A/N:
:)

Unfortunately for Craig, the elevator makes the trip from ground level all the way up to the sixth floor with no major incidents, shattering all of the brand new fantasies he'd never known his brain was capable of creating. When the doors slide open with an audible whoosh, revealing the boring tan walls of a hallway much like the one in his own dorm, Craig has to literally bite his tongue to stop himself from letting out a disappointed groan.

But, as the old saying goes, when one door closes, another one opens. And in this case, Craig doesn't have to wait very long for door number two.

"It's this way."

Tweek keeps his arm hooked through Craig's as he helps him out of the elevator, and it's a good thing he does; now that they're actually this close to Tweek's room, Craig is legitimately having a hard time getting his legs to work properly. He shuffles along beside the blonde, keeping his eyes trained on the dingy blue carpet, only vaguely registering the sound of the elevator doors closing behind them. The nervous butterflies in his stomach are back in full force, fluttering around like crazy in a way that makes him feel like he's on his way to the fucking electric chair instead of just a dorm room.

Just a dorm room. Who is he kidding? There's nothing just about Tweek's dorm room. Craig is just praying he can hold it the fuck together for however long he has to be in there.

Only three doors down from the elevators, Tweek comes to a sudden stop, which Craig only notices because he's suddenly tugged backwards a few inches as he's attempting to continue walking down the hallway. Thankfully, he avoids stepping on his shoelaces, and he flicks his eyes towards the ceiling to send a silent message of gratitude to Government Agent Douchebag from the FBI or CIA or whatever for having the heart to spare him from yet another fall just this once.

Tweek slips his arm out from around Craig's and fishes in his pocket for his keys. "It's sort of messy," he says, wrinkling his nose in an unfairly adorable, apologetic way that makes Craig's heart race. "I, um, don't usually have people in here."

"Oh, uh, do you don't have a roommate?" Ugh. Craig is starting to think that maybe he should go back and retake fucking high school English class, since it's becoming more apparent by the minute that he shouldn't have passed it in the first place. "I mean, you don't not– uh, you don't have a roommate?" By the time he finally gets the question out correctly, Tweek has already swung the door open and Craig can see for himself by the unmade single bed in the center of the room that no, Tweek definitely does not have a roommate.

"No." Tweek shakes his head as he enters the room, placing his keys carefully into a little green ceramic dish sitting on top of the desk next to the bed. "All the rooms on this floor are singles." He turns to look at Craig, still lingering out in the hallway, and gives him a small smile, waving him forward. "You can come in, you know."

"Uh, right." Craig gulps, eyeing the doorway like he's going to be sliced to shreds by millions of tiny lasers the second he crosses over the threshold. Gingerly, he lifts one foot and steps into the room, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he makes it in one piece. "Wow," he says, as casually as he can possibly manage, crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a quick glance at the place Tweek currently calls home. "You're, um, it's big."

"I think all the rooms are the same size." Tweek scoops up an armful of plastic water bottles from the collection of them littering the top of the desk, frowning as half of them slip from his grasp and fall to the floor. He drops the rest of them on top of the bed and pulls open the desk's middle drawer, grabbing an old grocery bag from inside, and begins retrieving the runaway bottles.

"No, yeah, I guess yours just looks bigger?" Before he can think about what he's doing, Craig moves a couple of steps forward and crouches down to help Tweek pick up the fallen recyclables. "Um, because you're not with anyone? I mean, you don't have to share with anyone, or anything." He awkwardly leans over to put a bottle into the grocery bag, both desperately wanting to accidentally-on-purpose brush his arm against Tweek and wanting to avoid any physical contact at all costs. "Not like me and Clyde."

"Right," Tweek says after a moment, his eyes on the floor as he leans forward to grab a bottle from underneath the bed. Craig can't stop himself from staring at the way the blonde's button-up shirt rides up his back a little bit with the movement, revealing just the smallest patch of pale skin and oh, fuck, there's that dream again, right on fucking schedule. "You and Clyde."

