A/N:
I want to say thank you to everyone reading, and thank you so so much. One more A/N at the bottom.
Craig wakes with a start, his brain jolting him back to consciousness so suddenly he almost feels like he's been zapped with lightning. Hazy images of the dream he had been having are already fading away, disappearing back into the depths of his mind, never to be seen again; at least, he really hopes that last part is true. It's bad enough a certain dumbfuck asshole is all of a sudden assaulting him via text message shit again; Craig doesn't need him making guest appearances in his fucking dreams now too.
He blinks a few times, groggily, his eyes adjusting to the darkness with all of the speed of a sleepy snail as he tries to gauge what time it is based on the faint shadows on the wall. He's in the middle of a huge jawbreaking yawn, wishing that he'd been having another dream about Tweek instead, when he realizes two things.
One, the shadows on the wall that he's staring at don't look right – they're in the wrong places and they're shaped differently and he can't see the outline of Clyde's giant-ass dreamcatcher that he'd insisted upon hanging above his bed the second they'd moved into the dorm.
Two, fuck, his neck and upper back are fucking killing him; it feels like he'd fallen asleep with a bunch of fucking nails jammed into his body, like that story Kenny likes to tell about the one and only time he'd tried acupuncture because he'd found a Groupon for some sketchy day spa. Craig has only ever partially believed any of the shit that's come out of Kenny's mouth, but in this case he'd actually seen the Groupon with his own eyes, and it was only because of him that Clyde hadn't also gone along and risked death by gross, dirty needles. Craig can't help but roll his eyes as he thinks about it, because come on, who the fuck would go to a place called Rock The Caspah?
Frowning, Craig gingerly shifts his body, trying to sit up enough so that he can grab his phone, both to check the time and shine a light on his current situation; as he goes to move, though, he realizes a third thing that makes him immediately cease all movement: there's a weird kind of pressure on his chest that he hadn't noticed immediately upon waking up; it's not enough to hurt, but just enough so that's he's pretty much pinned in place. What the hell? Grimacing at the pain it causes, Craig turns his head to the left and tilts his chin down to see what's going on. When he does, his eyes widen and he wonders how in the fuck he could have possibly forgotten where he is right now.
Tweek is curled up next to him, with his entire body pressed right up against Craig's side. His head is resting on Craig's chest, using him as a pillow, that crazy blonde hair somehow even crazier when it's all spread out all over the place. He has one arm thrown halfway across Craig's torso, clutching a fistful of the noirette's hoodie, and as he softly snores, one corner of his mouth keeps twitching upwards into a little half-smile. Even though the room is nearly pitch-black, Craig can see Tweek as clearly as if the sun itself had decided to light up the room, and holy shit, he looks fucking adorable when he's sleeping. That's not surprising, though, since Tweek is the literal picture of fucking perfection; the surprising part is the fact that Craig is even here right now.
And the fact that Tweek had voluntarily kissed him, multiple times. Craig has no idea when they'd fallen asleep, but he does remember completely missing episode three of Red Racer because Tweek had sung along to the theme song at the beginning and it had been so fucking cute that Craig just couldn't help himself; he'd needed to show his appreciation. Now that he can, now that he knows that Tweek will actually kiss him back and not pepper spray him in the face, he wants to show his appreciation for Tweek a lot.
He still can't believe it. He can't believe that of all of the people in the college, in the town, in the fucking universe, Tweek likes him. Him. Craig Tucker, the least friendly, least charismatic, least attractive, least everything person ever. How the fuck had that happened? Craig presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, definitely just trying to rub the sleep crystals out of them and not at all on the verge of tears. He's got to be the luckiest person in all of existence.
Thank God he hadn't given in to those text messages. He shudders a little bit, wincing and awkwardly twisting his arm around to rub the back of his neck. He really should move and get more comfortable before he does any permanent damage. He has approximately zero desire to end up becoming a hunchback for the rest of his life; he's already got enough self-esteem issues as it is.
Carefully, doing his best not to picture himself as the deformed sidekick of a horror movie villain, Craig leans slightly forward. The room lightens a little bit, a sliver of moonlight shining in through the blinds covering the window and briefly illuminating Tweek's laptop that had, at some point, been shoved nearly to the end of the mattress. Craig stretches out one arm, managing to just snag it by the corner of the keyboard and drag it towards himself before one of them accidentally kicks it onto the floor and breaks it. He flips the lid closed and turns to set it down on the seat of the empty chair sitting at the desk.
When he moves, Tweek lets out a whiny little groan in his sleep and tightens his grip on the fabric in his fist. "Hnnggh," he murmurs, snuggling closer to Craig and burying his face into his shoulder. "Nnnnnn."
Craig's breath hitches in his throat and he gulps, hardly even paying attention as he lets the laptop drop two inches onto the chair. Jesus Christ, what the fuck is even happening right now? How is this happening? Overwhelmed with emotion, he slowly scoots his body lower so he can lay down properly, knowing he'll never forgive himself if he wakes Tweek up because he miscalculated something and accidentally elbowed him in the face or threw himself off the bed or summoned a demon from some hell dimension with some accidental hand gesture.
God, he fucking hates this town.
Not Tweek, though. There's no way he could ever hate Tweek. Tweek's parents on the other hand can go get run the fuck over by a cement truck for all Craig cares. Even better if he's the one who gets to drive the truck. He just cannot wrap his mind around how someone could do that to their own fucking kid. Like, Christ, he and his family don't really get along, and there's a reason they're all in Ohio but Craig is still in South Park; but even at their worst his parents would never have fucking forced drugs on him. And Tweek is a million – no, a trillion – times better than Craig could ever hope to be. Who could fucking do that to him?
