Addict
A/N: So the bit where Craig and Christophe pretend to date. Trust me, that's the most you guys will be getting of the two of them in that sort of situation in this story. And this chapter's all like 'Oh, goodness, Tweek, where have you been?' Can you believe that there are only a few more chapters after this one? Chances all this story will be finished before Halloween. Oh that's so scary…I don't want it to end... ;-;
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't claim to, wouldn't dream of it, got it memorized?
Chapter Eleven: I'm Gonna Hate You
It all happens pretty quickly. Mainly because I'm not expecting it and it throws me off guard. Normally Kyle wouldn't even try to touch me. He's not that much shorter, but he's certainly smaller than me, relatively weak and doesn't know how to punch for the life of him unless he catches someone who doesn't know he's about to punch them, which is what he does to me.
I do stumble back however and I'm relatively sure my nose is going to bleed at some point, I can just tell he did some damage to it. "What the fuck?" I mumble, hardly even knowing that it was Kyle who just punched me. I'm next to Christophe who was just about to hand me his French homework so I can just copy it, but that's barely registering in my mind. Kyle goes to kind of kick me or something lame like that, but I push the fucker away.
"What the fuck?" I repeat, louder than before. The situation is starting to call for everyone to watch us. Things like this happen far too rarely in our hallways so when a fight breaks out, even a gaywad one like this is going to turn out being, everyone wants to watch. The thing is I don't really want to fight Kyle. Oh, sure, it's sweet and all, I bet Kyle's so pissed and wants to take back his man, but I don't care enough to fight with him about it.
Kyle doesn't exactly say anything. If I was him I wouldn't either. People are watching and if he said anything about why, exactly, he has decided he needs to attempt to beat me up he'd basically be outing himself to half the population of the school and Kyle's smart enough not to do that. I look at Christophe, for some reason, like he's going to help me out with deciding what to do, but he's just watching us, amused almost, and I know he won't help us.
In the mere seconds that I take a glance at the person we're supposedly fighting over Kyle punches me in the stomach. It's a totally low blow, I wasn't even looking. "Cheap shot, Kahl, you stupid Jew!" I hear Cartman yell from our ever-expanding audience. It's nice to know someone agrees with my thoughts. But I still don't want to fight Kyle, I'm really, honestly, not angry with him and I try and tell him as much, but I barely get a word out before he goes to punch me again.
I manage to grab him and push him against a locker and mutter to him, "Don't do this, Broflovski, it's really not worth it. I don't need to lay a finger on you to ruin your reputation." He knows I can kick his ass, but he also realizes I don't want to and the implication of my words and for a minute I think he's given up and we can tell everyone to move along, nothing to see, besides a bunch of fags making a bigger deal out of something than needs to be made. But then I realize what Kyle is going to do a second before he does it. I don't even do anything, just close my eyes and brace for impact.
"You're in love with Tweek, you fag!" he practically shrieks. I forgot, he didn't need to lay a finger on me either. But now I'm angry at him and despite the sea of whispers that are now cascading through the hallway, despite the fact that I see Tweek staring at me, his eyes wide, despite everything, fuck the consequences, just this once, I practically tackle Kyle. I think a few girls kind of scream, but I don't really notice, I punch Kyle a few times and he tries to fight back, but hell hath no fury like a teenager outed in front of half of his high school.
Someone grabs me, Christophe I only barely register, and he has a good grip on my arms even as I try to get away to do more damage to the redhead. Kyle sits up and looks a bit mortified while Stan rushes to his side. I could, I suppose, yell out that they're fucking each other daily and nightly, I could do that to him, but I just don't care enough, so I flip him off which is the best I can do with Christophe holding me back. "Stupid…fucking Jew," I manage to pant out.
"Broflovski, Nommel, counselor's office, now." It's our French teacher, Madame Whatever and she looks royally pissed. Our teachers must have been taking bets on who would win and she probably lost. I find it funny that we're going to the counselor's office, but I remember the whole fight program. We need to talk out our differences before we get punished. How very progressive of our school. I wonder how often talking about it ever helps anyone and I have to imagine never.
Some of the other teachers are working on getting everyone to class. Christophe lets go of me and gives me this semi-reassuring, more awkward than anything, pat before giving me my hat back. "Do you zink zat et worked?" he hisses at me as I start to walk away. I look at him, kind of disgusted, but then nod and roll my eyes as he looks pleased with himself. Oh, I bet he is. Not that this worked out well for me in any way, shape or form, but, hey, Kyle got jealous so it's a good day for Christophe DeLorne!