"Hm?" Craig murmurs absently, already lost in thoughts of how easily he could just reach over and push that shirt up even more, or even just slip his hand underneath and trail his fingers up Tweek's back, and pull him close enough to–

Tweek stands up abruptly, jolting Craig back to the present and making him scramble backwards until he hits the wall next to the door, his face flushing bright red. The blonde doesn't seem to notice though, thank fucking God; Craig really needs to find a way to control his goddamn brain, Jesus Christ.

Setting the grocery bag on the desk, Tweek pulls his phone out of his pocket and holds it up. "Hey, um, I'll be right back, I forgot I have to um, make a phone call."

"Oh, uh, sure." Craig slides up the wall to his feet, leans against it like the ultra cool guy from one of those typical cliche 80s movies. He crosses his arms again, and then changes his mind, shoving his hands into his pockets, before finally taking them right back out and letting his arms dangle at his sides. What the fuck do normal people do with their hands in other peoples' dorm rooms?

The answer that immediately comes to Craig's mind does absolutely nothing to help him relax.

"I won't be long," Tweek says, pausing right next to Craig on his way out the door and gesturing vaguely behind him. "You can, um, sit, if you want." With that, he disappears into the hallway, pulling the door halfway closed behind him.

Craig looks around the room, finally able to actually take in his surroundings now that Tweek isn't there distracting him with his almost inhuman hotness. Now that he's really looking, he can see that no, the room isn't actually any bigger than the one he shares with Clyde, and that it isn't actually the fact that there's only one bed in it that's making it look that way. It's all in how Tweek has utilized the space, playing furniture Tetris the way that only a college kid can.

He also realizes, after about three seconds of looking, that if he wants to take Tweek up on his offer of sitting down, there are only two places to do that: the chair at the desk, or on the bed. And once he catches sight of the rumpled teal sheets and dark green comforter, Craig can't think about anywhere else. Tweek sleeps in that bed. Tweek had slept in that bed last night. The sheets probably still smell like him, that mix of coffee and cinnamon that in the space of two days has become Craig's fucking kryptonite. He reaches out, the fingers of his left hand just barely grazing the edge of the comforter. How does Tweek sleep? Does he wear pajamas? Does he only sleep with boxers on, like Craig does? Or maybe…?

He takes a step closer to the bed, unable to tear his eyes away, fully aware of the fact that all he's doing is living up to the creepy weirdo persona but somehow totally unable to stop himself. He wants so much to be on that bed right now, but not just sitting on it waiting for Tweek to walk back into the room. No, he wants to be on that bed with Tweek, lying on his back, and looking up into those amazing green eyes, his hands on those incredible fucking hips, hardly even daring to breathe as he lifts his head up a little bit just as Tweek dips his down, meeting each other in the middle to–

"Red Red Racer, he races 'round the world!"

"Fuck!" Craig jumps, startled, yanking his hand back and immediately looking over his shoulder at the door, even though the sound is clearly his text ringtone chiming from inside his pocket. Thank God. Tweek is still out in the hallway. His heart pounding, Craig grabs his phone, all the relief he feels instantly dissipating as he sees the text message, a second one popping up as he's looking at the screen.

Just over an hour.

I gave you a preview - where's mine?

Craig grips his phone so hard his knuckles whiten and he's honestly a little bit surprised he doesn't crush the thing in his hand. Fucking asshole. With another glance to the door, he swipes his thumb across the screen, typing out a quick message back.

You don't get one.

The response is almost immediate. Oh, gonna make me wait tonight, huh?

It takes all of Craig's inner strength not to throw his phone right into the wall at that one. Fuck you, he types back, jabbing at the touchscreen keyboard so hard his fingertips ache for a few seconds after he's sent the message.

I knew you wanted it.

Disgusted, Craig shoves his phone back into his pocket and lets out a groan, forgetting where he is for a moment and flopping back-first onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. God, he hates Stan so fucking much it hurts.

"You all right?"

Shit! Craig goes from horizontal to ninety degrees almost before his brain registers that the voice speaking belongs to Tweek. "Uh- uh-huh! I was just, uh…" He sits there awkwardly, cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, trying to come up with a logical reason as to why he was just lying down, eventually coming out with, "...looking at the, uh, ceiling."

