Chapter 3

Two weeks into February, almost a month after Tweek had left rehab, he started working at Harbucks again, even though I made it clear that I would pay the rent as long as he was in school and clean. "I do some of my best writing after eight hours of making cappuccinos," he'd said, "and it's not like we couldn't use the money."

I quickly realized that Tweek was growing restless without something to take him away from his writing every now and then, and since he'd been a coffee lover since birth, he didn't mind making coffee for eight bucks an hour to fill this need. He'd many times expressed his aversion to working for a corporation like Harbucks, but he also knew it was a beggars-can't-be-chooser's situation, given the unemployment rate.

"Time to wake up," I murmured into Tweek's ear. He groggily shook me away and pulled the off-white covers over his face. "C'mon, it's almost ten, you'll be late," I said.

The blonde groaned and slowly got out of bed. I closed my eyes but I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. "What's this morning? Religion class?" I asked from the warmth of the bed as Tweek started getting dressed.

"And then English. Then after I have to work on a group project."

I scoffed. "A group project? You're twenty-three for Christ sake." He chuckled and pulled his socks on. I admired the view of a completely-naked Tweek bending over to force his left sock over his bony toes.

"Why don't you take a picture, Craig, it'll last longer," Tweek said with a faux-smug tone and without even looking back.

I laughed. "Good idea, go get your camera."

"No! I was joking!" But he turned around and saw the grin on my face and rolled his eyes affectionately knowing I was kidding too. He jumped into a pair of skinny jeans and a Green Day t-shirt. It was one of the only t-shirts he owned, always preferring long sleeves to hide both the semi-faded scars on his forearms and the tattoos on his upper arms (from his parents originally, but habits stick). But tomorrow was laundry day and there wasn't much else in the closet, I guessed.

He came over to kiss me goodbye before running out the door, half his coat buttons not done up and his hair a spiky mess.

I, too, had to get myself together for work in an hour, so I crawled out of bed and into a cup of coffee, moving slowly but surely into the shower and into my work clothes, a pair of black pants and a white t-shirt with – you guessed it! – a pizza on it. By the time I was awake enough to think, I was already tired of being alive for today and longing to go back to bed. I couldn't stand being conscious around myself.

Thankfully, Kenny and I hadn't been seeing much of each other since his "inspired" need to put us making out in his film. The only time I saw him was at group gatherings or at work, but luckily not much could happen if we were never alone. I made sure we were never alone.

But it was Saturday, and Kenny always worked Saturday.

"Hey, Craig!" he said as he walked in five seconds after me, smiling his dorky smile that made him look manic in the right lighting. "Long time no see. You've been on day shifts all week."

"Yeah, Token was off this week, he usually takes the day shifts."

Kenny nodded and punched his card. There were no deliveries, so we leaned against the cooler to wait and, unfortunately, talk. Kenny told me that he was planning on going skiing with Marjorine for spring break and wasted a good fifteen minutes of my life talking about the different kinds of skis and snowboards are popular right now. At least it was a step up from film-nerd talk and reptile-nerd talk.

After only a few runs over 5 hours, we ended up being sent home early. "Hey, we should go next door for a drink," Kenny suggested as we punched out. I racked my brain for some excuse, but at that moment, Stan stepped out of the bar to light a cigarette, and it was too late, it had officially become a group.

"Hey, guys," said Stan, shivering in the cold in just a hoodie and his red-poofball hat. "Jesus fuckballs it's cold!"

Kenny scoffed as Stan passed us both cigarettes in exchange for our company out in the cold, but I accepted so I wouldn't be submitted to being alone in a bar with Kenny. Kenny said he was quitting and went in.

"Quitting? Pfft, I quit twenty times a day."

I chuckled and smoked.

"How was work?"

"Shitty. Nobody tips when it's cold and the door's open, they just want me to fuck right off after delivering the lazy fucks their food."

Stan laughed. "Someone woke up on the bitter, cynical side of the bed this morning. Which is weird, cuz that's my side of the bed."

