22:12:56 Nov 20 2012
Keys barely land on the desk before Craig is collapsing on his bed. It's comforting after an eight hour shift at PetSteps. He only had to spend a few hours in Kyle's presence before Craig was acting manager. He was jealous that Kyle was able to be home by 4, but he would hate to have to do intake in the morning. He considers himself lucky that Victor doesn't seem to think he's responsible enough for that. Craig basically agrees with him. Once Craig was able to take over for the evening, it was more or less smooth sailing. He was able to let Celeste ride on his shoulder as he noted out of stock items and filled out a bunch of confusing paperwork in the back office, and maybe he took a fifteen nap while he was hiding out back there, he can't be blamed for that. He had a long night.
Craig goes to parties at least once a week and they never fail to make him feel like shit the next day. Kenny says that's how you know it was a good time. After Craig miraculously managed to drive his sister to school in the morning, he could do nothing but sleep until five minutes before he had to leave for work. It has been about two days since he last showered, but he passes just fine. Now that he is home and relaxing, he may as well spend his time well.
Craig grabs the camera he set beside him when he flopped onto his comforter and sets it on the nightstand beside his bed. He leans off the bed and drags his laptop out from underneath. He strips down his pants as the computer loads and the internet catches a signal. Stretching out comfortably on the bed, Craig is finally able to pull up his favorite streaming website and head straight to the gay section.
There is some shame in this. It took Craig months to be able to even look at the word 'gay,' let alone click the button and let himself even glance at the thumbnails of naked men. Craig is almost always on Incognito mode when he uses his computer, too afraid of someone finding what he is up to, even though no one knows his password. 'Gay' isn't a word he can say. It's just a word, but it's threatening.
A carefully-selected video opens and Craig scrolls forward past the weak story to the middle of a blowjob. The men are both built and buff with olive skin, and Craig watches with his hands on the bed beside him for nearly the entire duration of the video. It cuts to the ending without a good chunk of the buildup, and Craig navigates back to the thumbnails. He scrolls for a while, flipping pages and dismissing each video based on one still. If he rolls over the image, he'll see a few more stills, but he can only bring himself to be patient like that a few times. Mostly, he rejects the videos.
It takes Craig until page five to find another video he could maybe stomach. He's wary as he lets two young twinks come to life on the screen. There is some making out, which Craig doesn't mind too much as long as there are wandering hands, where there are. He wants the bodies revealed as quickly as possible so there are no clothes or pretenses, just sex. Craig doesn't want to think about what he's doing or what he's watching, he just wants to get off.
It's almost too long before the side-long couch blowjob starts. It's a weird position, with one guy sitting upright and the other beside him and twisted into his lap, built seemingly entirely for porn, so Craig has some objection to it, but it lets it play. There is palatable enthusiasm. He unbuttons his work pants and rests his hands low on his stomach over his 'animal life' tattoo as he watches a relatively perky blowjob. He feels a dull radiation of heat, but it's mediocre at best. The timeline on the video doesn't look great and there is a possibility it will only end in the blowjob, but that wouldn't be the worst thing if it continues the way it is.
After ten minutes of the side-long couch position, they move into a standing and kneeling stance, and Craig lays a lukewarm palm over his boxers. The ending isn't bad, a few cuts to the receivers face shows that he seems to be enjoying himself and groaning aloud. Craig could work with that. Interest is nice, it's closer to the raw, thoughtless masturbation he strives for, but the video cuts off in the middle of a facial, simultaneously cutting off Craig's interest.
Craig kicks off his pants and shucks his shirt, feeling ready to get into what he's watching. He wants to want it. Craig feels better when he's naked, he loves the colors woven into his skin, even if there is no one around to show them off to but himself.
The back button and a few pages forward shows Craig a young tattooed man, and he opens the video, treated immediately to the camera panning down a thing, tall, heavily tattooed body. This kind of porn is a rare luxury, the only men he ever find half naked and inked are in pictures circulating tumblr. The guy isn't terribly good looking and his partner is kind of boring and plain with a bicep barbed wire tattoo, but it will do. There is a handjob, which typically Craig wouldn't enjoy, but he is more interested in this video than he typically is. He likes the way this guy looks.
It's easy, for once, to drag his palm down his inked stomach and over his crotch. He can lose himself in the video and there isn't much thought to it. Craig finds his eyes occasionally lingering shut when he blinks. It's a strange sensation, it's not often that Craig isn't bored and thinking purely of the pay off in the end, and repeating in his mind to finish, finish, finish. The blowjob scene is quick and to the point. Craig gets a good view of tattooed hips during the close ups, he rubs himself, surprising a small grunt from his throat. The blowjob turns into horizontal making out on a bed and some big hands over skin, and Craig is on board until the inked man rolls onto his stomach and lets himself be fingered. Craig's warm hands fly to the trackpad and hit back. His face is hot from being caught off guard.
When his heart slows its pounding, Craig sighs and clicks on the next video.
The clock on the camera reads 00:19:12 when he finally finishes. It's the day of Token's Thanksgiving party and he needs to visit his friend before the party so he can give him some of the most recent footage. Really, he knows he can send it to him, but he wants to see if he can manage an early viewing of the film for the party. It's always nice to have an advantage over his classmates.
Craig decides he can go to bed when his heart rate slows, so he may as well glance at tumblr while he calms down. His dash is mostly tattoo blogs, drug blogs, film reviews, film stills, and landscape photography. His own blog's summary reads: "Boy. 22. Colorado." and not much else. He refuses to give into the asks he receives about what he looks like and doesn't answer the ones accusing him of lying. The only original content he posts are some vague photographs of South Park and the occasional short, nonspecific text posts. He's reblogged his anonymous submissions of his own tattoos to other tumblrs without indicating that they're his, which he feels is funny for only himself. Before long, Craig has spent an hour on tumblr and has reblogged a few things, immediately receiving a few likes and reblogs from them. His ask box remains blissfully silent.
It's another half-hour before he's shutting his laptop and sliding it under his bed. He makes sure the second battery for the camera is charging in a nearby outlet, then he turns off the bedside lamp, sinking the room into darkness. Craig flicks on the nightvision on the camera, and burrows under the blankets. He resists the urge to browse Reddit on his phone and instead shuts his eyes, letting himself drift off.