My disgust stays with me as I have to catch up with Kyle and our French teacher. There are a few stray people in the halls. I see Kenny with Butters and he kind looks at me like he's disappointed. I still haven't really talked to Tweek, by his definition, and I'm aware of that but there's nothing I can really do about that now so I can't be worried about it. I need to stay in the moment or something gay like that, deal with things as they come at me.
I'm pleased to see that we're talking to Miss Something, and she looks completely different. She, like, reinvented herself, or got a makeover or something. You wouldn't even believe it if you saw it. She's like one of those hot teachers you kind of want to bang but that you'd never admit to anyone that you think about them that way. She has on a skirt and strappy sandals and a button up shirt that's not buttoned up all the way. Kyle doesn't so much as glance at her. Apparently he's totally gay. I, on the other hand, am not above giving her a second glance.
Good God, she's a completely different woman now. She's smiles at both of us as Madame Whatever, who is even angrier than that time Christophe taught Kyle and I to swear in French, tells her that we were fighting. Miss Something takes control of the situation, says that she can handle it and pretty much pushes Madame Whatever out of the room before closing the door behind her. "Well, she certainly was persistent, wasn't she?" Miss Something says breathlessly as she sits down across from us. Her desk is clean as compared to the last time I was here.
"She can be like that," I say, getting mildly comfortable in the chair and smiling at her, charming as I am. Kyle looks ready to puke and it's not just because I punched him in the face seven times.
"Do you want a tissue?" she asks me. I stare at her blankly for a few minutes, only registering something about tissue and that her new haircut suits her really nicely. I bet she's a total lesbian. She seems like the type. "For your nose, Craig." I realize my nose is bleeding and accept the tissue with a sheepish grin, like, oh my gosh, how nice of you to offer, how about we kick Kyle out and get down to business?
"Now," she says, "I know Craig from earlier this year and – and I know Kyle somewhat, I believe you talked to me about college?" Kyle nods, blushing red. Oh, yeah, I bet they talked about college. I wonder where he's going. Harvard or Yale or somewhere like that, wherever they have kosher food and breed geniuses. I'll be lucky to go to community college with my grades, and I hardly doubt my SAT scores will help any. "And I talked to you about…," she says, facing me for a moment, apparently drawing a blank.
"I was smoking at lunch," I say, unabashedly, batting my eyelashes at her. Yeah, I'm sure she's real enticed by my seventeen year-old antics. What I catch I am for Miss Something.
"Hmm," she says, thoughtfully. "And you two got into a fight?"
"A tiny one," I say, almost sarcastically, but not quite. I mean, obviously something happened, so why waste our time on questions that will only lead to obvious answers? She might as well have asked if Kyle has red hair. Miss Something 'hmm's again and looks back and forth between us. I know she's assessing things. Like, alright, Smoking For Attention Kid has a bit of a nose bleed and Redhead Jew's face is going to be bruised for a while, who got more damage? If you're not retarded you can figure out its Kyle.
"Who started the fight?" she asks. I open my mouth, but she holds up a hand to me and looks toward Kyle with a kind smile.
"I did," Kyle admits, with a little cough. Miss Something looks a little surprised, but manages to hide it after a few seconds.
"Shouldn't you, like, separate us so we don't kill each other while you're filling out suspension forms or something?" I ask, slightly bored with the entire thing. I know how this is going to end up. Kyle and I won't be at school tomorrow, my mom will be Very Disappointed In Me, and his mom will ground him forever and try and cover up his bruises with makeup. It's all very predictable. I'm sure that, at this very moment, everyone's talking about what happened. Nothing else to talk about, really.
"I should," she says, with a shrug. "But I don't do that. I believe I should hear a truthful story from the both of you, together, as unorthodox as that may seem and then we'll talk about it." As soon as she says 'talk about it' Kyle and I both audibly groan, because no one ever wants to 'talk about it.' "I do not, however, believe in suspensions for things such as this," she continues. "It only furthers the belief that you two are delinquents."
"We aren't delinquents?" I say in mock surprise.
"I hardly think so, Craig," she says to me. I kind of blush and feel awkward and completely stupid for trying to make a joke out of this. I'm not even angry though, just kind of embarrassed. "So, which one of you wants to tell me what happened first?" she asks us, with an inviting smile. She still has that way of talking that makes you want to tell her stuff. She didn't become a counselor for nothing, I suppose.
