A/N:
:)

Wait-

What-

Holy shit-

Fuck-

Is this really-

The kiss only lasts a few seconds, not even long enough for Craig to have time to close his eyes, but it's definitely long enough for his brain to short-circuit like never before. Every sentence his mind tries to form ends up being cut in half as the parts of his brain responsible for thought and speech come to a screeching halt.

His senses, though? Those are working just fine.

The cinnamon and coffee smell is so much stronger with Tweek so close, although the feeling of Tweek's lips on his is so overwhelming that Craig can hardly remember how to breathe in enough to really appreciate it. God, he has such soft fucking lips, nothing at all like the disgusting, dry, chapped mess that Craig's are.

Shit, he should have grabbed some fucking chapstick from the grocery store the day before; it had been right there at the register, a whole fucking rainbow of little tubes of the stuff. But he hadn't even thought about it. He'd been in such a hurry to get the fuck out of there because of the whole "idiot not wearing a shirt" situation, something like chapstick hadn't even been on his radar.

And honestly, why would it be? Despite practically obsessing over him, never in a million fucking years would Craig have thought that he would ever in his life actually get to kiss Tweek. He's imagined what it would be like almost an embarrassingly high number of times in the last couple of days, sure, but always with that little asterisk of a disclaimer: Warning: fantasies imagined are far less likely than they appear.

This can't really be happening. It can't. There's no fucking way. Tweek's straight, isn't he? Okay, so he hadn't come out and explicitly said that, but that's not really a thing normal people do in general. Nobody introduces themselves like, "Hi, I'm the hottest heterosexual guy in the known universe, so, you know, don't get your hopes up." But there had been context clues, a whole bunch of them, that pointed towards Tweek being one hundred percent not gay...hadn't there?

This has to be another dream. Maybe one of the times that Craig had tripped over fucking nothing he'd completely hallucinated Tweek catching him– Or, no, wait, he's probably actually still lying on that poor excuse for a stage in that tiny fucking auditorium. He'd never woken up from fainting at all; in fact, he'd actually hit his head so hard that he'd fucked up his brain and ended up in a coma. Stan asshole of the century Marsh's reappearance in his life, that awkward as fuck dinner at the steakhouse, Tweek being an angel on Earth and making sure that Craig actually got a decent meal and then taking them both back here...none of that had ever really happened. That has to be it. That's the only way any of this makes any sense.

You know what, fuck it, if this is what a coma is like, Craig should have smashed his head into the floor way sooner. He'll gladly spend the rest of his life locked in this coma dream if it means getting to experience kissing Tweek, even if it isn't real.

"Oh– Jesus!"

When Tweek suddenly pulls away, scooting as far as he can to the other side of the mattress, Craig lets out a little whine and reaches his arm out, hoping to be able to catch Tweek's sleeve and pull him back. This is his coma dream, after all, and now that it's started, he's not ready for the kissing to stop.

It's kind of weird, though, that this dream version of Tweek is so much different from the others. This Tweek looks absolutely terrified, pressing his whole body up against the headboard and staring at Craig, eyes wider than ever before. He's practically vibrating, he's trembling so much; Craig can feel the entire bed shaking right along with him. This isn't how it's supposed to go, Dream Tweek is supposed to be the confident one, so why…?

Unless…

Every inch of exposed skin on Craig's body prickles with goosebumps and he gulps, letting his gaze fall from Tweek to rest on his left arm. Almost in slow motion, he curls his right hand into a fist and raises it into the air. Silently, only mouthing the words, he counts down from three, and then punches himself as hard as he can in the left shoulder.

"Ow, shit!"

"Why did you do that!?"

Craig's breath catches in his throat, his eyes glued to the teal sheets beneath him. His shoulder is aching like crazy, but he's still sitting on this bed, not waking up in the auditorium, which can only mean one thing: he's not dreaming. He's really here, in Tweek's dorm room. His stomach clenches and he suddenly regrets finishing that huge plate of fettuccine and a third of the tiramisu at Sorriso earlier. Tweek had actually–

"You, uh, you fucking kissed me," he accidentally blurts out before he can stop himself. He's not sure if it's his voice that's shaking or if it's being affected by the vibrations of the mattress. His heart is pounding in his chest so hard he half-expects it to burst right out of his body and go flying across the room. Fighting against every urge he has to flee, to get the fuck out of there and back to his own dorm where he can hide out for the rest of fucking eternity, Craig forces himself to stay as still as possible as he lifts his head. He needs to stay. He needs to find out why Tweek had kissed him. Was it a mistake? A bet? A dare?

Or something else…?