Craig never remembers his dreams. Very rarely there are colors or shapes and sometimes the illusion of Token or Clyde, people who are a part of his life. When his alarm goes off to drop Savannah off at school, Craig feels like shit, his head swimming with aquamarine. He rolls out of bed and slips into a hoodie and sneakers, dragging his feet and the video camera downstairs to prod his sister.
The drive is short and mostly painless. Savannah doesn't say anything except that she doesn't need to be picked up because it's a half day at school and she's going out with her friends for pizza after school. It's strange that she even told him what she was planning on doing, usually it's a time or a plain statement about not needing a ride. He supposes she may be maturing.
Once she's out of the car, Craig drives to the edge of town where the run down houses with three bedrooms, one and a half bathrooms and half-finished projects in the driveways fade away and are replaced by tiny mansions nestled into hills with three car garages. At the end of the only wealthy block in South Park is the apricot-orange wonder of the Blacks' home. He pulls into the winding driveway and parks behind the golden 2008 Lexus LX that belongs to Linda Black.
On his keyring is a brass key with jagged edges and a four number code sharpied onto the head. His free hand unlocks the door and he bumps it shut with his hip. His other hand pans around the grand foyer in the Black home.
"Token?" Comes the soft voice of Mrs. Black, and she pokes her head out of the upstairs office to see Craig. He raises a hand and she waves back. "Oh, hi honey. Token's not home yet. He probably won't be here until around twelve."
Craig hums, diverting the camera from Linda to the view of the kitchen down a long hallway.
"We'll be leaving soon for Aspen. Shame you boys didn't want to join us this year, but Token is so dedicated to the get-together tradition. It's been ages since we've seen you, Craig. It's usually just Clyde that comes with us, if I can even get Token to come."
"Maybe next time, Mrs. Black," Craig says dutifully and she gives him a small, reserved smile before disappearing back into the office. He can't imagine skiing anymore.
Craig wanders the scenic route through a connecting maze of living room and library before ending in the kitchen. He digs through the pantry for a box of Special K and a jug of milk in the refrigerator and pours himself a bowl of cereal. Craig sits at the island counter and spoons breakfast into his mouth as he makes sure the camera captures the Black household. He says aloud, "And this is the bourgeois of South Park."
Footsteps approach and Craig keeps slurping down his cereal even as Mr. Black comes into the kitchen. "Linda, where is my-"
Craig looks up to meet his best friend's father's brown eyes, ever-friendly despite finding an unexpected visitor in his kitchen.
"How are you, Craig?"
"Fine," He says around a mouthful of cereal.
Steve looks at the counter where the milk and box of cereal are still sitting out and open, and he moves over to them, properly sealing them up and putting them away. "Token isn't home yet."
"I've heard."
"It probably won't be a few more hours, but you're free to hang out."
"Alright," Craig says, slurping down the milk in his cereal.
Steve moves around the room, straightening a few things and taking inventory of the Louis Vuitton suitcases and Longchamp leather duffle bag waiting near the kitchen table. Craig follows him with the video camera, but doesn't watch much himself, scraping the last remnants of flavor off the inside of the bowl. Steve leaves the room with his dufflebag and returns a few minutes later when Craig is half-heartedly rinsing the bowl out. "You boys should join us next year," Steve says, and Craig just nods.
Steve and Linda leave before Token arrives. They wave goodbye and tell him to take care of the house and don't do anything too crazy. Craig knows his limits, he's not going to end up trying to slide down the Black's long banister like Fosse McDonald did the previous year or vomiting in the houseplants like Heidi Turner does nearly every year. Craig has his drug preferences, but he has his people preferences, too, and he isn't too keen on losing control in front of a bunch of asshole he hates. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that Token's parties are exclusively for his South Park High graduating class.
Craig settles in front of the television and texts Token, "I'm at your house," before texting Clyde, "Are you coming tonight?"
He flips stations for a while, disinterested in everything he sees, before texting Clyde again, "I'm tempted to ditch, but Token has a pretty good movie this year."
Within a few minutes, Clyde responds, "Have you seen it yet? Am I gonna be embarrassed?"
"Not yet," is Craig's reply.
"Dude, I'm still in New York. Dad couldn't afford to pay for Thanksgiving and Christmas. You gotta tell me all about it."
"I'll let you know." He pockets his phone and stands up, abandoning a knife infomercial in favor of touring Token's house for the film. It makes him realize he should tour his own house in the same way so he can show a comparison of the Black's home versus the average South Park residence. It will also be a good contrast to what the house will look like when it's crawling with twenty-one and twenty-two year olds in just a few hours. He likes this house, and he savors the difference between the beautiful Black family home and the ravaged aristocratic mansion defiled in the name of youth.
As Craig is panning the camera around the third bedroom with the vague beach theme, his phone vibrates with a text from Token, "Be there in an hour."
Craig doesn't respond, instead wandering into a pristinely decorated attached bathroom and catching himself in the mirror. It was polite of Craig to put on a relatively clean hoodie that he found on his desk chair rather than the floor where most of his clothes seem to come from. He shakes his hair in hopes that it may look less flat and greasy, but to no avail. He ignores it and moves on.
Token's bedroom is his second favorite place in the house, defeated only by Token's basement studio. In middle school, Token begged to move his bed down to the basement, but his parents refused because they didn't have anyone else to fill the house other than themselves and that would leave them with three guest bedrooms and not enough space for Token's film equipment or to host soirees. It's best this way, because Token has taken over the basement for film and holiday parties, just like his parents predicted, and his room is a huge closet of clothes. Aside from the attached walk-in, there are rolling clothing racks like the ones used on film sets full of Token's clothes. Craig has only been to Token's freshman and sophomore Boulder dorms a few times, and he could hardly believe the amount of clothes the guy packed into his tiny dorm closet. He'd love to know what it looks like this year.
Craig runs his hand over a rack as he passes it, feeling wool and fur and cashmere, rounded out with cotton and polyester. He turns the camera on a few movie posters: Pulp Fiction, Run Lola Run, and Amelie, panning over to the Firefly and Roots television posters. There is a bookshelf full of film books from previous semesters and for pleasure-reading: instructional, commemorative, theoretical, or historical.
Finding himself out of rooms to explore, Craig collapses once more on the couch and doesn't bother to change the channel when a bad sitcom plays. He debates rewinding through the footage, but decides against it.
About ten minutes before Token is due to arrive, Craig leaves, smoking with the window down as he drives back to his house and blowing heat at the lens propped on the dashboard.