"The ceiling?" Tweek turns to close the door, Craig's heart leaping into his throat when he locks it as well. Oh, God, what if he's a serial killer after all? "I didn't think it was that interesting." He shoots Craig a smile, walking over to the desk and plugging his phone into the charging cable lying across the top of it.

"Oh, no, yeah, it's pretty, uh, ceiling...tastic." Craig actually physically cringes at that one, because honestly, what the fuck?

Tweek laughs. "Well, I can honestly say I've never heard that one before." He takes a seat on the other end of the bed, completely oblivious to the internal panic attack Craig has at the fact that they're both now on the same piece of furniture. Leaning his back against the headboard and pulling his knees up to his chest, Tweek wraps both his arms around his legs. "So," he says, just the tiniest tremble in his voice now.

"So," Craig echoes, his voice cracking into a million pieces on the word. He squeezes his hands into fists, grimacing at the clammy feeling. He clears his throat and stares down at his lap, attempting to discreetly wipe his palms on his legs.

It's another moment before Tweek speaks again, suddenly blurting out into the silence, "Do you want to watch something?"

"What?" Craig isn't sure what he had been expecting Tweek to say, but it definitely hadn't been that. He raises his head to see Tweek biting on his lower lip again and has to force himself to look away almost immediately.

"Yeah." Tweek reaches over to pick up a laptop from the nightstand on the other side of the bed from the desk. "I, um, I know I said I'd tell you...some stuff, but, um, I sort of have...anxiety? Pretty bad."

"Oh, uh, really?" Craig is genuinely surprised. "You don't, uh, I mean, I never would have guessed."

Tweek's cheeks turn a little bit pink. "Thanks," he says, flipping the laptop open. "I've gotten better at, um, handling it, and I do have medication that I have to take, but… Some things are kind of, um, triggering, so it makes it easier if I have something else to focus on? If that makes sense?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get that," Craig says with a nod, and he actually really does.

"So, um…" Tweek looks down at the small empty space next to him on the bed and then back up at Craig. "Did you want to…? My laptop cord is, um, really short, so you probably should sit over here."

"Oh." Craig gulps, not sure he's going to be able to do that without either falling off the bed or having a heart attack or both. "Uh, okay."

He hesitantly scoots his body forward on the mattress as Tweek shifts over a little bit to give him as much room as possible. When Craig gets himself turned around and situated properly, he's only got about an inch of space to his right, and on the other side his leg is pressed right against Tweek's. Oh, fuck, that's going to be all he's going to be able to think about. Breathe, Tucker. Just breathe.

That proves to be both great and terrible advice from his inner voice, though, because as soon as Craig inhales that deep breath his lungs are aching for, all he can smell is coffee and cinnamon and it makes him want more.

"You want anything in particular?" Tweek balances his laptop on his knees so they both can see.

You, Craig answers in his mind, barely keeping himself from saying it out loud. He tries to focus on the Netflix screen in front of him. "Uh, not really."

Tweek frowns at the laptop as he scrolls through the rows of titles. Craig turns his head just enough to the left so that he can watch him without making it completely obvious that he's staring. God, even his concentration face is the fucking cutest thing, the way he gets those tiny wrinkles on his forehead and his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth.

A lock of blonde hair chooses that moment to fall across Tweek's face, and before he knows what he's doing, Craig has reached out and tucked it behind Tweek's ear.

The second he does it, he freezes with his hand in mid-air. Time slows down and it's like all of a sudden all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. Oh, shit. Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that? What had he been thinking? He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, disappear into nothingness, and throw up everywhere, not necessarily in that order and possibly all at once. Instead, all he can do is sit there, his eyes wide, while Tweek slowly turns his head to look at him. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"Um," Tweek says, Craig's heart sinking lower and lower with every passing second. He blinks. "I, um."

Craig wants to blurt out some kind of apology, even though he has no idea what possible excuse he could come up with that he could use to defend himself. He's not even sure there is a defense for this. How do you even go about apologizing for invading someone's personal space like that?

But before he can open his mouth to even make an attempt, Tweek leans in close, and kisses him.