"What about you, you worked today, right?" I said.

He nodded. "I swear to god, if I have to make one more crappuccino I'm going to scream."

I snorted. Stan worked at Harbucks, but in the complete opposite way that Tweek did. "Find another job, then," I advised.

He took one last drag on his cigarette before stomping it out. Then he said, "Nah, I'm going back to school in the fall anyway."

"Oh, yeah, I totally forgot," I said, finding myself a little jealous that Stan had the money and the drive to go to school. "What did you apply for again?"

We went inside and headed towards Kenny. "Nursing."

"Right, right, I remember now. Have I called you gay yet?"

He snorted. "Twice."

"Here's a bonus: gaaaaay."

"Stop calling my boyfriend gay," Wendy joked as we sat down with her and Kenny.

I thanked her as she pushed a beer towards each of us. "Sorry, I didn't know you were still covering for him," I retorted.

Wendy stuck out her tongue and said, "Craig, you're homophobic."

"Well," I replied, taking a sip of beer, "You know, the homophobes are often the ones who are secretly gay themselves." Wendy and Stan burst into laughter. We kept talking and joking until Marjorine came with a round of drinks and we asked her how her day had been.

"Oh, well I just started an hour ago," she replied, twisting her shoulder-length blonde hair as she spoke. After a few moments, the conversation turned to me. "Where's Tweek?" Marjorine asked.

I informed everyone that Tweek was in class. Wendy frowned and and said, "Really? He wasn't in English this afternoon." I recalled Tweek mentioning an English class today (I could barely keep them straight, he was taking so many courses) but I couldn't think of any reason he'd skip, unless he had a sudden bout of anxiety.

I tried to push it out of my mind, but the rest of the night, I wondered about it. In fact, for the rest of the night, I found myself thinking about everything except having fun with my friends. I drank double what everyone else did and wore a fake smile all night.

I came home drunk at eleven. Tweek was in bed but not yet asleep. I sat down next to his thin form under the blankets and pet his hair.

"Hey, Craig," Tweek murmured. Even in my drunken state, I knew he had just been writing at that desk that he seemed to spend more time with than anyone. His eyes were closed, but his overactive mind was still swimming in academia.

"Hey, baby. Wendy said you didn't go to English class," I said as clearly and non-threateningly as possible.

Tweek rolled over toward me and sighed. "Uh, yeah, I skipped," he admitted, sounding guilty, face half-buried in a pillow. "I couldn't go, I was supposed to do a presentation but I was so anxious from working with my religion group – Red said I only went to rehab to get out of doing my part of the project and she was going to get me to fail! I... I freaked out."

I leaned down and gave him a hug. "It's okay, it's okay," I said, but I went too slow and sloppy.

"A-are you drunk? I thought you were at work!"

"We left at five or six, and Stan happened to be at the bar –" I said quickly. He finally turned his face toward me and opened his eyes. His red, lidded eyes.

I didn't say anything for a second. "Anyway, what did you do all day? Were you writing?" I asked, standing up from the bed and getting undressed. But I couldn't focus on his answers, because the only thing I could think of was holy shit Tweek is high.

And when I did loop back into what he was saying, it was only more obvious. I was drunk, but I could still tell that he was speaking nonsense. I crawled back into bed and held his face in my hands. His eyes were too heavy to open – I recognized this phenomenon from the last time I'd seen him high, more than a month ago.

I had a sudden moment of self-identity crisis. "Am I the kind of person to confront him?" I asked myself honestly. After a moment of deep thought, I decided that I wasn't – right now. He was tired and still murmuring gibberish into the pillow. I was sure I was right, but I didn't want to do this right now. I curled up against his exhausted frame and kissed him. He kissed me back and pulled me closer, but I couldn't make love to him while he wasn't completely lucid. I just whispered that I was tired and kissed him goodnight.

But I was too anxious, and I didn't sleep a wink all night.