21:04:22 Nov 21 2012
Craig managed a shower before the party, which was courteous of him. He fixed his hair, zipped a plain blue hoodie over his plaid flannel button down, and laced his Docs snug around his tight pants. He looks taller, he thinks to himself as he catches sight of his form in the hallway mirror, but other than it, it's an appropriate look, not too scummy and not too fancy, so it'll have to do. It's not quite Token's bowties and drop-crotch pants, but it's something. He's running a little late which means he won't be able to sneak a peek at the film before it airs, but he still takes his time getting into his car, the Canon ever present in his right hand.
The drive is short, but Craig spends a while looking for parking. It was stupid to think he could approach the house, there are cars everywhere. He has to slowly circle the cul-de-sac and swerve around a beer bottle already left in the street and backtrack. He parks a few houses down and walks.
The lens takes in the cars along the sidewalk as he walks, occasionally pausing to peer into the cars for a glimpse of personality, as he often does. The street lights on the South side of the block end, so he heads North to the better lighting and allows his camera to readjust. He doesn't recognize any of the cars anymore, except for Stan's black jeep. Everyone has been gone for too long to remember the vehicles that ran the town when he was a high school senior.
There is no one outside of the house, and the door is shut but unlocked. Craig sighs, adjusts his camera into a steady grip, and opens the door.
Jenny Simon and Jason are the first two people he sees. They're chatting by the grand staircase and her delicate hand is wrapped around the base of a Blue Moon. Luckily, neither notice him. Craig feels lucky in avoiding Jason, their last run-in was an awkward mess and Craig hates trying to appease the people around him. Even though he and Jason used to play Mario Kart nearly every day after school in eighth grade, acquaintances die easy. At the end of the hallway into the kitchen, bodies move from one place to another. Craig is drawn to the motion, following life with his video camera until he emerges in the kitchen that he was in not ten hours prior.
The island counter is covered in alcohol, boxes of beer and bottles or heavy liquor are alleviated by juice and soda for mixed drinks or just to cool down. Former classmates of his are gathered around, reaching across, debating ingredients to pour into the crisp red Solo cups that Token buys for the sentiment. They're a bunch of mountain hicks, they may as well drink like them.
Milly is opening a box of Oreos at the kitchen table, which is covered in munchies, signaling to Craig that there is marijuana floating somewhere in the house. It has been a slow journey to find the weed from the moment he stepped through the door, but he has to take it slow first, see everyone while simultaneously avoid being seen. He imagines he'll find Milly again when he finds the weed.
"Craig!"
He barely avoids wincing when Annie Faulk catches sight of him. She approaches, pointing to the camera. "Is this the project Token was telling me about? Sweet camera."
Craig looks down at the video camera in his hand and then back up at Annie's square, smiling face. "It's for some class of his."
She nods. Craig used to know her. They used to hang out back when he was friends with Jimmy and Jason. He thinks she and Jimmy maybe even dated for a misguided month or so. She was a tuba player in marching band with them, and Craig didn't mind when he and Clyde would meet up with Jimmy and Jason after band and she'd come with them. She was chatty, but not invasive. "Yeah, he told me. I love it, showing a bunch of snooty university kids our small-town life. I think it's gonna knock them out. Have you seen tonight's video?"
Craig shakes his head and she pats his free arm. "Good, we can all be embarrassed."
The one thing that Craig expressly doesn't like about Annie is the quiet sympathy in her eyes, like she always has a vague understanding of what the people around her are thinking, even if they don't vocalize it. Annie walks away without prodding for information or trying get him to ask about her life, and Craig can exhale. She meets up with Jessie, who looks into the camera, and Craig feels ready to move on.
Next is the living room where a few people are chatting and drinking throughout. Bradley Biggle is on the couch surfing the channels on the television and the Cotswolds are beside him, the only kids not from their graduating class allowed at the party because they have thrown a few good ones themselves and they're all the same age anyway. The camera sees that Rebecca and Mark are already a little drunk, and Douglas, standing near the dining room chatting with some kids Craig can't recognize from behind, seems bordering on smashed.
It's time to move on before someone notices him and tries to draw him into conversation.
Craig circles around the downstairs again, avoiding Jason and his new group of Dogpoo and Francis, and ends up in the den where he is immediately greeted to the sight of his arch nemesis and his best friend talking. There are a few other people around, mostly women that Craig has long-isolated himself from. Craig avoids them and heads immediately toward the two that caught his eye, the camera focused intently on their laughing faces as Kyle tells Token something.
Beside a pristinely fashion savvy Token, Kyle looks ridiculous in jeans and a basketball jersey under a zip-up. The sight of him makes Craig's skin crawl.
"Shouldn't you be studying?" Craig asks, his voice spiked with a hint of malice. Both men look at him.
"Actually, yes," Kyle says before Token can comment. He turns to Token. "Later, man. Text me about those Nuggets tickets."
Craig's brow twitches as they bump fists before Kyle walks off, his large crown of curly carrot hair disappearing around the corner. His eyes dart back to Token who is watching Craig with amusement. He looks sharp in his denim button-down and burgundy bowtie, but Craig just sees his friend laughing at his behavior.
"What?" Craig asks. Token doesn't say anything so Craig looks around the room. "Are you actually friends?"
"With Kyle?"
"Who else?"
"Yeah, Kyle and I are really good friends."
"Since when?" Craig tightens his grip on the camera. "Stop smiling like that."
"Dude, he and I have always been friends."
"I didn't know you guys like, actually hung out."
Token rolls his eyes, but it seems good-natured. Craig knew that he and Kyle always played basketball for fun on weekends in high school, he's sat smoking in the parking lot enough times while they ran around with Stan, Clyde, Gary Harrison, and occasionally Kenny to know that they kept in some type of contact into their late teens, but he didn't realize it would keep going after high school. He didn't realize they would hang out and act like friends. "He's typically here when you're not."
"Are you serious?"
Token laughs and hands Craig the large beer can he was holding. "Drink this and loosen up a bit. What's up with you, man? You ditched this morning. If my parents hadn't told me you were here, I wouldn't have believed it."
Craig swallows a large mouthful of Wexford and rolls his neck.
"We have a decent film tonight, man. I'm gonna show it at eleven so you have like an hour to wander around before people start getting mad at us," Token chuckles and puts a hand on Craig's back, steering him out of the room and back into the kitchen. "It looks like there are some people outside and I'd bet pretty much everyone else is in the basement. Go violate their privacy."