"It was really all my fault," Kyle blurts out, surprising Miss Something somewhat, but surprising me even more. "I was kind of jealous of, um, Craig because he was hanging around with this guy – my friend." I roll my eyes at that one. Lame cover up, he pretty much made it obvious that he's flaming, and I don't mean his hair. "I have a pretty bad temper so I started the whole thing and made it worse by, uh…" He trails off, blushing, making it very clear he doesn't want to fess up to what he did.
"He told everyone I, you know, like my friend Tweek," I supply for Miss Something. She looks at me, understanding what I mean, suddenly. I have the feeling she remembers talking about Tweek the last time I was here, but she doesn't say anything, just nods at me to continue. "I have a temper too and, honestly, I wasn't even going to fight with him until he pretty much let half the school in on something that's not even any of his business, but when he did I just lost it and did, well, uh, that," I finish, pointing directly at Kyle's face.
"I see," Miss Something says, looking down at her clean desk like there's a hidden message somewhere, telling her how to deal with this exact situation. "Well, how does that make you feel, Craig?" I snort at her lame, stereotypical question but she glares at me and I feel a bit embarrassed again. "What I mean is, did that help at all?" she asks, gesturing to Kyle who's kind of listening with interest now. "Did it make you feel any better to get angry and punch poor Kyle, here?"
"Well, yeah, a little," I respond with a shrug, biting back my laughter at the 'poor Kyle' reference. "Like we talked about before, with cigarettes and stuff like that. I get a release, being angry, beating someone up, I guess, is the same thing. Probably a bad alternative, but oh fucking well." Miss Something cringes a bit when I swear but doesn't say anything about it. "Besides, I figured if Kyle was going to out me to half of the school I might as well come out fighting." Which is, essentially, my logic. I don't want anyone thinking that just because I'm a bit of fag – I'm only half, really – that means that I'm a push-over. It doesn't.
"Okay," Miss Something says slowly. "And how about you Kyle? Did starting this whole little charade make you feel any better? Did your…friend, did he seem at all impressed by what you did or did you think that it would impress him?"
"No," Kyle says shortly. I can see that Miss Something is getting on his nerves. I wish she was getting on mine. "I didn't do it for anyone's attention; I did it because I was mad."
"Why were you mad exactly?" she asks, suddenly sure that she's on to something.
"Because Craig was doing stuff with him," Kyle says slowly, uncomfortably, his face turning red. "I don't want to talk about it. It bothered me, alright, and I was stupid, but I don't want to talk about it." Miss Something 'hmm's and looks back and forth between us a few times. Kyle is wonderfully distressed, at least to me, and I just smile at her like I don't have a problem in the world. Not that I really feel that way, but it's much easier to keep up an act of indifference than to show her how I really feel.
"Ah, well," she says, finally, "I suppose that's that. If you two won't tell me any more than that about the situation, I won't push you any further. I'm sure you're tired of talking to me anyway." Dammit, just when it was getting interesting too, now I have to go to – what is it? – fifth hour now. "I'll just write you both passes back to class." I'm going to Human Bio and Kyle has Calculus. I hate how smart he is sometimes.
"Oh my God!" I cry as we walk out into the empty hallways. Kyle looks at me like I'm insane. "She changed," I offer, like that's really going to solve anything. The redhead just kind of sighs and shrugs and walks ahead of me, still angry, I guess. Now I kind of chase after him. Really, as exciting as Human Bio is I can't imagine that I'm going to die if I miss another lecture. "I mean, she looked hot, didn't you notice?"
"Not really," Kyle says, aggravation clear in his tone of voice.
"It was your French boy's idea, you know," I tell him, grinning when that gets him to turn around and face me. "Not that I was entirely protesting or anything, but you really should have punched 'Tophe, not me. See, I know you wouldn't, because you're such a great friend and all, and you would never punch a friend, right? All I'm saying is, it would be nice if you didn't act like a whiny bitch to me when I didn't even do anything, Kyle."
"You did enough," Kyle whines, looking more upset than angry now, kind of writhing almost, not looking at me. He knows he was wrong and he knows I'm right, that he jumped to conclusions. It's not like Christophe and I were making out or something, we were just being, well, friendly. Implying, not actually doing, yet that had been enough for the Jew to get jealous. "Look, Craig, I know what you're saying, but for some reason it really hurt me that you two were – I don't know."