"What?!" Tweek is hugging himself with both arms, rocking back and forth, confusion only one of the many emotions written across his face. "You punched yourself because I kissed you!?"

"What?!" Oh. Shit. "Uh, oh, um, no, I just, uh, I needed to, uh–" Blushing for probably the eight thousandth time in two days, Craig pulls his chullo down so it's covering his eyes as he mumbles the last half of his sentence, "–check if I was, um, dreaming?"

There's silence for a few moments. Craig can't see through the fabric of the chullo – all he can see when he opens his eyes is blue – but he's sure he knows exactly what the expression on Tweek's face is going to be, and it's not good. He's just made himself sound fucking insane, and Tweek is probably regretting even inviting him up here in the first place.

"Why– why would you think you were d– dreaming?" There's a little bit less panic in Tweek's voice now, though it still sounds much more strained than earlier, and he's stuttering a little bit. It actually sounds a lot more like the first time Craig had met him, in the bookstore, when he was stressing out over his and Clyde's final.

If he wasn't busy being distracted by his own imminent panic attack, Craig would be replaying that stutter in his mind, because how fucking cute is it that Tweek stutters when he's nervous? He's off the fucking charts attractive, he should have confidence coming out of his fucking ears, but here he is being nervous in front of Craig, of all people? The noirette takes a deep breath, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets to try to ground himself and stop the whole room from spinning the way that his mind is spinning right now.

"Um," he squeaks, his face reddening even more when he hears his own voice. He sounds like one of the fucking mice from Cinderella, for Christ's sake. Oh, fuck, now he can't get that stupid song out of his head, thanks a lot, Trish. Okay, no, he has to focus, he can't just sit here like a moron, Tweek is waiting for an answer. He doesn't even know if he has an answer; he can't tell him the truth, can he? Craig lets out the loudest internal groan never heard when his brain cheerfully sings the answer to him: You can do it, you can do it, you have to answer Tweekerelly.

His brain is right, though. Craig knows that. He has to give Tweek an answer, and he knows that it has to be the truth. He thinks back over everything that has happened in the last two days; all of the awkward encounters, all of the stupid shit that's come out of his mouth, and every time he's demonstrated his complete inability to stay on his own two feet. Despite all of that, despite having every right to stay far away from Craig for the rest of time, Tweek had still kissed him tonight. That has to mean something, doesn't it?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Craig clears his throat. He can't run away from this one, not if there's even the slightest possible chance of kissing Tweek again. "Um," he repeats, thankfully sounding more like himself and less like a tiny Disney character, "Because I, uh– Because you kissing me– It only happens...when I'm dreaming."

The silence that follows his words seems to drag on forever, giving Craig an unlimited amount of time to go over what he'd just said and wish to God he'd said it differently. All the possible ways he could have told Tweek he has a crush on him, and he goes with the one that sounds the most like a fucking soap opera? Perfect. Just perfect. He can feel his whole face burning, and the chullo isn't helping, the fabric only serving to keep the heat locked in all around him. But there's no way he can take it off right now and face Tweek, not after that.

God, why is it still so fucking quiet? Say something! Craig wants to scream. The longer the quiet lasts, the more certain he is that Tweek had only kissed him as part of a dare or something equally as humiliating. Part of Craig's brain argues that doing something like that would go against every part of Tweek's personality that he has come to know in the last two days. After the whole bookstore misunderstanding, the blonde has been nothing but sweet to him, no matter what dumbass thing Craig had done; but, again, he's only known him for two days. Craig has no idea what Tweek is really like at all, does he?

Come on, come on. Still clutching the sheets tightly with both hands, Craig shifts his body slightly on the bed. If Tweek is going to reject him, he would rather he just hurry up and do it. At least then he wouldn't have to sit here and let the silence torture him.

Craig is so caught up in his own head that doesn't even feel Tweek move closer. The only warning he gets that something is about to happen is the scent of cinnamon and coffee, and then he feels a hand rest on the back of his head, gently pulling him forward. When Tweek's lips make contact with his again, Craig's entire body goes weak; if it wasn't for Tweek's hand on the back of his head, he's sure he would tip right over backwards to land in a heap on the floor.

The second kiss lasts longer, and though it still catches Craig off guard at the beginning, after a couple of seconds he finds the presence of mind to kiss back. It's slow and tentative for both of them, and a little bit clumsy; their noses bump together a few times too many, knocking their lips a bit off course each time, but they work together to find their ways back to each other, neither one of them willing to stop. Craig unclenches one of his hands and reaches up, tangling his fingers in Tweek's hair instead, overly conscious of the fact that one wrong move on his part could rip some of that gorgeous hair out and completely ruin the moment.

