The second Craig follows Tweek inside the auditorium, he knows he's in a fuckton of trouble.
For one thing, the place is tiny. Craig isn't exactly what anyone might call a theater expert, as evidenced by the fact that he had definitely been expecting something more like the types of places that the awards shows Clyde's obsessed with take place in: a huge stage area with fancy red velvet curtains and a staircase on either side, elaborate spotlights on the ceiling, and multiple levels of cushy, spacious seating. He's so caught off guard by what he walks into that he can't help the low, "Oh," of surprise that comes out of his mouth.
The room is smaller than the lecture hall Craig takes Calculus 101 in three times a week; the 'stage' is only raised about a foot off the ground, a cluster of theater kids crowded in front of it; the curtains are a dull black and even from across the room it's easy to see the clouds of dust that swirl around anytime they move. The seats look like the kinds of seats you'd see in one of those cheap, dollar movie theaters, and nearly all of them are empty; there are only five people scattered throughout the auditorium, none of them are sitting together, and Craig's pretty sure three of them are teachers.
Clearly the majority of the student population of the college has decided that getting the hell out of Dodge for the holidays takes precedence over spending two hours watching a group of amateur theater kids act out Craig's third-favorite Red Racer movie of all time. Not that he can blame them; Craig would be the first to admit that, as much as he loves it to death, nobody could ever call the first Red Racer movie a good movie.
"Yeah," Tweek remarks offhandedly in response to Craig's reaction to the room, completely unfazed by their surroundings. "All non-school productions have to use the small auditorium."
"Smallitorium," Craig says without thinking, immediately blushing because honestly, just how many more times can his inner moron be allowed to run free in Tweek's presence?
The laugh he receives in response, though, God, that almost makes all the humiliation of the last couple of days worth it. He shifts in place awkwardly, risking a look at Tweek's face and catching the smile just before it disappears from his lips. Someone should really tell Tweek he's got a gorgeous fucking smile. It's important. The way his naturally pouty pink lips curve upward, revealing perfectly straight, shiny white teeth... Fuck.
He's so close, if Craig wanted to he could lean forward and kiss him right now. It would take very little movement to just reach out, wrap his arms around him, pull him close, and finally find out how those lips would feel against his–
"You all right?"
Far too late, Craig realizes he's staring at Tweek's mouth like a giant creep – and it hasn't gone unnoticed. Tweek's head is tilted to the side, and he's looking at Craig curiously.
"Shit- uh, I mean, sorry!" Craig tears his gaze away from Tweek and turns to the side, raising one hand up to tug his hat down further over his ears, which he's sure are just as red as his face. "I, uh, was just thinking about–"
He's cut off by a loud squeal from the front of the room, and he's both irritated by the sound and grateful for the interruption because honestly, he'd had no idea what he was going to claim to have been thinking about. It's not like he can tell Tweek the truth. I was just thinking about kissing you, even though I've only known you for two days and you told my best friend I'm a creepy weirdo.
"Tweek!" From the group of theater kids in front of the stage, a brunette girl waves both her arms in the air eagerly, a dazzlingly bright smile on her face. Craig still thinks that Tweek's smile is infinitely better.
"Hi, Lola!" Tweek lifts a hand to wave back. "Looks like we're just in time, huh?"
Lola rolls her eyes, flipping her hair dramatically at the same time. "Oh, God, we're running so behind. Our lead decided at the last second that he needed-"
"Peanut butter?" Tweek finishes the sentence with another laugh. He gives Lola a knowing look, clearly privy to some kind of inside joke. Craig wishes he had inside jokes with Tweek.
"Obviously." Lola twirls her finger next to her ear in the universal sign for crazy. "Kevin went with him to make sure he didn't take four hundred years."
"Are you sure that was the smartest choice?" Tweek asks. "I mean, you know…" He trails off.
Lola nods, seeming to know exactly what Tweek is implying, even though Craig has no clue what's going on. "I know," she says with a sigh, "but we couldn't spare anybody else. I'm so glad you came, though!" Her eyes move to Craig and her smile becomes, if possible, even bigger. "Oh my God, and you brought-!"
"Red Racer!"
Another girl, this one with hair so bright red it can't be her natural color, jumps up from the floor and rushes over to them. Craig instinctively goes to take a step backwards as she reaches out for his arm, because there are few things in this world he hates more than being touched (although there is a certain blonde someone standing next to him that he would absolutely make an exception for) but he doesn't move fast enough and suddenly there are fingers wrapped around his wrist and he's being pulled forward.