Okay, so, I do feel kind of bad. Now he's staring at the floor in the same way Miss Something stared at her desk. As if all the answers are on those shitty tiles our school has had ever since it was built in, like, the fifteen hundreds. He feels helpless, that much is obvious, but it's his fault for being so oblivious to everything. "We didn't do anything," I admit to him. "Seriously, we didn't, it was all Christophe's idea. I knew it wasn't going to work out, I told him he was watching too many John Hughes movies."
"Wait, so, you two…?" Kyle says, looking up at me now like the excited little lapdog he is.
"Have not had relations," I reply, completely serious. He eats that up, I mean, he loves it, he's suddenly all smiles. "Before you get all happy and skip off to Stan, though, you should realize one thing," I tell the confused looking redhead. "Maybe you want to believe that you're just protective of Christophe now or maybe you're telling yourself that it wasn't romantic jealousy, maybe there's still some lingering possessiveness, well, think that if you want Kyle, but you should realize that you're completely wrong. You still want him and he still wants you and neither of you will be happy until you have each other."
I'm evil and I know it, because the only thing that gets me through fifth hour is thinking about how Kyle looked like I had effectively destroyed his little Jew world.
Sixth hour is efficiently discomforting. Not that anyone's taken sides, per se. We're all just ill at ease with each other. Cartman's the only one who seems anywhere near happy, probably just because Kyle is starting to develop a black eye. Stan looks thoroughly pissed with me, and glares at me from time to time. You know, like I'm really scared of what lover boy might dare to do to me. Oh, goodness, I hope he doesn't suck me in the locker room. Ah, I'm petrified.
Tweek is either pretending to have forgotten about the fact that my love for him was shouted by a certain redhead not two hours earlier or he really has pushed it to the back of his mind, because he's not acting much different than he was this morning around me, if a bit more aloof and in his own world. And, alright, Kenny looks kind of angry with me, like he did earlier in the hallway, but I think he's just angry with all of us, or maybe with the world in general. It's not my problem.
'Life coach' is totally irritated. He knows about the fight and he's practically yelling at us about how fights never solve anything and we should enter the military if that's what our line of thinking is. I wonder if he wasn't accepted by the military or something because he sure seems to hate everything about it. "The real pansies," he yells at us, "are the men in the military. They think guns and ammunition solve all their problems, but they're wrong."
"Excuse me sir," Kenny says, with an innocent smile, raising his hand in the air like he has a very valid point, "but I thought that the real pansies were the ones my mom planted outside in July." Which is bullshit, of course. Kenny's mom doesn't plant flowers. We all sort of laugh though and, I have to admit, it eases the tension slightly, a stupid joke about pansies. 'Life coach' doesn't laugh, he just yells at us to go run laps until the bell rings. Where does our school find its wonderful, upstanding staff members? I'm willing to bet they raid the local asylum.
"So," Token says, somberly, as Tweek and I half-ass our run with him, "everyone being weird to you now?" I scoff, not because it's a stupid question, but because he assumed I care what everyone thinks. True, I do care what people think, but I've never shown that to anyone, definitely not to Token, although I wouldn't put it past him to have figured it out on his own.
Is everyone being weird to me now? It is an interesting question, I'll admit. To answer it truthfully I kind of do one of those wobbling your hand slightly gestures and remark, "Eh," with a shrug. It's not as if anyone's avoiding me now, but I'm sure they're talking about me behind my back and their opinions on me are skewed now. I'm not going to get beaten up by anyone, since I beat up the person who outed me. No one's treating me any differently, I guess, because I'm not acting any differently.
Sure if I had started sobbing when Kyle made his little announcement to the world, I'd be getting my ass kicked by half of the football team, Stan included, but I've proven I can hold my own, fag or not. Or maybe they're just waiting until I'm alone one day and they'll all take turns beating the shit out of me, I don't know. But for right now I'll just settle with flipping anyone off who looks at me a bit different. Not to get on a soapbox and make a stupid little speech or anything, but, hell, I'm still the same old jerk I always have been, I'm just a jerk who has more than platonic feelings for his best friend.
Fuck anyone who thinks of me differently because of that.
"Eh?" Token says, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, eh, don't question it," I growl at him, almost glaring. He just smirks at me knowingly. I flip him off and slow down running until I'm just walking. Token doesn't slow down; in fact he kind of accelerates, running past Bebe and Rebecca. Show off. Tweek slows down with me though and kind of smiles at me. He's still far off, very distant, almost sad looking. It's not like before, when his golden eyes looked dead, but it's still disturbing and not like him.
