A/N:
:)

"I think we should talk."

Craig's stomach clenches with dread the instant he hears those words, and he swallows hard against the sudden lump in his throat. Tweek is looking at him, his expression completely unreadable, and Craig just wants the faux leather seat of the booth underneath him to open up into a portal to nothingness and swallow him whole. He has no idea what Tweek could possibly want to talk about, especially with him. After all, Tweek had already made it very clear, with those four heart-shattering words he'd texted Clyde nearly a week ago now, that he's not interested in hearing anything Craig has to say about what had happened with Stan.

But what if…?

A trace of suspicion flickers in Craig's eyes for a moment, even as he feels a flutter of hope inside him at the possibility that this could be a good talk. Clyde had sworn up and down that he wouldn't say anything to Tweek without Craig's permission, but if he had… No, Craig thinks to himself, with an internal sigh. Clyde is a lot of things, but he doesn't break promises. Not important promises, anyway. Not promises that involve Craig's whole world.

So it's not like Tweek all of a sudden has new information that would make him change his mind. Although… The flutter of hope transitions into a crushing feeling, like someone is suddenly squeezing the life out of Craig's heart and the left side of his chest actually begins aching. Honestly, Tweek probably shouldn't change his mind. Walking away from Craig is probably the best decision he could have made for himself.

Tears prickle at the corners of Craig's eyes again. He lifts his right hand up to shield his face from Tweek's view under the pretense of scratching his forehead, only to completely betray himself with a sniffle as he thinks about just what kind of person he is: a disgusting, ugly asshole who treats everyone he knows like shit and is beyond lucky that his childhood best friend, one of the nicest people in the whole goddamn world, has stuck around as long as he has. He doesn't deserve someone like Clyde in his life. He definitely doesn't deserve someone as perfect as Tweek. God, when Craig thinks about it, he doesn't even deserve a douchebag like Stan fucking Marsh. He doesn't deserve anyone.

"I'm sorry."

Tweek's quiet voice breaks into his internal, self-deprecating monologue, and for a moment, Craig isn't sure he's heard Tweek correctly. He swipes his hand across both eyes and then lets it fall back to his side, fighting hard to keep his voice steady when he responds, "Uh, what?"

Tweek's hands are shaking as the blonde taps his fingertips against the surface of the table. He and Craig make eye contact for half a second, and then Tweek looks down, biting his lip. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

Craig has to dig his own fingernails into his palms to consciously stop himself from accidentally laughing in disbelief. "What?" he asks again, somehow completely blanking on the fact that there are other words that exist in the English language despite his mind racing faster than Red Racer himself. What the hell could Tweek possibly have to be sorry for? He'd already apologized to Clyde for not wanting to talk to Craig before. Did he really just come over here to do it again to Craig's face? That doesn't make any sense.

Unless he's about to hit Craig with something else that's going to devastate him even more – if that's even possible. Craig's pretty sure there's no way he could feel worse than he already does, but he should probably know better than to tempt the universe like that. If there's one lesson to be learned from living in South Park his whole life, it's that things somehow always find a way to get worse.

Maybe after seeing how gross Craig looks right now, Tweek is worried he's going to snap and actually go legitimately crazy and he's decided to get a restraining order against him. Maybe he's already called the psychiatric hospital and he's just sitting here right now to keep Craig here until the guys in the white coats show up and cart him away to a padded room where he can live out the rest of his miserable existence alone, just the way it should be. Without realizing it, Craig begins tapping out the same rhythm on the seat of the booth that Tweek is tapping on the table.

"I…" Tweek frowns at the surface of the table, looking conflicted.

Craig's entire body tenses, and he braces himself for yet another dose of heartbreak. Oh, God, please just make it quick.

"Tweak."

"What?!" Craig blurts out the same word for the third time in a row, much louder than he'd meant to. He knows that the other people in the restaurant are probably staring at him again, but he's too busy being hopelessly confused to care.

Tweek clears his throat with a tiny ahem that makes Craig's heart jump. "Tweak," he says again, his voice wavering slightly. "It's…that's my last name."

"Your last name," Craig echoes, dumbly.