That gets a wry twist of the lips from Craig, and he returns the beer to Token and dodges around Timmy to get to the large glass doors leading from the kitchen to the porch. In the backyard, Heidi and Christophe are smoking over the railing, Terrance Mephisto, Lola, Mandy, and Gregory chatting around the patio table, nestled deep into cushioned chairs. They're bundled up tight against the late November chill in thick clothes and hands around heavy mixed drinks. Craig films the content quiet for a while. The kids at the table speak quietly, Christophe and Heidi say nothing. The night air seems so vast around them.
"Are you filming us?" Gregory asks in a clipped British accent, raising an eyebrow. Everyone else turns their attention on him, six pairs of eyes in the darkness, illuminated by the light flooding out from the kitchen.
Craig rolls his eyes and goes back inside. He weaves through Esther and Douglas tossing back shots.
Craig knows the people he's looking for aren't in the basement, not with the upcoming movie screening. Instead, Craig's long legs carry him up the stairs and into the beach-themed guest bedroom with the attached bath that he was filming earlier in the day. He shuts the door behind him and lowers the camera down to his waist. The air in the room is thick and chilly, the window wide open to let out the smoke from the bong Kenny has his lips around.
Beside Kenny on the bed sits Stan, and on the floor are Fosse McDonald, Red, and Milly. There is a bottle of Jack Daniels and Popov in the middle of their circle. Wesley is smoking a pipe out the window. Kenny holds a hand up. "Camera off, fucker."
Craig pretends to power it down, but again finds a good spot for it to discreetly film from. He sits in the circle facing the door and Kenny and Stan climb down to join the group. Kenny passes the bong to Craig and he pulls a lighter from his own pocket and lights the piece, placing his mouth over the opening and inhaling deep into his chest and down to his diaphragm. Hold it.
Craig tips his head back to exhale, a transparent white cloud alerting him of a job well done. Immediately, he takes another hit, holding it longer and letting out clear smoke. He coughs a bit on the release and hands the bong back to Kenny, but is ushered to pass it to Heidi on his right. Craig smokes with them all in silent peace. The occasional spoken word is short and kept to a minimum. The most sound that comes is a few coughs and a neighborly pat on the back to help clear a throat.
The camera isn't watching the door when it opens, but Craig's gaze rises to greet the person backlit by the hallway chandelier. Closing the door behind himself is a young man with a pale, square face. His eyes are wide and hyper-alert, but framed with bruises of exhaustion. The man's form is shaped by a thick wool cardigan and his stubby pink toes peek out from worn Birkenstocks.
"Tweek! Holy shit, man! You're back!"
"I barely even recognized you, oh my god, Tweek!"
Tweek Tweak stands on the outside of the circle, his hands deep in his sweater pockets. His head is ticking subtly to the left-his clean, shaven head. Craig silently agrees with Red, he barely recognized him without his iconic mess of blonde hair.
"Take a seat, bro," Kenny welcomes, and Tweek glances nervously around the circle before Milly scoots over to make space for him to sit between her and Craig. He doesn't bother to fold in on himself or shift over when the newcomer sits cross-legged beside him. Craig is looking at the photograph of a mountain off a beach that he knows Token took on a family vacation to Big Sur.
Red holds up Kenny's signature bong and wiggles it in Tweek's direction. "Want some?"
Kenny shoots Red a look.
"I, uh, no, thank you."
"You're free to just chill," Kenny says easily. He's the picture of chill in his white t-shirt and acid wash jeans, his signature orange parka draped over the bed behind him.
Milly reaches out. "Pass it this way." The glass instrument moves around the circle, but not without stopping at Fosse first, who blows the thick white smoke in Milly's face. She laughs and coughs as she swats the air away. "Oh my god, who taught you to smoke?"
She snatches the bong from him and with her pink lighter, sets the weed ablaze and inhales deep. She holds it, turns to Fosse, and blows a narrow stream of nearly clear air at his nose. She grins, the last of the smoke filtering through her teeth, "You suck, McDonald. I knew Western boys weren't worth shit."
"Says the girl who went there for her first year," Red laughs.
Craig is barely listening, too busy taking in the lighting, the visuals, the warmth in his stomach, the slight dizziness in his head. The young man beside him twitches occasionally, his fists tight on top of his dark denim knees, knuckles white and purple. His eyes are everywhere, scanning the room for something unknown. His clothes look soft, carefully chosen for comfort. Craig turns his head to Tweek, "Hey."
Huge hazel eyes dart to him. "Gah! Hi!"
Craig looks back at the circle. It feels intimate, without the comfort of trust. It feels like he's being watched even as no eyes are on him. It feels too open. He's sharing a guarded secret with a group of fuck ups. It's a messy group of kids, Craig sometimes like they way they look. He isn't used to Fosse being here, but the occasional person comes and goes. Fosse's basketball shorts reveal thick, hairy calves. Craig rolls his eyes around the circle to see that the small amount of hair poking out from under Stan's beanie is dark and inky. Kenny's arms braced back on the floor look strong. He turns back to Tweek. "So, your hair."
Tweek looks panicked. "What about it?"
"It's cool."
Tweek furrows his brows, his mouth pressed tight in a way that could easily turn into a smile or a frown. Craig wonders how it would look on camera, the awkward twenty-something Mona Lisa, the boy with the shaved head. It's mysterious. Tweek Tweak could be an interesting kid to follow, but Craig speculates that he hasn't seen him in a few months. The back room crowd at parties fluctuates, but Craig's attention to detail can be shit if it isn't for a film. That could change.
"Where have you been?" Craigs asks.
Tweek looks down at his hands, like he wants them to show Craig the answer, but all Craig sees are bumps of knuckles and bones, and bulges of veins under paper skin.
"Dude," Kenny shouts, or it feels like shouting in Craig's bomb shelter. "I keep looking at you. Your hair is awesome."
Tweek smiles, and that's when Craig realizes he doesn't have the camera facing him. He has to be discreet, so he picks it up and turns it over in his hands like he's looking for something, which he kind of is. He needs to constantly check that it is in top condition. Once he is certain nothing is wrong with it, he tilts it against his leg so it's aiming at Tweek. The blonde seems to make eye contact with the camera and twitches, but says nothing.