"You alright?" I ask him, giving him a stupid smile. I got used to not smiling in the time I wasn't around Tweek and I'm still not entirely used to it anymore, it's hard for me to form a genuine smile on my face, unless it's being directed towards the twitchy blond who does, in fact, twitch and smile back at me. He shrugs, dejectedly and clutches his silver thermos tight in his hands. "You know you can tell me anything, Tweek," I say, smiling a bit more, wanting to see him smile.
"I know," he says, shakily. "But, just – gah – not when all these people are around, that's too much."
"Pressure?" I ask knowing full well that's what he means. Tweek nods and we share a stupid little smile, two friends who know everything about each other. I know we're going to have to talk about it, probably today, but not right now. It's the least we can do for each other, just to pretend nothing is wrong between us. It's weird, but as out of it as Tweek looks I know I'm the one who's more worried about this entire thing. Sure Tweek is twitching and worried that he doesn't have enough layers on and he's going to freeze to death, but that's probably just due to excessive amounts of caffeine. I'm the one who's acting paranoid about all of this right now, more so than him.
I can tell he's worried about it too, though. We're both still trying to avoid contact with each other, like if we touch everyone will assume we're the new Stan and Kyle. No one wants to be the new Stan and Kyle, mostly because they're so unaware of just how aware everyone is of them. We're not rushing to tell them that either, we're all just kind of rolling our eyes at them because it's like they seriously think they have everyone fooled. I would have to say it's because they're around each other so much.
With Christophe and Kyle I didn't even have a clue and, apparently neither did anyone else sans Kenny, mostly because of the fact that I never really saw them with each other exclusively. Christophe would just follow Kyle around at some times and now I guess I can see that as, perhaps, the redhead teasing the French boy, but at the time I just thought Christophe was being really fucking annoying and Kyle was going to punch him one day. That's sexual tension for you. But, Kyle and Stan? Even the teachers are starting to catch onto the fact that those 'super best friends' are engaging in, what I can only guess are, innocent, little, G-rated sexcapades.
Tweek doesn't want anyone to think we're doing the same and, quite frankly, neither do I. Even if we were I wouldn't want anyone to know. At least not that early on, it's a matter of privacy, never mind the fact that I would never dream of being as obvious as those two. Though, this is all assuming that we would keep it a secret, and I would kind of like that. It would be one, huge, glorious lie I would get to tell every day. We could fool the entire school. It kind of excites me a bit to think about that, as lame as that sounds. I wouldn't even need cigarettes; every day would be one big lie and that would free me from my nicotine addiction, I bet.
That is tempting, but not very likely. After all, one stupid kiss made Tweek freak out, going any further than that…he'd probably have a heart attack. But I'll probably have a heart attack if one more person talks about me behind my back, which I can tell Rebecca and Bebe are doing right now. They're walking in front of me and Tweek and Bebe keeps turning around to look at us and then quickly whipping her dirty blond hair back so she can whisper something pointless to Rebecca and they can dissect it like the predatory animals they are. Girls. Sometimes they disgust me.
I think I have one ounce of luck left and it gets used up on Tweek not noticing that the girls in front of us are gossiping about us. I'm sure neither one of them would say anything to my face, they'll act normal around me, but they will, naturally, have some sort of new opinion about me. It kills me inside a little to know that, but I won't show it, especially not to Tweek. It's the principal of the thing; he can't see me as weak so I'll convince myself I'm not. Not weak in the least and certainly not caring what Bebe and Rebecca think of me, not at all.
When the bell does ring and we all go to change things are a bit weird again. Kenny makes a few jokes to clear the air and it's not so bad, but I can definitely notice the tension between us all and Stan, lover boy Stan, is still thoroughly pissed with me. Let him be. Just let him be. I know Kyle hasn't told him the whole story so he's looking at me through fragments when he thinks he has the whole story figured out. Stan is so clueless to everything, almost to the point where I feel sorry for him, but it's his fault. He's not oblivious like Kyle, he just doesn't want to see what he knows is there. What, does he think Kyle got pissed off because I got a better grade on the French test that him? Stan knows it has something to do with French and if he acts like he doesn't he's just fooling himself.
I honestly wouldn't be so worried about Stan's predicament if I wasn't so scared that mine might end up mirroring it some time in the future. Like maybe Tweek will get dumped by someone – or whatever happened between the Jew and French boy – and he'll come to me, heartbroken for sure, and we'll fuck or something and he'll regret it later like I'm sure Kyle is now. I just don't want to be the one who gets nothing out of it all. For once I am listening to my own advice and it's only because of that fact that I don't flip Stan off. Let him be angry. That's how I would feel if I was in his place. I don't feel bad for him, I just know I would never want to have to face what he's facing.