"Yeah," Tweek says. "I, um, I never answered you, the last time you asked…but that's it."

"Tw– wait, so, what's your first name?" Craig glances over to his dead cell phone beside him in the booth, like he's going to have any reason to need to retain this information. He should be thinking about how he has to delete Tweek's contact info, not update it.

Tweek sighs, blowing a lock of hair off of his forehead in the process. When he speaks again, there's a weary quality to his tone, like he's had to explain this a million times. "Tweek. It's just spelled differently."

"Tweek Tweak. Is your name?" It's not strong enough that he actually does, but for the first time in days, Craig feels the slight urge to smile, because for some reason he finds Tweek's whole name to be the most fucking adorable thing he's ever heard.

The tip of Tweek's nose turns a light shade of pink as he blushes. "Um, yeah," he says, ceasing all tapping to fiddle with the cardboard coaster that had come with Craig's glass of water from earlier. "It's stupid, I know. I'm going to, um, change it once I–"

"Don't do that," Craig says without thinking, his own face flushing bright red when he realizes he's spoken. "I mean, uh, you, um, it's not stupid. At least no one calls you Fucker." What the actual hell is his problem? Why the fuck did he say that?

One corner of Tweek's mouth twitches slightly, but he doesn't smile. "I would never call you that," he says softly, and Craig's heart skips a few million more beats.

There's a minute or two of silence before either of them say anything else. Tweek is spinning the coaster around in his fingers. Craig is watching his face, looking for any clues as to where this conversation is going, while also simultaneously doing his very best to keep himself from spontaneously combusting. At some point, the waitress shows up with Craig's tiramisu, setting it down unceremoniously onto the table with a clatter, but he can't even think about eating it right now. Tweek catches her before she can walk away and he begins to ask for a cup of coffee, but stops himself halfway through and orders a glass of water instead, and then continues with the Coaster Capades.

Finally, after what feels like forever and a half, Tweek raises his head, meeting Craig's eye before the noirette can look away. He rakes both hands through his blonde hair, sits up a little straighter and bites his lower lip again, dropping the coaster onto the table. "I need to tell you something," he says, holding up a shaking hand as Craig opens his mouth. "And I… Can you promise n-not to say anything until I'm f-finished?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. Craig's stomach sinks. He isn't sure what the stutter means, exactly; but he does remember that the last time he'd heard Tweek stutter, it had been when he was telling Craig about being locked in a fucking basement for most of his life because of his fucking asshole parents, so…it can't be anything good. He nods, his throat dry.

Tweek glances over at the table where Lola and Red are sitting, and Craig instinctively also looks in the same direction. Both girls are watching the two of them, and Lola tilts her head to the side, lifting up one arm and curling her fingers into the shape of half a heart. Tweek returns the gesture, and then turns back to Craig, clearing his throat again.

"I know," he starts, "that you didn't kiss Stan. I know that he…f-forced himself on you."

"How–?" Craig immediately clamps his mouth shut, wanting to punch himself in the face. Fuck. He'd promised to let Tweek say whatever it was he had to say without interrupting, and all it had taken was two fucking seconds and he's already fucked up. Typical fucking Tucker. But how do you hear a fucking bombshell like that and not say something? This is the conversation he wasn't supposed to be able to have, the one Tweek had said he couldn't have.

Craig's eyes flick down to the chullo sitting in his lap and he's suddenly hit with the fear that he's dreaming, and none of this is real. As discreetly as possible, he shifts his legs around and nails himself in the shin with the heel of his right foot. A low grunt escapes his lips at the sharp pain that radiates through his limb, but it doesn't matter, because the point is, this is real, and not a dream, and holy fucking shit.

Thankfully, Tweek doesn't seem to notice Craig kicking himself like an idiot, and he also doesn't seem angry about Craig's interruption. "Kenny told me," he says. "I guess he and Bridon, um, his coworker? I guess they were talking to Becca about it, and then she, um, told me I sort of…overreacted. And I…I think I might have."