Craig is tuned out of the conversation around him, instead waving at Red for the return of the bong. When it makes its way back to him, he holds in the smoke as long as he can before releasing. It feels better. His head is light, his eyes hot, and he scratches a hand through his hair after he passes the bong in Fosse's direction.
He spares a glance at Tweek, whose eyes are roaming the room. This man beside him is different from the boy he thought he kind of knew. Craig does not know anyone, not to any real extent, but he remembers that Tweek used to jump and scream at any small sound when they were children, and he knows that the same jumpiness followed him into high school and his adult years. If Craig could openly stare, he could take in the small array of twitches and wide-eyed glances. If he could ask Tweek to ramble while he listened, he could pick up on the tremors and the cracks in his voice. Instead, he strains to catch casual glimpses of the jittery boy underneath the calm, reserved man.
The door opens and Token is towering in the frame, a picture of pride despite the weak cover of casualness. "Movie in the basement in five."
The door shuts behind him and Milly stands up. "Well, I'm not missing this. I can't wait to see how I've embarrassed myself this year."
Red barks a cynical laugh, but she is getting up as well. "You? Are you forgetting the video last year that captured me pissing myself during a game of manhunt?"
"At yet we still come to these things and get smashed off our fucking faces even with the cameras rolling," Milly tilts her head to the group.
Kenny and Fosse stand up. The atmosphere is changing too quickly, the room is nothing like it was two minutes ago. Craig looks at Tweek. "Are you gonna watch it?"
The blonde jerks. His voice still seems to grind out from between his teeth, a little high-pitched and strange. Even without yelling, his speech pattern remains nervous and quick, "What? Uh, yes. I guess so."
Craig says nothing, instead quietly climbing to his feet and waiting for Tweek to follow as he adjusts the camera in his hands. Craig leads the way out of the room, where Kenny and Stan are still lingering. He follows the pattern of the house he knows well, making a right and then down the stairs to two lefts to the basement door. They are among the last people down, and the home theater seats are already full. There are kids sitting and laying on the ground, trying to look casual and pretend their adolescent antics aren't about to be exploited. Mostly everyone has alcohol in hand, ready to drown out their humiliation.
Craig notes that the door to Token's studio is locked from the outside, and the man himself is standing near it, holding a laptop on one arm and navigating with the other. There are no cords or equipment connecting the device to the large screen on the wall, but Token swipes a finger across his phone propped on laptop and the lights in the basement dim. He presses a button on his laptop and sits on the ground, turning down the brightness on his computer as the screen on the wall bursts to life.
Black&Tucker Productions
Craig shifts along the back row of seats in the room, glancing beside him to see the blonde was still following. He edges around Timmy's wheelchair and leans against and open space on the wall. Tweek squeezes in next to him. Their arms line up and Craig misses the title of the movie.
Filmed by Token Black and Craig Tucker
For a moment, he feels exposed. Craig leans his head back against the fine wood paneling on the wall behind him and lets himself be the center of attention before everyone's self loathing and sadistic voyeurism kicks in. His head is a little light from the weed. He feels good. Tweek's hands are deep in his sweater pockets.
Edited by Token Black
The screen bursts into color and Craig can feel the tension filling the room. Everyone wants to rise above, everyone wants to hold their own. The screen shows a pan over a party in Clyde's backyard, as shown from a second-story window. Craig took that footage in the beginning of the summer. He and Token were flying high and filming Clyde trying to impress a girl he brought home from college with his above-ground pool. He was shirtless and attempting to dive into it without breaking his neck. All around are their old classmates drinking and chatting. It was still light out and the weather was only in the mid-sixties. Everyone was in strange mixtures of bathing suits and warm clothing. Clyde goes for another dive, slips and falls onto the side of the pool, tumbling down to the dying grass beneath it. The film goes shaky as the Craig Tucker of the past laughs at Clyde's demise. Token's voice can be heard, raspy and deep.
"Oh, shit."
The scene cuts while the audience is still chuckling, and the lighting adjusts in the film until the view of Clyde crouching behind a wall comes into view. Craig is noticing the severe difference in quality between the footage he's been taking, and what his old camera used to take. Next year's film will be better, he knows.
"Where is she?" Clyde asks over his shoulder to Craig.
"I can't see her without blowing your cover, dude."
Craig cringes. He always hates hearing his voice from behind the lens, but he settles back into his high and shakes it off. He remembers thisnight. Clyde was trying to jump out from behind a wall to scare Marjorine. Craig can't help but glance to the boy beside him, who seems to be remembering this night as well, and is shrinking back against the wall, fidgeting and restless.
"I hear footsteps," Clyde notes. The camera captures him leaning closer to the edge of the wall, the shadow of his target creeping closer down the hallway. Just as the body is about the round the corner, Clyde attacks. He stands and jumps out, a childish "boo!" just barely leaving his lips before he dissolves into sobbing.
The camera pulls into focus on Tweek, nearly a year ago, his hair still long and tangled, falling over his sunken eyes. The other man looks horrified, hurried apologies mixed in with frantic swearing as Clyde clutches his broken nose and Tweek tries to wipe his victim's blood off of his knuckles and on to his jeans. Clyde has collapsed to the floor, crying through weak laughter and admittance that he deserved it. Marjorine eventually rounds the corner, kneeling down to tend to the wounded, and Craig's camera watches Tweek bolt down the hall.
Tweek isn't running now, but he looks like he wants to. A shaky hand skates over his skull and Craig would bet his buzz cut feels nice under wandering palms. Tweek sighs audibly and makes brief eye contact with Craig, who in sharp response, looks away and back at the screen.
Kenny's freckled face appears close up on the screen. He looks smug. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and women, may I present to you for the sixth-"
"Seventh!" Comes a voice from off-camera and he pauses, looking irritated for a bare moment.
"Seventh," He corrects himself, "time: Mr. and Mrs. Marsh!"
"They are not married," Nichole corrects, walking past the camera, on her way to occupy herself with something other than the filming.
"Yet," Kenny mumbles in concern.
He steps aside and the room is shown Stan and Wendy standing in a corner by themselves talking quietly and occasionally kissing, their hands on each other's arms. They don't notice the camera. Things are peaceful for a moment before the video cuts to them later that evening, Stan red in the face and falling over as Wendy tries to drag him upright. Another shot shows Wendy sitting on the floor of a bathroom as Stan pukes into the toilet. She's long kicked off her platform shoes and is texting. Stan lays his head on the porcelain seat, facing away from the camera.