"You look so good!" The redhead exclaims, yanking on Craig's arm and forcing him into some kind of incredibly awkward, hopelessly uncoordinated series of pirouettes so she can get a good look at his whole outfit. "Where did you get this? It's better than the one our Red Racer has and we got ours from the official store!"
"Uh-" is all Craig manages to get out before whatever curse has befallen him takes the opportunity to show up yet again. Proving once and for all that he will never be a ballerina, although that isn't something that has ever even been called into question, Craig stumbles, tripping on his godforsaken shoelaces yet again. Letting out an absolutely humiliating yelp, he tips over, crashing right into Tweek, and sending the both of them tumbling onto the floor in a heap.
Flat on his back on the thin carpet, his eyes closed in an attempt to avoid the outside world for as long as possible, Craig groans in pain; the back of his head aches like crazy where it had hit the floor – because of fucking course he wouldn't avoid injury, that would be good luck, and he's clearly wasted all his good luck on being able to hear Tweek laugh today.
Not that he's complaining. Craig would purposely smash his head against this carpet forty-five times in a row if it meant he would get to hear Tweek laugh all day.
"Fuckin'..." he mutters, wincing as another sharp pain shoots through his skull. Great, now he probably has a concussion, because it's not like this is high quality carpet or anything. Honestly, it feels like instead of using some kind of legitimate carpeting, whatever company the college hired just threw a few towels onto the floor, secured them in place, and called it good to go. They probably hadn't even used a company, now that Craig thinks about it; knowing how notoriously cheap South Park is as a city, he wouldn't be surprised if they'd made that one creepy-ass janitor do it all himself.
Craig sucks in a lungful of air, trying to catch his breath despite the heavy feeling in his chest. God, he hates getting the wind knocked out of him, it always makes him feel like he's suffocating to death. It used to happen a lot when he was a kid, he'd been very well known for getting into fights all over the place, going home with bruises and black eyes at least once a week.
It wasn't his fault though, not really. Clyde, being Clyde, would say something to the wrong person, usually Cartman, and get himself in trouble and Craig would have to jump in to save the day and his best friend.
He shifts in place on the floor, trying to find the right angle where the air he breathes in can actually make it all the way down to his lungs, and that's when he realizes.
Shit shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck oh no no no no no no no-
His blood runs cold, his vision blurs just a little bit, and Craig is pretty sure he's actually going to have a fucking heart attack and die right there in the lameass fucking tiny wannabe auditorium dressed like Red Racer, because in a twist of fate so perfectly terrible it would be hilarious if it didn't make Craig want to cry, Tweek is lying on top of him.
"You okay?"
And looking down at Craig, his forehead wrinkled, concern filling those eyes that belong in a fucking museum of beautiful body parts, Jesus Christ. He's in basically the same position as Dream Tweek had been, and as soon as that thought runs through his brain, Craig's imminent heart attack just seems that much more likely. Nearly hyperventilating, he wills his body to give him a fucking break, please, just this once, let him not have that kind of reaction, not when Tweek is up against him like this.
Barely holding back a whimper, Craig desperately tries to fill his mind with thoughts of things that are guaranteed to turn him off. Spiders, millipedes, Clyde, Clyde sounds like eyes, eyes, Tweek's eyes- wait, no, fuck, not Tweek's eyes, but God, yes, Tweek's eyes...
This close to him, Craig can see that Tweek's eyes are not actually just green like he'd originally thought, but that there are specks of gold in them too. Goddamn, is there nothing about Tweek that isn't incredible? Meanwhile, he's just staring back at him, eyes wide and mouth open like a dumbfuck. Craig knows he should answer the question, but he can't seem to remember how to speak.
"Well, get off of him and maybe he'll be able to answer you!"
The weight on Craig's chest disappears as Tweek is pulled to his feet by the redhead. She holds her arm out to him as well, but it takes Craig a second to grab her hand and allow her to help him up. Part of him is disappointed that Tweek hadn't been the one to offer his hand, but really, why would he, after Craig had just knocked him over? If he were Tweek, he would just be concerned that accepting the help would just result in them both being on the floor again.
But would that really be so bad…?