It takes Craig a minute to recall who Becca is, and then he remembers that Red is not, in fact, her actual name. He nods again, biting his tongue to keep himself from asking more questions. His heart and his brain are both going crazy right now and he doesn't know what's going to happen first, the aneurysm or the heart attack.

What he does know is that if Kenny McCormick were here in Sorriso at this moment in time, he'd probably accidentally tackle him to the floor with how hard he would hug the fuck out of him. He doesn't even care that Kenny had taken it upon himself to get all up in Craig's business, nor does he give a fuck if Clyde had known about Kenny's intentions and hadn't told him about it; because if these are the kinds of things those two have decided to use their charismatic powers for, then Craig is just fucking grateful that they've chosen to help him.

"So," Tweek is saying, as their waitress appears and drops off his glass of water. "I, um, I think… I owe you an explanation for, um, why I…freaked out."

Craig wants to argue, to tell Tweek that he doesn't owe him anything, that if anyone owes anyone anything it's him who owes Tweek for making him feel anything but happy in the first place. But he doesn't; instead, to keep himself from opening his stupid mouth again, he grabs the nearest utensil and scoops a bite of tiramisu into his mouth, only noticing at the last possible second that he's holding a knife. Goddammit.

Tweek pulls the glass of water closer, but he makes no move to pick it up and drink it. He just wraps both his hands around the glass and stares down at the liquid inside. "I told you about the b-basement," he says, his voice lowering a bit more, like he's afraid of someone overhearing his words, "but there's, um, s-something else." He blinks, a shiny sheen of tears glistening in his eyes.

Setting the knife down on the side of the plate, Craig slowly chews the tiramisu in his mouth, regretting taking the bite, because now he has to swallow it and send it into his churning stomach. He really wants to reach across the table and grab Tweek's hands, or get up and go sit on the other side of the booth next to him, or, fuck, just to do something that will keep those tears from falling.

"When I was n-nine," Tweek says. "My parents would l-let me out of the basement sometimes to help out in the shop with them, and I used to have to g-go get the, um, my dad called it the special ingredient–" He lets go of the glass to make air quotes with his fingers, returning them to their original spot and gripping the glass tighter as he goes on. "–from these people, um, their dealers, I guess? I remember they rented out this, like, um, garage, I think, from these other people who were always fighting." He wrinkles his nose slightly. "And I remember there were rats."

Wait. That sounds familiar. Craig wants to ask if this garage was near any train tracks, but he doesn't get the chance, because Tweek continues talking.

"Um, and then, a few years later, they started delivering right to the store instead. I think they couldn't afford to rent the garage or something?" Tweek lifts the glass to take a drink of water, his hands shaking so badly that he spills some on the table.

Craig swallows his bite of tiramisu and pushes his napkin closer to the puddle underneath Tweek's glass to wipe it up. Tweek gives him the tiniest ever smile in return as he sets the glass down, but his eyes are sad.

"They, um, they had a kid, who needed a lot of therapy and, um, medication, I think," Tweek says with a sniffle as a couple of tears start trickling down his face. "Um, his name was T-Thomas, he, um, had Tourette's, and he was m-my best friend– my only friend, for a couple of years. Sometimes he was allowed in the basement with me to watch TV." Tweek's cheeks redden with his next statement. "And then when w-we were, um, fourteen, he– we k-kissed, once." He picks up his own napkin and presses it against his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Oh, God, s-sorry."

"Fuck," Craig says, accidentally. "I mean, uh, don't. Don't be sorry, fuck. Fuck. I mean, it's– it's fine." For Christ's sake, Tucker, there are other fucking words you idiot. He inhales his own deep breath, trying to hold himself together as he processes the information he's just been given. He knows he shouldn't, because it's petty and stupid and it's not like Craig had virgin fucking lips when they first met, but he can't help the faint twinge of jealousy he feels at the news that Tweek had kissed someone else before him.

But that feeling of jealousy dissipates almost immediately when Tweek lowers the napkin and Craig sees the look in his eyes. It's like a haunted kind of look, the kind that comes with trauma.

"Somehow…our parents found out. I don't know how." Tweek crumples the napkin in his hands. "But, um, my dad… Um, that's when I wasn't allowed out of the basement anymore. And then…" He hesitates for a moment.