Craig looks around the room. Kenny and Stan never made it downstairs. He cannot detect Wendy in the theatre either. If he recalls correctly, she goes to school far away somewhere. He wouldn't be surprised if she just stopped coming back to South Park one day. He knows he would.
The video shows Esther Stoley holding a baby that's barely a month old wrapped in a pink onesie. She's holding a tiny hand and waving it for the camera. There are a few friends around her house, and they're all smiling. Pastel wrapped gifts sit on the coffee table in front of them.
Craig rolls his eyes and glances back at Tweek, who has relaxed somewhat. He still looks on edge. Craig isn't terribly surprised, Tweek has always been nervous and all of their old classmates always say they hate these videos.
The next clip pans around Milly's kitchen during a summer party. Craig cringes when he sees himself tossing back a shot with Clyde. He prefers his position to be behind the camera and never in front of it, but thankfully the view slides over to where Eric Cartman is mixing a drink, an irritated Kyle standing next to him, arms folded over his chest, back angled toward Eric. The shorter man stirs the blue liquid and offers it to Kyle, who shakes his head, but he's more easily swayed than Craig has ever seen him when Kyle takes the drink, shoots Eric a look, and swallows a huge mouthful. Eric laughs as Kyle shivers and pushes the cup into Eric's big hands. Next to them, Jimmy and Clyde are snickering as they mix something strange and pass it to Douglas.
Token was there the day that Bebe came home from the military, but Craig has never seen this footage. She appears on screen with a large boot and crutches, dressed head to toe in her combat uniform, and smiling like she hadn't nearly been killed. Red runs up to her and they embrace hard, one crutch dropping to the ground as Red squeezes her. The next scene is Bebe at a party still in her uniform, and she's laughing with Red, Heidi, and Annie.
On the screen, Kyle is shown again at the summer party, holding the same drink he rejected earlier and laughing with Eric, his face nearly the color of his hair.
Beside Craig, Tweek lets out a small, dry chuckle. Craig twists his colorful neck to look down at him and Tweek's amber eyes meet his. Craig mouths, "What?"
Tweek's eyes dart around. He leans a little closer to Craig, and the taller boy is given a close-up give of a shaved head and wild, nearly invisible eyebrows. "Kyle drinking." Craig raises his brow a fraction and Tweek lowers his voice so only they can hear themselves. "It's just funny. He's so tightly wound and a loud drunk."
"I didn't know he drank."
Tweek laughs. "He drinks. Like, if someone can drag him to a party, he'll drink."
Craig's eyes shift to the screen where the camera is panning around Milly's living room. He catches a glimpse of Kyle sitting on the couch with Rebecca Cotswold, Token, and the wild-hair Tweek of the past. Kyle is telling a story, still laughing and leaning over Token to try to get his point across to an uncomfortably smiling Tweek. The camera moves over to where Dogpoo is showing Scott something on his phone, and Craig looks back to Tweek.
"See?" The real life Tweek says, almost into Craig's neck.
"I didn't know Kyle and Token were friends," Craig admits. "I don't really get Kyle."
"Token is friends with everyone," Tweek nods, his voice low enough that only Craig can detect it. "He networks. He's in almost every scene. Didn't you notice, man?"
Craig frowns, blinking away a little haziness in his eyes so he can refocus on the film. Token is on screen, laughing as he drags Nichole downstairs and away from his bedroom. She's teasing Token about the size of his closet, and he refuses to have it, picking her up and jogging down the stairs through her loud and playful protests. Craig swung the camera from the staircase and down towards the rest of his classmates, where people were just beginning to take off their coats and gloves. There is hugging and reuniting, laughing and occasionally, someone seems to wipe away a tear. This must have been the beginning of spring break. Something that always surprises Craig is how his acquaintances in college all seem to think it's "been so long" since they've seen each other last. He feels like he sees them all far too much.
"If he's not there, it's because you're not. Someone has to hold the camera."
The scene shifts and the lighting is dramatically different. They're still indoors but this time it's daytime. This is Wendy's house, but Craig only knows this because of the banner that hangs behind the couch in the living room reading "Welcome Home, Elder Harrison!" The camera catches the host and the guest of honor in an embrace, Stan lingering off to the side. She's touching his shoulder, swearing his skin got darker, his hair got lighter, calling him Elder. "You can call me Gary!" He insists, but he's laughing.
Wendy shoves him lightly, "You've been away for two years, I haven't been able to see you as the fine, young Mormon man you've become!" The video shows Gary greeting all of his friends individually, engaging in hugs and sweet words.
"Hey guys," Gary says on screen, his smile big and blinding as he addresses all of his friends. "I appreciate the virgin cocktails and caffeine-free soda, but you all can drink!"
"Thank fuck," Stan mutters and pulls his silver flask from his pocket, unscrewing the cap and immediately swallowing a mouthful.
"And here's another clip of the Stan show," Tweek says with amusement.
"Token's kind of fascinated with him. He likes watching people die."
Craig watches the camera walk down a hallway of someone's house, passing a pretty nauseous looking Red and Heidi holding each other up, Jason knocking on the door of the restroom, and Jimmy telling Jessie a joke that she's laughing too loudly at.
The video shifts to someone's living room in a quiet setting. Kevin, Esther, Francis, Scott, Leroy, and Nelly sitting around a Dungeons and Dragons table. It's shot from a seat, beautiful high-definition close ups of five friends chatting and playing a game.
As the camera moves through the hall toward some kids with their backs turned, Tweek leans into Craig and says, "Group babysitting job?"
It takes Craig a moment to connect that he's referring to a crib that can be seen behind them. The statement seems almost wicked, and Craig checks Tweek's expression to be sure what he's hearing. The blonde seems mostly harmless, pointing out what should be the obvious, stuff that Craig's not seeing, mostly because he doesn't care to look. Craig finds it fascinating, listening as Tweek points out that Bebe always has to wear sneakers since that shrapnel burst through her leg, and how Christophe is so awkward that he spends entire parties smoking outside if Gregory isn't dragging him around with him. Once the words leave Tweek's cracked lips, Craig can picture the scenarios in his head, like he's seen it all before but stored it for later use. Tweek has insight and observations that Craig is missing. He could use that attention to detail for his shots for Token's film project.
