storage r-room now. "

Four hours into the shift we were finally getting the hang of working together. Most of the time is spent in stiff silence with the occasional arguing. Surprisingly Craig hasn't said or done a single scary thing. He has yet to threaten or harm me and I'm starting to think that maybe Kenny was right about him. I'm even kind of starting to relax around him, but just kind of.

Craig and I argue quite a bit actually. The fights are always about dumb things, like how he doesn't properly close the till or how he places the money in the cash register. It's not even like he doesn't do the things the right way, he just doesn't do it the way I do and it drives me insane.

I happen to actually be a ritualistic being, I'm used to things being done a certain way and I can't stand when they aren't done that way. It's one of the few things I know Craig and I actually have in common. But I get a feeling that these little things Craig does that drive me insane are all things I'll just have to get over.

Arguing with Craig is actually kind of amusing. I don't feel threatened and it almost makes me feel kind of normal. Craig is a stubborn apathetic asshole too and I might just kind of like it in a weird way.

"Welcome to Tweak Bros Coffee, what do you want?" Despite all the customers, hours of work, and endless scolding on my behalf Craig is now only moderately polite to customers. I honestly find it kind of entertaining but I know he'll have to properly be trained or else Dad will get angry at me for not doing my job right.

My dad always takes everything that has to do with the shop very seriously. To be frank it's kind of scary how mean he can get. My dad is usually a spacey kind of guy who makes confusing metaphors comparing life to coffee, which is something I really don't get. It isn't often he gets angry but it's definitely something to avoid at all costs.

I listen to the order of the current customer and out of second nature calculate how much it would cost. I'm already starting the coffee as Craig shoots me a look. He's probably waiting to know how much the coffee would be.

Another thing Craig is going to have to work on is figuring out the pricing of stuff on his own. I'm pretty sure he gave up trying to figure it out and instead started depending on me to tell him. It's something I don't actually mind but if he ever has to work by himself he has to be able to do it.

"$4.25." I inform Craig patiently. I'm currently on my fourth coffee of the shift and the nervous thrumming energy I had been filled with earlier has been replaced with the familiar warm edge that comes with a plethora of caffeine. After my rough start last night and this morning the day seems to actually be taking a turn for the better. I can still feel that 'off' rhythm in how I'm functioning but I'm not as much of a brain-dead zombie I had anticipated.

I hand the coffee to Craig who then hands it to the customer who then joins a friend at one of the tables. Craig turns to me and crosses his arms.

"So when do I get off work?"

Somehow with the unconventional way Craig acquired the job, as in Kenny dumping the job on him, I had forgotten about all the technical details that need to be sorted out. Figuring out job wages and hours is something my dad always does, not me. Considering I have no idea when daddy dearest will even be home this is a new stifling responsibility.

"Jesus! I d-didn't even think a-about that!" By nervous habit I set the coffee down and my hands are in my hair, grabbing handfuls. I guess there's just something about the taught feeling of your hair being pulled that's oddly reassuring; it's a familiar pressure. It isn't like the pressures of hoping the nearest jackass won't beat you up or being so sure there are government officials fallowing you or the extreme fear of failing life.

"There's not a schedule?" Craig's left hand lifts and runs through his hair, a habit he seems to do when not wearing his hat.

"Ack- No! That's Dad's j-job but he h-hasn't done it." I pause and force my hands out of my hair and take several deep breaths to try and calm down. "He's out of town or s-something."

"Oh." Craig obviously is unsure what to say.

"I g-guess you can stop your s-shift whenever you w-want." Craig grunts in response. "A-And you can chose w-when you come into work." Craig hums. "A-And chose what days you w-want to work."

"What the fuck Tweek."

I squeal and hold up my hands in defense. "I don't know h-how to make schedules, m-man!"

"Well I'm pretty sure you don't leave it up to the employee to create his own schedule dumb ass." I think dumbass is one of Craig's favorite words. "Who are the other people who work? I swear to god I'm not fucking working with Stan Marsh or some other douche."

"Oh Jesus, no. I-It's just m-me." Craig's eyebrows shoot up.

"You're the only one who's working here right now?" I nod unsurely. "That's fucked. When does the store close?"

"N-Nine." Craig whistles and shakes his head.

"A twelve hour shift? Shit, I think I'll stick with eight hours for now. I'll stop at five." I nod and Craig turns his attention back to his phone.

True to his word Craig left at five. The last four hours had gone roughly the same as the first four did, just maybe a little quieter which was something I didn't mind. Without Craig's tense presence by my side the fatigue from the last few days is starting to wear down on me hard. Coffee isn't helping much so whenever I felt my eyes drift closed I run my hand up and down my arms. The sudden pain keeps jolting me awake.

It's a frustrating thing, really, knowing that even if I went straight home to lay down I would suddenly be wide awake. Insomnia is a bitch like that.

The last hour before closing tends to be deserted. I usually pass the time reading or building little towns with the junk lying around the shop. I tend to loathe the empty hour of standing around before I'm allowed to go home but when a familiar blonde boy walks in twenty minutes before nine I can't help but squeal in joy.

"Kenny!"

"Heya Twinkie, ya miss me?" I hated when Kenny calls me that but for today I'll let it pass.