"Sorry about him," the redhead is saying, gesturing to Tweek, who has pulled out his cell phone and is typing away on it. "He's really sweet, but sometimes he could really use a lesson in social skills." She smiles, and it's clear that she means the words affectionately, not maliciously.
"Oh, uh-" Once again Craig is cut off before he can get any real English words out, but at least this time it's because Red – as he's now officially dubbed her in his mind – continues speaking, and not because he's done anything to make a fool out of himself.
"So, really, where'd you get your outfit?" Red looks him up and down with appreciation. "You look incredible."
"I made it," Craig says, inwardly surprised as fuck that he's managed to say three words without fucking up.
"No shit, really?!" Red turns to Tweek, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. "Tweekerbell, did you know that?"
"Hm?" Tweek taps something on the screen in front of him and then looks up from his phone, slipping the device back into his pocket. "Did I know what?"
"Did you know that this guy's basically a fucking costume designer?!" Red grips Craig's shoulder tightly, shaking him a little bit, and it's all Craig can do to stay on his feet. "He made this whole outfit!"
"You did?" Tweek gives him a similar look of appreciation that Red had, but when Tweek does it, every nerve ending in Craig's body wakes up and pays attention, giving him a tingly feeling all over. "That's really impressive!"
"Uh-" Craig clears his throat. "Thanks-"
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Lola's voice rings out through the auditorium, and all eyes turn to her, Craig's included. She's glaring down at her cell phone, looking like she wants to throw it across the room.
"Oh no," Tweek and Red say simultaneously. They both rush to Lola's side, leaving Craig standing alone in the aisle between the rows of seats.
"They didn't…?" Tweek winces as Lola nods. He holds his arms out, and the brunette hands her phone to Red – "What the fuck? Now we don't have either of our leads?!" – before wrapping both her arms around Tweek, resting her forehead on his shoulder.
Craig's stomach immediately drops at the sight and a wave of emotions washes over him. Disappointment that Tweek isn't hugging him, humiliation because he's a fucking idiot for even daring to hope anything, frustration at himself for letting the hope happen in the first place, and so many other things he's too overwhelmed to be able to properly identify right now. All he knows is that he all of sudden feels like complete, utter shit.
Tweek has a girlfriend. Of course he has a girlfriend. No fucking way someone that looks like him would be single, let alone single and gay. What the fuck does Craig think he's even doing? Why did he say he would come with Tweek to this thing? Fuck, he was such a fucking idiot. What did he think, that he would spend two hours at a college kid Red Racer performance with Tweek and make him fall in love with him? Jesus fuck, Tucker.
Craig takes two steps backwards before turning all the way around to head for the door. He's just touched the handle when, from behind him, he hears Red practically screech, "Hey, Red Racer!"
Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Red beckoning him to come closer. He looks from her, to Tweek and Lola who are now sitting on the edge of the stage, and back to the door, wanting to just get the hell out of here but also, still, for some reason, reluctant to look like a giant douchebag in front of Tweek.
Sighing internally, he turns back around. He's not even halfway to the stage when Red asks, "You know the movie, right?"
"Yeah…" Craig says, hesitantly.
"Well enough to perform it?"
Oh, fuck. No. No fucking way is he getting up on that stage to–
"And I know you know it well enough to take Kevin's place!" Red turns, pointing to Tweek, and Craig's heart stops.
"Oh." Tweek taps his fingers against his legs, looking about as nervous as Craig feels. "I mean, yeah, I know the lines, but I don't–"
"Come on, Tweekerbell, please?" Red kneels down in front of Tweek, clasping his hands in her own dramatically. "We can't do the show without the leads and we don't have any other options!"
Tweek's eyes flick up to meet Craig's gaze. The blonde raises an eyebrow and Craig knows right then and there that he's going to say yes. Which means that Craig is going to say yes. Because despite the fact that it's practically been confirmed that he has, for certain, zero chance with him, he's not going to let Tweek go up on that stage alone.
"I guess I can," Tweek says slowly. "If Craig's okay with it, I mean."
"Uh- sure." Craig winces at the shrill shriek of delight that Red lets out in response to their reluctant agreement to perform.
"Fucking beautiful! Okay, Lola, you go get Tweek ready, I'll get our star here all caught up!"
Not quite sure what exactly the fuck is even happening to his life anymore, Craig lets Red lead him up across the stage, behind the curtains to the backstage area. He's not even listening to what she's saying to him until one question breaks through to his brain, sending literal chills of dread down his spine.
"You can sing, right?"