The film alight against the wall shows the boy beside him, his yellow mane framing his slack face as Clyde and Bill hoist him up and carry him outside into the night. Craig can hear himself behind the camera following them out of the door and watching as they heave an unresponsive Tweek into the back of Clyde's parents' car. The camera cuts to Tammy and Patty Nelson smoking outside and walking back in doors.
Craig looks down at Tweek beside him, who is stiff and twitching almost imperceptibly. They make a second of eye contact and Tweek walks off, weaving through some spectators and bolting up the stairs out of the basement. Craig debates following him. He could use his commentary.
He watches the parade of shitty twenty-somethings embarrassing themselves until the lights flick back on. He is proud of the film. It isn't fantastic, but he took a lot of that footage, and he suffered for his art having to watch and listen to those idiots. He meets Token's eye across the room, he looks mostly proud. Everyone else in the room is rising from where they sunk into their seats and the walls. Craig, for once, is trying to make eye contact. Everyone is humiliated and raw, and he likes them best this way.
A few kids are glaring at him, which he doesn't take to heart. There wasn't anything terrible in that video. He and Token have done much worse. He feels as though Stan took the worst hit, and the man isn't even around to feel the air leave his lungs. Token slinks over to Craig and stands beside him.
"Good work, soldier."
"Better work, Mr. Editor."
Esther shoots Craig a dark look, which he writes off with the others. He leans over Token's laptop to see the screen, where Token is closing the video.
"I hope you're getting good footage for next year's," Token muses. "People's expectations rise as they age, it seems. And now I'm camera-less. It's up to you, my good man."
Craig nods, running his hand affectionately across the matte plastic of the Canon. It may be the weed he smoked, or it could be the quiet rage that's still palatable in the room, but Craig is feeling inspired to create.
"I have some ideas."
18:32:41 Nov 27 2012
Fillmore has this look on his face. His eyes are a little wide, his mouth set. Craig has been trying to ignore it for the past hour, but he finds himself sneaking a glance every few minutes. The expression never changes. It's bizarre. Fillmore is not the friendliest looking guy, he's kind of wide and has ridiculous guido hair to match his thin eyebrows, but he does not always look like he is constipated. Craig is staring at Fillmore who is staring at the door. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time. It's a half-hour until close.
"Is there a party?"
Fillmore does not respond right away. He does not seem to hear him for a moment before he snaps his head to Craig.
"What?"
"A party. Tonight."
"Yes?"
Craig resists the juvenile urge to roll his eyes. "Is there a party tonight?"
"Yeah," Fillmore says, eying Craig warily. "Some guy on the hockey team. Aren't you a little old to be going to these things?"
Craig spins the camera from where it was sitting on the register aimed at himself facing cat food to watch Fillmore, whose wide eyes are shaped by skepticism. "Are Stan and Kenny gonna be there?"
"I dunno, probably. Anywhere they can make money, right? Fucking leeches."
"Did you finish all your closing duties?" Craig asks without preface.
Fillmore looks a little peeved that the conversation was dropped, but he nods. "Just have to grab the trash from the back when we're all clear."
"Are we clear now?"
"Yes."
Craig grabs his camera and starts walking to the back. He shouts over his shoulder, "Walk the floor and finish facing, I'm getting all my paperwork done. I want to be out of here five minutes after close."
He hears Fillmore cheer to himself as he disappears into the back.
They are out of PetSteps at seven after eight. Fillmore does not thank Craig, but all Craig is looking for is an excuse to get out of work and go out for a drink and some weed. He has not gotten high since Thanksgiving, when Token whisked him away from the Tucker family disaster to pass a bong back and forth and make a really terrible music video in his bedroom, so Craig is looking forward to mooching off of the usual suspects. Fillmore is right, Stan and Kenny are leeches, they'll be wherever groups of teenagers are. Craig doesn't doubt that a few of the others will be there as well. They tend to run in a strange pack.
Craig parks behind Fillmore, but avoids walking in with him, opting to blow through a cigarette outside his car to relax his hands. He knows neither of them want to be seen with the other, and in all fairness, neither of them want to see the other outside of work. Craig wanders into the party on his own. It's a house he has never been in before, on one of the familiar residential streets of South Park. His camera is slowly scoping the faces and bodies in the foyer. He does not know anyone personally, though there are a few vaguely familiar faces. Craig never talksto these kids, he only observes for as long as he can stand it, which is maybe five minutes at the most.
After he picks up a Blue Moon from the kitchen, he moves slowly down a winding hallway in the one story house. He checks a few doors, certain to capture the image inside, which proves useful when he catches sight of a couple making out mostly naked on a bed. Craig walks into the last door on the left and shuts it behind him. It's a small, poorly lit office, and Kenny is sitting in a spinning chair like it's a goddamn throne while Stan, Red, Tweek, and two kids he doesn't know are strewn about the floor.
The worst part is the big, sloppy English bulldog napping on the floor under Kenny's chair. The white beast is snoring loudly, every inhale and exhale a honking, blubbery mess. It's poorly bred, morbidly obese, and Kenny and Stan's baby.
"Fuck off, Craig Tucker."
He puts the camera in Kenny's face in response. The grungy blonde sneers at the lens and bats it away. Craig walks over to Tweek and a random kid, and sits between them with some distance on either side. It's somewhat strange, and Craig is in between regretting his actions and wondering how to smoothly remove himself from the situation when Tweek looks at him with huge amber eyes.
"Hey."
Craig nods. "Hey."
He unscrews the bottle cap and tosses it aside to down a mouthful of beer. His eyes roam around the room, taking in what his camera sees. The room is full of losers, as it always is. It never changes. Craig has seen Tweek in these rooms before, they have chatted a few times before, but he never really noticed him. Tweek mostly kept to himself, twitching and screaming occasionally, which Craig always found weird and unapproachable. The man beside him jerks his neck and Craig feels invited to stare. He wears bulky clothes, but he looks comfortable and warm. His dark sweater is a stark contrast to his pale neck and pink ears.
"You ran out on me at the last party."
"Gah!"
"I thought I'd have to try to pull a Cinderella, but you didn't leave a glass pipe or anything."
"Oh," Tweek half laughs. "A weed joke, very clever."
"I'm full of them. It's my unique dry sense of humor."
"Dry as Luxor."
"What?"
"Egypt." Tweek smiles then twitches. "It's a-Egypt."