Surprisingly the bus ride home is pretty normal. Christophe gives me his French homework so I don't have to worry about it tomorrow when I remember I never finished it. He touches Kyle's shoulder when he walks by and Kyle blushes like crazy and tries to duck down and hide it, but I know I'm not the only one who notices it. I am just loving this. Poor Stan isn't though; I think he's starting to get a hint of what exactly is coming for him. I don't know how but I get Tweek to agree to coming over to my house and that puts a smile on face even while Token quizzes me on Human Bio.
"You know I don't know any of this, right?" I ask him after I get my sixth question in a row wrong.
"Any of what? Everything?" he responds with, a jab at my ego that I, admittedly, deserve.
"Hey, Kyle," I say, getting everyone to immediately tense, like Kyle and I now hate each other or something. We don't hate each other. I've never felt closer to the Jew. Mostly because we both share a mutual understanding of where the other stands in their relationships. Kyle has to choose between his best friend and the person he's actually in love with while I have to choose between risking everything and crushing my own feelings. It's a wonderful thing, this understanding bullshit. "You have Human Bio second hour, think you can remember what the essay will be on for me, please?" Am I a suck-up at times like these, or what?
"Yeah, sure," he replies, with a shrug, "and if I'm feeling especially gracious I might even remember the answer for you too, since I know you won't know a thing about the topic." It's a joke, no animosity behind it even if his words imply it, and everyone around us breathes easier because of it. I grin at him, he put on a rather nice show, because I'm sure he would rather that he could have refused my offer. If I was next to him I would pat him on the head for being so sweet.
As things stand right now Stan is looking lost in the webs we have weaved and, you know, I almost pity him.
Just like last time that Tweek came over to my house, which feels like years ago in my mind, we go to Stark's Pond first. I feel the increasing need for a cigarette and Tweek doesn't argue about it although I know he would like to. Stark's Pond has felt a bit eerie ever since Kenny's suicide so there's not a soul around. Even animals seem to keep away now and the only sounds are the wind blowing the leaves of the trees and the stray rustle of some recluse animal running away from the feeling of death and tragedy that are laced into the atmosphere around the pond.
"I'm trying to think of how to say this," I say after we stand there, silent, for a few minutes. My cigarette is lit and rapidly disappearing. It's all that's keeping me from reaching out to touch him. I don't mean that it takes away the urge completely. It does sort of suppress it though. The thought of reaching out to pull him close to me is still in my mind, but other things are more prevalent after I have nicotine in my system. It doesn't make me forget what I want completely but it fools me into thinking I don't want it all that much, when it's what I want most.
Carnal urges aside I really am contemplating how to talk to him about this. It's not like I can just apologize for this. 'Sorry, Tweek, I kind of fell in love with you, my bad, but you really ought to get that adorable thing about you fixed, it makes you rather irresistible.' Not exactly going to work even if we do never touch again. I can't lie about it either, because this is Tweek and I don't lie about important things to him. Godzilla is one thing, love is another – I can't lie to him and that thought just makes me crave another cigarette as I throw the finished one into the snow.
"How do I say this?" I mumble, flicking the red plastic lighter I stole from Christophe ages ago until I can light a second cigarette. "I'm sorry," I begin, slowly, taking a drag from the cigarette as I think about how to continue. "But I'm not at the same time. I can't help what's going on, you know. You don't need to worry about it, though, Tweek," I assure him with a tiny smile as he just kind of twitches under my gaze, "I won't do anything like that – that, yeah" – I'm apparently unable to say kiss – "again, I promise that. I'll handle it on my own."
Tweek seems to consider this and then laughs a little bit, at his own thoughts, I guess, before saying anything. "Jesus!" he cries, still laughing a little bit. "You're s-so stupid sometimes, Craig." I stare at him for a long moment, slightly shocked by the words he just said. "I didn't – gah – I didn't even know this is what you wanted to talk about!" he says with a smile threatening to break out on his face. I reach out and he doesn't even flinch when I run a hand through his blond hair, just sighs. "Of course I'm worried Craig, I worry about everything. Ack!" His last outburst was caused by my hand running into a particularly messy part of his hair.
"Sorry," I mumble, moving away a bit and returning my attention to the cigarette.
