Disclaimer: Tweek and Craig belong to Matt and Trey
A/N: Okay, this is my first South Park fic and a new style of writing I'm trying out. This is all Craig's point of view and it's about Tweek. You can interpret this however you want, you can think of them as a couple of just good friends, either way )
"Nice trip to the counsellors?" He's worse than usual, something's wrong…
"Really?" Please don't lie, I know it's not alright…
"HA! Well the counsellors on fucking crack." Maybe…but that's not the issue "Glad I don't have to see her anymore." But glad you still do. She's crazy, but maybe she could help. If only you'd let her…
"I know, like I said, she's lost the plot…" but so have you. I don't understand anymore. I'm not sure if I ever understood.
"So what delightful conversation did you have with her today?" Gnomes? Oh please don't start…
"Tweek…" we used to laugh at you. Of course we did! Gnomes! Ha! Hallucinations induced by too much caffeine…but they're not hallucinations, are they? Not to you. To you they're all too real.
"No I don't think you're crazy..." Yes. Yes I do… "I just don't want you to get yourself worked up…" You're doing that thing again…you're scratching your arm, the skins already raw, peeled and bleeding a little, courtesy of your trip to the counsellor's office… "I know you're not," Yes you are. You're really worked up… "I just meant…" you're not just worked up. You're upset too.
You've been crying…I can tell. Your eyes aren't puffy or bloodshot, but I've known you since pre-school. I don't need any physical tell-tale to know. I can tell by the way you're talking and the way you're trembling. Everyone else will just mistake this for your normal twitching and inability to keep still for two seconds. But you don't normally tremble like that, I know you don't, because I know you.
I like to think I know you best…I'm sure I do…maybe I don't always want to know you so well though.
Maybe I don't want to worry about your phobia's attacking you as your own fucked up little mind invents enemies and demons to come and take you in the night…
Because I'll always worry. As long as there's something for you to worry about, then there's you for me to worry about.
"D'you want to talk about it?" I'd like to think I help, maybe I do, I don't know. It's not like you ever let me in, I don't think you let anybody in. That's why you've been diagnosed with all these fucking ridiculous mental illnesses by Doctor's who don't know shit about you.
But it's not really their fault, 'cos it's not like you tell them what you're really feeling.
You've built yourself a solitary island and burnt all the bridges. You've shrouded your island in mist. If anyone tries to sail across to you then you change the direction of the wind, you lead them in the wrong direction and land them on your pretend island. They think they've found you but they've not really. They're not even close. Because they're assessing your façade.
But at least you keep me near. Or at least I think you do. I think you let me paddle about in the water at the edge of your island. Just let me see a little bit of you, but not too much. Because I think you think that if I, if anyone, gets in they'll make everything worse. There'd be more trips to the counsellor, the Doctor's, the psychologist…that's why all of your problems are buried deep in the heart of you little island.
"Tweek?" You've been talking but you've just been giving me the usual stuff until now…"Tweek?" I'm worried now. More than ever. You've got your hands covering your face and you're crying again…you cry all the time, I know. But you always hide it and make a trip to the bathroom where you can weep in peace. And it's like some unwritten rule that I never mention it. I think I'm the only one who notices you know though, when you're about to cry.
You've never broken down in front of me before. And you're not just crying, you're sobbing. Your shoulders are shaking. I don't know what to do.
I stop walking, grab your arm and pull you into a nearby deserted classroom. That's a start I suppose, I'm sure the last thing you need is the entire school seeing this, I know how much you hate any kind of attention.
"Tweek…" you're sat on a chair with your back to me, and you're not sobbing silently anymore, you're shaking and trembling, your shoulders heaving as you continue to sob with your head lowered.
"Tweek…" I'm just repeating myself now, but I'm still hoping he'll give some kind of reaction, I don't know what, just something.
I know what I want to do, but I don't know if you'll let me, to you it'll be me taking one step closer to the heart of your desolate little island.
My hand is on your shoulder now and you've done nothing but weep harder.
I move from your back to your side, still with my hand on your shoulder. Your blonde untameable hair is sticking to your damp cheeks and getting tangled with your wet eyelashes, the pieces that aren't plastered to your face are quivering with you as you tremble and take huge gulping breathes.
I suddenly don't even need to decide what to do, because you've let yourself fall sideways against me, your head against my stomach and I've put my hair to the top of your head to let you know it's okay.
But it's only okay that you're seeking comfort from me, nothing else is okay. I doubt it ever has been, not for you…
You've twisted around and wrapped your arms around my middle, clinging tightly and digging your fingers into my back.
"S'okay Tweek, s'okay..." I'm sliding down into a crouch, so that I can hold you properly.
You eventually slip off the chair and to the ground, pulling me with you.
Once we're both on the floor I let one hand tangle in your hair, holding you head to my shoulder and I wrap my free arm around your shoulders, pressing you close.
I can feel your tears running under the collar of my shirt as you turn your head into my neck and I feel you screw your eyes tightly shut against my skin.
I don't know how long we've been like this, but it must have been a while. You're clinging tighter and crying harder still, it may not be okay, it may never be okay and you may never let me in, but I'll always be hear to hold you, Tweek.