Craig can't believe that there's more to this story. What he's heard is already more than anyone should ever have to go through in ten fucking lifetimes, but Tweek? Tweek is the absolute last person that would deserve anything like that. How had he managed to go through all that trauma, all that abuse and forced drug use and isolation, and be okay?

"I t-told you I had to go to rehab, right?" Tweek asks, and Craig just nods again for what feels like the fiftieth time. "That's, um, actually where I met, um, Lola." His eyes widen a little. "D-don't tell her I told you that, that's supposed to be a secret, um, you know, like confidential?"

"I won't say anything." Who would he tell?

Tweek taps on the table again, faster this time. "Okay. Um, well…part of rehab was, um, this therapy group I had to be in, and, um, Thomas…he was there too. I didn't think he would remember me 'cause…you know."

No, Craig thinks, he doesn't know. He can't imagine someone not remembering Tweek. He's going to remember him for the rest of his life.

"Um, but, he did, and…" Tweek's hands clench into fists suddenly and he stares down at the table. "We started d-dating."

Why is he telling him this? All the hope Craig had been feeling before suddenly rushes out of him. Is this why he's sorry? Because he's been lying to him and dating someone else this whole time? That doesn't sound like Tweek, Craig's inner voice protests, and that inner voice is proven right with the next words out of Tweek's mouth.

"He cheated on me." Tweek's voice comes out in a whisper, and Craig has to strain to hear him, but there's no mistaking what he's said. "I w-walked in on him with this other guy from group, and–" Tweek looks up, more tears streaming down his face, and the sight of him like this breaks Craig's heart more than being without Tweek had, because Tweek should never, ever have had to feel that much pain. "It s-sounds so stupid because I was only s-sixteen, but he was my friend when I had nobody and I really thought–" His voice breaks and it's a second before he can keep going, his words tumbling out a mile a minute, "–and when I saw you and Stan, I got– it just brought everything back and I didn't know what to do or how to handle it, and I just ran instead of letting you explain, and I'm so, so sorry." He sniffles, grabbing the crumpled up napkin and using it to wipe his face. "You don't have to forgive me, and I wouldn't blame you if you don't, but I owed you an explanation."

Craig's first, instinctive reaction, is to tell Tweek's that of course he forgives him, that it's fine, that he's so sorry he ever had to go through that, that he completely understands, and that he's more than willing to try starting a relationship with him again if that's what Tweek wants. Because, God, that's what he wants, what he's wanted more than anything since he'd first met Tweek in the bookstore that day. But for some reason he can't get those words to come out of his mouth.

Because you don't deserve him! Craig's brain shouts the words at him again, and now, more than ever, Craig knows that they're full of truth. He's not good enough for Tweek, and he never will be. Like, for fuck's sake, the way they reacted to the worst moments of their lives says it all. Tweek has made it through years and years of trauma and can still function enough to behave like an actual human being. Craig kissed his crush and then went into total apocalyptic meltdown mode when he fucked up and lost his chance. They're just not compatible.

"Um, okay," is what he says instead, keeping his eyes glued to the tiramisu on the plate in front of him so he doesn't have to look at Tweek's face.

"So…" Tweek says after a moment. "Um, Lola and Becca and I…we were going over to Clyde's tonight to watch movies. Were you going to be there?"

"No," Craig says, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. "No, I'm not going."

"Oh."

Oh, God, he really can't breathe. Maybe he's dying. Craig sucks in a deep lungful of air, but no oxygen seems to be getting into his system. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and grabs a bunch of bills without even checking to see what denominations they are, and throws them onto the table. "Uh, yeah, and I actually, um, have to go," he says, praying that he'll be able to make it back to his car without falling flat on his face because he's not entirely sure he'll be able to get up this time. "So, uh, I'll see you." He grabs his phone and hat and practically leaps out of the booth.

"Yeah… See you," Tweek says as Craig makes a beeline for the door. The blonde sadly stares after him as he disappears back out into the cold December night, adding quietly, "I missed you," before standing up and heading back to his own table, shaking his head at the girls on his way.