"Craig," he says, his tone suddenly serious. "This is – ngh – this is going to sound stupid." I raise an eyebrow and look at him; I very highly doubt that anything that Tweek could have to say to me could be stupid. The fact that he's talking to me at all makes it important, actually. "I d-don't care about the – gah – the you know." Yes, kiss has definitely disappeared from both of our vocabularies. "I'm worried about everything that logically would – ngh – come after it and what people would think and I d-don't…want that." Those words kind of crush me and I know he sees that.
It's weird. All along, ever since fourth grade, I've thought of Tweek as the one who needed to be protected. I thought Tweek was the one who needed to be comforted and saved from his fears. But when Tweek reaches out and takes my hand I realize that I've always been wrong. It's a very mutual thing that we have, Tweek and I. The very fact that someone depends on me and needs me as Tweek does, it makes me depend on him and need him just as much. I never realized that when I hold Tweek's hand he's also holding mine.
"But just because I don't want that," he says, very slowly, looking in my eyes, "doesn't mean that I don't want to be around you." He's talking at an agonizingly deliberate pace, to avoid, I realize, any of his outbursts. It's something he does rarely, taking control of things like that. "Or that I don't need you," he adds, smiling a little more as he says that, but flushing a bit, his voice speeding up. "Oh God, sorry if that – gah – sorry if that sounded really stupid, Craig. I know you don't like stuff like that!"
"Nah, Tweeky," I say, both of us smiling at that ridiculously childish nickname. I throw the unfinished cigarette to the side, finding it useless at the moment. "I love stuff like that. Now, let's go to my house and do something boring like we always do." We walk to my house, holding hands, a moment I can pretend means more than it actually does. My mom is happy to see us, it's been ages since I've had any friends over and she loves Tweek. She asks us if we want something to eat or drink and Tweek promptly hands over the empty silver thermos with a smile. I stifle a laugh as my mom makes coffee for him, because I know she hates coffee, but the fact that she's making it anyway is admirable, I suppose.
We go to my room when his thermos is full and, to my surprise when I ask him what he wants to do he wants to watch Red Racer. As soon as he mentions the show my mind starts to calculate how long it's been since I watched it. Forever. I think that's about accurate. Somewhere in-between everything that has been going on my favorite television show fell into the cracks and was forgotten for quite some time. I'm just surprised that Tweek, who I've long suspected of hating the show, is the one to mention it to me, finally.
Tweek doesn't sit like he usually does, either. We lie next to each other on our stomachs, facing the television. I don't know if he pushes his fear of the monsters lurking under my bed out of his mind or if he just pretends that he doesn't care to appease me, but it's comforting either way. At the moment we've kind of switched roles, Tweek is doing what he has to so that I feel better and I'm just letting him do so. Of course if he told anyone else about this I wouldn't hesitate to kill him.
Well, maybe I'd hesitate a little.
Somehow we both end up getting engrossed in the show. I don't even notice taking Tweek's hand in my own again, but I do at some point and Tweek doesn't push me away or anything, he knows I need contact right now and not just any contact – I need his. The thing that I like, really, about Red Racer is how predictable it is. I've watched every episode a hundred times at least; I know the plotlines by heart. It's all pretty stupid. Red Racer enters a race, something happens that almost prevents him from winning, but he wins in the end. And if he doesn't win he will in the next episode.
That never changes and that's what I love. Happy endings, ones you can't count on, that's how life should work. It depresses me in a way, because that's not how life works and I know these moments won't last forever. I know Tweek won't lie next to me ever again and even if he does it won't mean anything more to him than just being next to his best friend. That's the worst part, I think. That everything we do is just a gesture of friendship to him when I want him to think of it as something more.
I fall asleep at some point and when I wake up the television is off and Tweek is sitting on my bed doing something that looks like the journal Creative Writing students have to do. I know about the journal because pretty much everyone in our grade besides Kyle, Gregory, Wendy and I took Creative Writing. They have to write in it at least once a week and turn it in at the end of the term. A lot of them don't actually write much of anything since the teacher swears she won't read it as it's personal. And if she said anything to them about not writing much she would be a liar for having read it. I love the logic my friends come up with.
Even though I know that's what he's doing I ask him, "What are you doing?" with a yawn. It's this little lie that keeps me from, I don't know what, grabbing Tweek, I guess. While he answers I get up and search around for a cigarette to smoke. I usually don't smoke in my house though, since my parents would get mad about that. I'm not sure why, exactly, they know I'm addicted to the things, so why does it matter where I give into my addictions? I guess it's a matter of 'seeing is believing.' They've never actually seen me smoke, so as long as they don't see me they can pretend I'm a good little boy to everyone else.