And this is a moment that cannot be ruined, under any circumstances. This is one of those moments that needs to be preserved in a fucking museum.

Craig doesn't know how much time passes, only that when he and Tweek finally break apart, he's breathless, his lungs practically screaming for air. He gulps down a lungful of oxygen and runs his tongue over his lips; there's just the faintest hint of coffee flavor lingering on them, and it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

He blinks against a sudden bright light as his chullo is slowly tugged off of his head. Instinctively, he lifts his hand to adjust his horrific hat hair, but his arm is caught by the wrist mid-air. He cautiously shifts his gaze to Tweek's face, suddenly terrified of what he might say. Oh, God, if he tells him that it had all been a joke, Craig is pretty sure he'll die right there.

"Leave it," Tweek sounds just as breathless as Craig feels, and his cheeks are flushed. Still holding onto Craig's wrist, he lowers their arms, sliding his hand down to entwine their fingers. "Your hair looks good messy."

"Oh, um, so do you." Craig cringes. He'd really been hoping that now that he's actually kissed Tweek, he'd be able to talk to him a little more intelligently, but apparently not. "I mean, um, your hair– You look good. Um. All the time." He's decided that he might as well continue with the honesty; after all, the last time he was honest, it had resulted in kissing.

"Thank you." Tweek gives his hand a squeeze, and Craig feels like he might pass out again. "Do you, um…" His voice is uncertain, almost like he's not sure he wants to hear the answer. "Do you still think you're dreaming?"

"God, I hope not." The words are out of Craig's mouth before he can even try to self-filter them into something a little less desperate-sounding. There's honesty, and then there's whatever the hell goes on inside his brain. "Uh, I mean...no. I don't."

Tweek's lips curve into a little smile. "I'm glad," he says. He starts rubbing small circles into the back of Craig's hand with his thumb. "I was really hoping I was, um, reading you right."

Craig's eyes are glued to their hands, watching as Tweek's thumb moves, each rotation sending another shiver down his spine. Holy fuck. This might be real. Hardly daring to let himself hope, he mumbles, "What, uh, what tipped you off?"

Tweek laughs, and Craig can't help but crack a smile too, both because he's in awe of how fucking beautiful the sound is and because even he knows it's a ridiculous question. As much as he'd tried to tell himself he'd totally nailed every one of his cover-ups, the only way Tweek wouldn't have picked up on anything would be if he had an IQ of 12.

"Honestly, I wasn't sure until tonight, when you…" Tweek tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, mimicking Craig's earlier action as a demonstration. "But I did start wondering when, um, you never really looked me in the eye." He bites his lower lip, adding, "I kinda thought that meant either you hated me, or…"

"Who could ever hate you?" Craig asked, dumbfounded at the fact that Tweek seems to think that's even a possibility.

Tweek's smile dims, morphing into something more sad, when he answers, "You'd be surprised…"

"What do you mean?" How the hell could anybody not like Tweek? That doesn't make any sense.

Tweek sighs, his gaze falling to his lap. "It's a long story. Long stories, I guess. It's pretty much a saga at this point."

"Tell me," Craig says, surprising himself with how gentle his own voice sounds. "Um, I mean, if you want to. You don't have to, but, I mean, you said you wanted to talk to me anyway... And I don't have anywhere to be tonight so…"

"Are you sure…?" Tweek asks, hesitantly. "It's kind of a lot, and I don't want to just...dump all this stuff on you when we hardly know each other."

Struck with an idea, Craig digs into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone. "How about...," he says, opening his Chrome app and navigating to his bookmarks, looking for one website in particular. "Clyde sent me this list of icebreakers one time when he thought we didn't know enough about each other." He rolls his eyes as he clicks on the link he wants. "Don't ask me how that's possible when we've known each other since preschool."

Tweek lets out a little chuckle at that and Craig can't help but feel proud of himself for being the cause of a moment of happiness for him.

"So," he continues, holding his phone up so Tweek can see the screen, "We can go through this, and, um, ask each other questions? And then whenever you feel comfortable, you can tell me a bit of your story? Or, if you don't feel comfortable, you don't." Almost as if his body realizes that's the longest he's gone without fucking up a sentence in front of Tweek so far, he finishes with the absolutely ridiculous non-word, "Grah?"

Tweek looks up. He's biting his lower lip again and all Craig wants to do is lean over and kiss him for a third time so he can take care of that for him. "Grah," he says, with another little laugh.

"Okay," Craig says, sounding far more confident than he feels as the nervous butterflies that live in his stomach begin fluttering around like crazy again. He sets his phone down on the bed, open to the list of questions. "You go first."