"Oh, JESUS, y-yes!" It's true. While working with Craig wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected it still wasn't as exciting working with Kenny usually is. In a moment of euphoria that came with finally seeing something familiar I run around the counter and throw my arms around Kenny's neck.

"Holy shit Tweek!" Kenny cries out, obviously shocked. It's understandable, Kenny is always the one to initiate any kind of contact and I always pull away. "Working with Craig couldn't have been that bad." Kenny trails off. I looked up right as he cranes his head back to glance at me. "…Right?"

Once satisfied I step away from Kenny and wrap my arms around myself. Kenny always manages to pull out my true raw feelings and the disparity of last night is starting to come back at full force. "N-No, it was o-okay."

"See I told you Craig's fine! He's a total dickwad but he's a chill dickwad." Kenny chuckles halfheartedly before trailing off into silence. He stares at me for a few moments in silence, obviously studying me closely. "You haven't really smoked today have you?"

A pathetic whimper escapes my lips and Kenny half smiled warily.

"Your 'rents aren't gonna come home any time soon, right?" Nod. "Let's go chill at your place. C'mon I'll help you close up shop."

When we got to my house the first thing we do is go to the kitchen to raid my fridge. Honestly it's more just Kenny raiding my fridge while I make coffee. I don't eat much; my meds are thanks to that. Plus the feeling of being full makes me feel kind of gross; I can pretty much feel every morsel swishing around down there – ew.

Kenny satisfies himself with grabbing a container of macaroni salad and a bag of pretzels. Kenny always eats the most random assortments of foods. I figure it has something to do with the fact there is pretty much never food at his house so he has to indulge in his favorites elsewhere.

We hole ourselves up in my room and as soon as the door is shut behind me the marijuana is pulled out. Kenny makes himself comfortable by sprawling out on my queen sized bed. I begin busying myself by picking up the miscellaneous things that are out of place around the room.

My room is a pretty decent size, larger than most rooms probably. Considering I'm an only child the entire upstairs is pretty much my own so I had laid claim to the larger room from the very start. My room contains a random assortment of things I decided I liked and collected over the years. In one corner sits a corner desk and then flanking either side of it stands several bookshelves, stuffed to the brim with all kinds of books and stuff.

I start straightening the neat row of pens and pencils on my desk when Kenny calls out my name. "Tweek stop micromanaging everything and come hit the pipe."

I try to groan but it comes out more as a strangled yelp.

"D-Doesn't it b-bother you?" I already know the answer but I ask anyways.

"What?"

I grab the pipe from Kenny's outstretched hand and perch myself on the edge of the bed. "There's s-so much out of p-place man." I brought the cold glass to my lips and with a flick of the lighter I inhale the sweet smooth smoke.

"God Tweek your OCD is shining bright today." Kenny doesn't know that I actually do happen to have a raging case of OCD and I don't quite feel like confirming it. When was the last time I took my meds? Maybe that was why I felt so out of control? Honestly my room goes back and forth between trashed and perfectly organized. It just depends on how I feel.

When I feel out of control I try to regain my control by controlling things around me; such as my room.

"I j-just like organization, j-jesus." Kenny laughs as he takes the pipe away from me. "I-Imagine you have the p-perfect layout where y-you keep every s-single thing and you spend h-hours perfecting it, t-then you notice some t-things are out of place. It'd drive y-you insane too."

Kenny chuckles as he slowly exhales. "Kaya Tweekers, I guess that's reasonably understandable. I am not a creature of organization though, my room is absolutely trashed." Kenny pauses to laugh. "Once it was so bad that when Kyle came over he flipped the fuck out and started to clean my room!" Kenny shakes his head at the memory and begins laughing even harder.

The image of a red faced Kyle furiously starting to clean is actually kind of funny.

"G-Good thing I n-never come over."

"You're welcome to come over whenever! My bed is very soft and warm, it might be a little tight but we can cuddle." Kenny winks and I shudder at the thought. Honestly one of the biggest reasons I'm so adamant not to go to Kenny's is because I know it would be dirty. I may or may not be totally freaked out by germs. The thought of how much sex took place in that bed is enough to scare me off for life.

"Dully n-noted," I mutter after I slowly exhale a cloud of smoke. We continue to smoke as Kenny continues to be his usual perverted self. I have a feeling he's trying to be extra nice today in hopes of cheering me up. Curse him for always knowing when I'm having a shitty day.

It isn't until two hours later that Kenny's pre-paid phone chimes and he looks down at it with a surprised 'oh'! "Stan texted me, I'm supposed to go to a kickback with him and a few of his jockey friends. Wana join?" I know for a fact Stan and his jockey friends hate me, in fact one or two of them have probably punched me at one point or another.

"N-No way man."

"Alright, your loss." I watch as Kenny gathers up his things in his ratty old backpack that goes wherever he goes. "I'll see ya tomorrow Twinkie!" I wince at the nickname but brighten up at the mention of tomorrow.

"See ya Kenny." I walk the blonde to the front door and wave him off. It's strange to think back to just last night and compare it to how content I feel at the moment. I feel good enough that I could say maybe I can actually deal with working with Craig.

I mean, maybe he isn't as scary as I had thought? Well, I have tomorrow to find out.