Yes, I know, its been forever since I updated. But now its yaoi time!
Second of all—did you guys notice the shift from first-person to third? Was so by accident. It's back in first, its rightful place.
Sam drives without any of her usual show-off tricks and rockets it to South Park, Kyle cussing her out so frequently and loudly I was worried he'd hurt himself. We slow it down when we enter the limits of South Park, the configurators slowly taking the Bugatti from sexy and sleek to...South Park style.
Which is an old Cameo with mud splats on it.
We drive by the CVS, and it's all I can do not to break that window and jump out and run to Craig. A fresh wave of fury makes my scalp prickle and I squeeze my fist, imagining it slamming into one of the kidnappers' faces. Sam gives me a look, and I notice my grim smirk in the mirror.
Sam slows to a stop and hands me my bags. We lock eyes.
"Call me," she mimes, and screeches off, Kyle giving me a determined nod from the back seat. I nod back and run behind my house, shoes throwing up bits of sparkling white powder. God, do I love snow.
I unlock the back door and listen to the quiet noises of my house; fridge humming, A/C kicking on, a fan whirring, and, from upstairs, the even snoring of my old man. I breathe out, thankful that my parents are heavy sleepers, and stalk up the stairs to my room.
I look at the clock: 3:54. Wow, Sam had really been bookin' it.
Craig would be here in a matter of minutes. And I still had some blood on my shirt and a bruised cheek.
Crap.
Hurry, gotta hurry. Normal, twitchy 'tweek' mode.
Change shirts into pj's. Get out a trash can to put by my bed like I've been getting sick. Change my mind and change out of pj's and go with a loose black tee and boxers.
What if Craig slept in boxers? In my b—
Stop. Can't see Craig with a nosebleed.
My hyper-sensitive ears catch tentative footsteps on snow outside my kitchen window.
I look out; there's Craig, and my heart instantly goes bat-shit insane. Crap, I sound like a girl, don't I?
I float down the stairs and to the back door, opening it slowly and hissing out, "Craig!"
He appears like a friggin' ninja, his midnight-black attire blending in with the dark. His sapphire eyes look tired and confused.
Wordlessly he walks inside and follows me to the basement, where we've got a couch and some blankets. And my PlayStation 3, but that's not important.
Craig walks right over to the PlayStation and inserts Dead Space. I stand behind him as the screen illuminates his profile in the gloom. Neither of us bothered to turn on a light.
He starts going trigger-crazy while I twitch nervously. I was used to this; if something bad happens, Craig just kind-of shuts down until he's ready to talk about it. I just wait until he does.
But this time, he breaches the usual code of conduct by tossing me a small bottle of Pepto-Bismol and asking, "You still sick?"
"Hrgk, uh, not really anymore...I-I got it out of my system."
Craig just hums as his thumbs fly. I set the bottle on a table and walk over to stand on his left, sitting down with my legs crossed and impatient for him to tell me what the hell is going on. I have a sinking feeling that it has something to do with his heartless ginger father, with his gambling condition and occasionally drug usage, but I keep my mouth shut and watch Craig shoot space aliens on a deserted airship.
It's hard not to stare at him, but somehow I manage to keep it to a sly look every other five minutes to study his features; his skin, always fair, but not pale, is almost eerie in the glow of the screen. His eyes are such a deep blue they look violet sometimes. His hair is hidden under his favorite hat, but I already know it's a slightly shaggy but silky ink-black. His lips are thin and a light peach color, currently pressed into a strained line.
His hands are larger then mine, but my fingers are longer; right now his knuckles are bone white as he grips the controller.
He slowly sets it down as the scene fades to black and the next level loads.
"So I was in bed," his deep voice, monotone and quiet, seems to beat on my ear drums, "when all of a sudden I felt something on my neck. I opened my eyes and there's this fucker in a black ski mask holding a knife to it, with two more assholes right behind 'em." The game turns back on and he starts shooting more mutants. "They told me to get out of bed, and I do it 'cuz they got a knife on me like a bitch. Then they basically lifted me off the floor by my arms" I spy a bruising pattern on the inside of his arm when he hitches it up for emphasis "and tried putting me in a god-damn trash bag like I'm garbage. Well, all of a sudden one of 'em's on the floor out cold and I see Mysterion punch the fucker holding me up in the face."
Inside I make a note to thank Kenny like, a thousand times.
"And the third fucker, he hits him on the head with somethin' and tells me to get my shit and leave the house for a while. Said he'd take care of the bodies." The corner of Craig's mouth twitched. "I don't think they were dead, just passed out. Anyway after that I called the one person I knew would be up this late."
The screen went black as his player got torn apart into a bloody mess. Craig tossed the controller down and met my eye. My back shivered a bit with too many emotions to count.
"W-well, you can stay here til..." Til what? Til his worthless dad and uncaring bitch of a mother come back and offer him up as bait to save their own necks? I shrugged. "Whenever."
His eyes showed a glint of gratitude. "Thanks."
We sat there for a while, just staring at the black screen and listening to the coyotes in the woods across from my house howl. Eventually Craig made himself a cot on the couch out of blankets. I left, quietly walking up the stairs and shutting the door.
About twenty minutes later, when I was sure he was asleep, I got out my cell and called Sam.
"Hey Sam. Get Kyle to call 'Mysterion' so we can get together. I need some answers about our next targets."
"Gotcha," she answered. "Operation S.T.B.T. is a go."
Tweek blinked. "'S.T.B.T.'?"
"'Save Tweek's Boy Toy'."
"Fantastic. Thanks, Sam."