Craig hopes that wherever they are, Tweek's parents are living lives full of absolute misery. Fuck you, Mr. and Mrs–
Huh. He still doesn't know Tweek's last name. He should try asking him again in the morning. The actual morning, not whatever stupid o'clock it is right now.
Craig settles into the soft mattress, sighing softly at how comfortable it is; he's still sore as fuck but at least his neck and back aren't screaming in pain at him anymore. Say what you want about South Park Community College, but at least they hadn't skimped out on the quality of their mattresses. He hovers his left arm awkwardly in the air for a moment before gently resting it on Tweek's back, and then changes his mind almost immediately, wrapping it loosely around Tweek's shoulders instead.
The blonde makes a little humming sound in his throat, and Craig smiles; all of Tweek's little sleep noises are like an orchestra of fucking adorableness and he hopes to God he's going to get to be able to listen to them way more often.
His smile disappears entirely, however, as soon as Tweek turns his head from Craig's shoulder and the noirette can see the look on his face; his eyes are squeezed tightly shut and that little twitchy half-smile from before has been replaced by a frown. No, not just a frown – Tweek looks terrified. The humming morphs into something else, a low, sort of moaning sound that sends a chill down Craig's spine. There's a lot of fear in that sound.
Without warning, Tweek's whole body jerks to the left, nearly flying right off the bed onto the floor. "NoI" he shouts, the exclamation echoing through the quiet air. He's still got a strong hold on Craig's hoodie despite being so deeply asleep, and Craig tightens his grip around Tweek's shoulders protectively. His own heart is beating rapidly, and he desperately wants to do something to help him, but doesn't know what to do.
He's never been good at this kind of thing. He knows that he's just not by nature a very comforting person. Trish used to have nightmares all the time and the only thing that ever helped her was this old as fuck grungy teddy bear that had belonged to their mom's aunt's sister-in-law or some shit, and that's not going to help him now.
Tweek violently claws at the air with his free hand, his whole body vibrating like crazy. "I'm sorry–" he pleads to an entity Craig can't see, the pain and terror in his voice shattering Craig's heart to pieces. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm–"
"Hey." Craig doesn't mean to say anything, and even when he does, his own voice comes out so quietly he's not even sure Tweek will hear him, especially considering he's not even fully conscious. "Hey, um, Tweek, it's…it's okay." Yeah, like that's going to help, moron. It's obviously not okay. He should know better. No amount of talking had ever been able to bring Trish out of a nightmare, just that stupid disgusting old bear, and–
Oh. That other thing. Fuck. Hasn't he already made enough of an ass of himself already? He can't do that, can he?
Tweek twitches again beside him, whimpering softly in between broken strings of apologies. Craig swipes at the air above him, figuring that if there's some kind of ghost or something terrorizing Tweek then he might as well give fighting it a shot too, since he's awake and all.
Yeah, you can. Of course he can. He'd do anything for Tweek, he's known that since basically the moment he'd met him. And at least there's a really good chance Tweek won't remember this in the morning. Trish never did when their mom did it for her. Craig closes his eyes, sucking in a big lungful of air and then blowing it upwards, making a few pieces of his hair flutter.
And then he starts to sing.
It's an old song that their mom used to sing to Trish when she was a baby, up until she was about eight or so, when it started being utterly humiliating to hear your parents sing at all. Craig doesn't quite remember the lyrics, but he's got a tenuous hold on the basic melody, and he's hoping that will be enough.
"Uh, I, uh, I know I don't hardly know you," he sings softly, cringing at the sound of his own voice. Some background music would be fucking great right now. "But I…" He swallows hard, the truth of the next lyrics hitting him hard in the heart. "...I think I could love you."
Tweek's whimpers pause, the blonde inhaling a deep, shuddering breath. Craig takes that as a good sign and continues the song. He stumbles a bit on the next couple of lines but he thinks he's doing all right, all things considered, until he completely blanks on what he's supposed to sing next.
Shit. Most of the song is just repeating the fucking title over and over again, so it shouldn't be this hard to remember. Goddammit. Craig racks his brain, risking a quick look down at Tweek as he thinks. He's still shaking, but he's not repeating that heartbreakingly plaintive, "I'm sorry," anymore. This might actually be working. Come on, Tucker. What the fuck is the name of the song? Something and something, right? What and what?
Tweek lets out another, "Nnnn," as he rolls back over onto his side and nuzzles his face into Craig's shoulder again, and Craig blurts out the first combination of words that come to his mind.
"Cinnamon and coffee, over and over…" Fuck, he knows that's so far off base, that the words are supposed to rhyme, and that the ones he's singing have too many syllables and they don't even fit the tune properly and this is why he doesn't fucking do shit like this, and he should just shut the fuck up–
"Over and over," Tweek sleep-mumbles into Craig's arm, his voice muffled and off-key but still melting the ever-loving shit out of Craig's entire being. Oh, fuck, well now he can't shut the fuck up, not if it's actually helping Tweek enough that it's broken through the nightmare.
"Over and over," Craig repeats the line, watching as Tweek's trembling slows even more. "Cinnamon and coffee…over and over…"
"Mmminnamon," Tweek sighs. He lets go of Craig's hoodie and curls his arm all the way around him until he's hugging him, making Craig forget to keep singing for a good fifteen seconds.
He stares down at the arm laying across his chest, and this time he doesn't get his hands to his eyes in time. A few rare tears trail down his cheeks as he thinks to himself, again, just how fucking lucky he is. Before he keeps going with the magical fucking song that apparently has the ability to cure every nightmare ever, he leans down and carefully presses his lips to Tweek's forehead, brushing a few strands of hair off of his face when he pulls back.
"What a beautiful feeling…"
A/N:
If you're interested, the song Craig is singing is "Crimson and Clover" by Tommy James.