"Ack!" Tweek yells, obviously not having been aware that I woke up. The pen he was using to write flies up into the air as he pretty much convulses in surprise. I smirk but don't let him see it as I open dresser drawers in search of nicotine. "You scared me," he says with a nervous laugh. I turn around to see that the journal is closed now. How very interesting that little fact is. "J-just homework for Creative Writing."
"Slow down Tweek, I might die of excitement," I say, blandly, with a snort.
"It's my favorite class!" he reminds me, defensively. Of course it's Tweek's favorite class. He has so many little stories floating around in his mind, how hard can it be for him to write a few of them down on paper? Tweek isn't exactly a genius, not even close, really, but he took easy classes, unlike me, so his GPA is somewhere in the high threes while mine is barely hanging on at a measly 2.3. Park County Community College, here I come!
"I know, Tweek," I tell him, lighting a cigarette while I sit in the middle of the floor. I found a pack under a few DVD cases. Who knows how old they are, but I'm willing to take my chances. "Is that the stupid journal thing everyone always complains about?" I ask, walking over to the bed and picking up the notebook. It's one of those stereotypical journal things, with the black and white pattern and Tweek's name written on the front. Tweek Tweak – Creative Writing 3rd Hour, it says.
"Jesus Christ, yes!" he says, snatching it out of my hands and holding it close to his chest. "Don't read it, Craig!" He says that like his life depends on it. And, fuck, it really makes me want to read it, but I hardly think he confessed his love for me in the pages of his Creative Writing journal, so I just shrug like I could hardly care. He flips open the journal to a page and reads for a few silent moments. "I h-have to – gah – I have to tell you something!" he exclaims, biting his lip when I look at him.
"What?" I ask as I sit next to him on the bed, careful to sound nonchalant about the whole thing, like I could care less what he says, really.
"I'm not g-go-gah!" he starts, freaking out mid-sentence, burying his face in his hands and letting the journal fall between us. I tell myself I won't but I get a quick glance at what he's written, skim over and, wow, I notice my name at least five times on one page alone, which is either very bad or very good. With my recent luck I would have to say very bad. "I'm not going to be here," he continues, slowly, still covering his face with his hands, "for your birthday."
"Oh," I say, shortly. It's not as crushing as him telling me he doesn't want to be anything more than friends like he did earlier, but it doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, it makes me feel substantially worse.
"My parents are going to Seattle for some convention thing for Harbucks," he explains quickly. "And – ngh – it's all happening over Christmas vacation and my grandparents live in Seattle and they w-want to visit them and they're making me go and I told them I was going to miss your birthday and that you would be mad and you would n-never talk to me again and…and…God!" he finishes, peering at me and shaking like crazy.
"Tweek," I say, "like I always tell you, don't worry about it. It's just one birthday, there will be others." He smiles at me weakly, but I know he can detect my saddened tone of voice. "When will you be back?" I ask, slowly. Against my own wishes I close the journal and push it slightly towards him. He trusts me enough to be near me even after what he knows; I can earn that trust by not reading what he doesn't want me to.
"The day after Christmas," he says, smiling a little brighter. "We still have a week of vacation after that and then – ngh – N-new Years, so we can hang out then, right?"
"No fucking duh," I tell him, trying to match his smile. It's a little hard though. This entire time I've been trying to find excuses not to, but this is the perfect time to do so. Tweek will be gone for at least a week from what I can understand. There's nothing we can do to prevent it, it's imminent and there's no stopping it. So why not? I can break this addiction while he's gone, once and for all, we can still be best friends and Tweek won't even get hurt in the process.
I will, of course, but Tweek won't and, right now, that's all that matters.
A/N: The return of Miss Something was going to happen whether I liked it or not. So I figured I might as well make her hot now. I don't know exactly what happened but apparently Craig fell out of his angst pool and into a fluff pool. Ouch, I think I got cavities from writing that last bit. Sorry if I gave you guys any. Review, review, review, tell me how pissed you are at Craig or something, I don't mind. Remember: the faster you review and more reviews I get, the faster I update. It just motivates me.
And thanks, once again, for all the reviews on the last chapter, my e-mail is still being weird and I only got alerts on the last two.
Until next time, tweekers