Craig nods and swallows another mouthful of Blue Moon. He feels a little out of his element. That's what he gets for trying to hold a conversation. Craig resigns to the fact that he just can't connect with people anymore. All he has are Token and Clyde, and he could be okay with that. Craig sets down his beer and picks up his camera, slowly guiding it around the room to the faces he otherwise would not care about, but it's all for the film.
"S-so what's that for? Another embarrassing movie?"
"Token's thesis. He wants a movie on how South Park is dying."
"Ugh, stop, man, that's an awful thought!" Tweek is quiet for a moment following his outburst. "Do you really think South Park is dying?"
"I don't know. It feels the same it always has. If it's dying, it's been dying for a long time."
Tweek nods, though Craig cannot tell if he actually agrees with him or if he is just trying to shut him up. Craig fingers the buttons on the camera, smoothing over the warm plastic and reading the small prints on the keys before zooming in a bit and focusing on Stan Marsh's guarded expression of disdain for the party around him as he texts fervently. Red shouts across the room that if Stan is just going to mope, he ought to get the fuck out, but the man does not bother to respond.
Craig does not know if he thinks South Park is dying, or maybe it has been dead since the beginning. He doesn't know the history of the town, and he doesn't remember his feelings about the place ever truly changing. He grew older, but he never grew out of South Park. Around him are the the other kids who never grew out of it either. Craig thinks of goldfish as he takes in the faces of kids he always sees in the back rooms of these parties.
"You wanna hit, Michael Moore? You'll have to pay for it."
Craig glares at Kenny even as he pulls a ten from his wallet, wads it up, and throws it at the blonde. Kenny does not fetch it off the floor right away. He levels Craig with a look that the dark haired man is pointedly ignoring. "One hit. Make it a good one," Kenny says as he passes the bong to Stan before practically crawling off his throne to pick up the cash.
Craig does make it count. He pulls his blue lighter from his jacket pocket and sets the weed ablaze as he sucks hard. He releases his thumb from the hole in the side and the smoke fills his mouth. He swallows it down to his lungs and breathes out slow, closing his eyes and letting himself relax. When his lungs are empty and he can fill them with fresh air, he turns to Tweek, who still looks nervous. "Your turn."
Tweek shakes his head quickly, "No! No, not tonight."
"Are you straightedge?" Craig raises an eyebrow. He knows he has been in this room with him before and he could have sworn that Tweek was doing drugs with the rest of them, but Craig knows he does not have a brilliant eye for detail when it comes to anything but film.
"Gah! What? No! I just... don't want it."
Craig stares at him a moment before passing the bong back the way it came. He leans against the wall behind him, relaxing his muscles and breathing deep. He can recognize good weed instantaneously. Kenny usually has worthwhile stuff, but this exceeds his expectations. It's a slow high, lapping up his torso to his head in small waves. It feels like what he imagines a beach to be like, easy and free. The next time the Blacks offer to bring him somewhere, he should go. He should partake in the life experiences he needs to be a filmmaker. Token wants to make a modern On The Road, and Craig doesn't even know what that means.
He opens his eyes and he's still in South Park. He's in a house he has never been in before and Tweek Tweak is sitting beside him fidgeting with Craig's blue lighter. "Good weed," he tells the blonde because he wouldn't mind a little company.
"Smells like it."
Craig cannot help laughing at that statement. The kid on the other side of Craig is handing him the bong and he takes it, plucking his lighter from Tweek's bony fingers and lighting the plant to inhale its high into his lungs. He breathes out nearly colorless smoke. He wants to buy a bag off Kenny, which isn't favorable because he just doesn't like him very much. They used to smoke cigarettes behind the gym in high school and they worked together at Whistlin' Willy's, but Kenny was too clingy for his taste. He would linger around too much and ask too many questions. When Craig wouldn't answer him, Kenny would start talking. Kenny isn't the worst person in the world, but that doesn't make him pleasant to be around. Every time Craig opens his wallet around the guy he worries it will be an invitation for invasive conversation. If he opens his mouth now, his sloppy tongue would betray him.
"Are you okay?"
When Craig looks at Tweek, he realizes he has been trying to get Craig's attention for some time. He nods and picks up his camera, turning it to Tweek's face. The man looks a little nervous, but guarded with a small, uneasy smile like he's trying to cover up his trademark jumpiness. He would not recognize the shape of his mouth to be a smile if it weren't for the very slight upturn in one corner. The amber of his eyes is bright in the dim desktop lamp light that barely fills the room. Craig thinks of foreign films about manic pixie dream girls. "Don't smile for the camera," He tells Tweek. "It doesn't want your happiness."
"I wasn't, I don't," He stumbles on his words.
"Documentaries are supposed to be sad. If you smile I can't put you in it."
Tweek laughs. "That's ridiculous. If Token wants a video about the death of South Park, he'll get it whether people are smiling or not."
"Then you may as well be high for it."
Tweek's smile slips off his face as he considers Craig's suggestion for a moment before waving to Red to pass the bong his way. The camera watches its journey from Red to Wes to Richard to Tweek. It looks beautiful in different types of hands, big and small. Craig knows Token has to keep this shot, barely legal marijuana being intimately passed around in a dark room. The doped-up generation of youth in the town are the direct result of the insanity their parents are leaving behind. He turns the camera to Tweek, whose head is bowed over the mouth of the bong as he lights and inhales. It's not graceful the way smoking looks on Kenny or Richard, it looks messy and strange, but when Tweek tilts his head back to exhale, his pale lashes have the dampness of tears from the dry heat of smoke, and it's a beautiful shot. Craig lowers the camera from where it was held up to his eye.
Across the room, Kenny is watching him carefully as he sets the video camera in his lap. Kenny never explicitly asked him to turn it off, so he should not feel as strange as he does. The blonde has an expression of curiosity on his face that Craig does not want to deal with, so he turns the camera to Red, who is now laying on the floor and dragging her finger over her iPhone screen as she plays a game. She cusses when she loses and Richard rolls his eyes, saying under his breath but loud enough for the camera to pick up that mindless people only care about things that don't matter. Red smiles almost like she's laughing, but does not look at him. She is high enough not to care.
Kahlua snorts and groans as she lifts herself onto her short legs, which are thin in comparison to the rest of her, and waddles over to Stanwhere she spins in a slow, painful circle and flops down again alongside his thigh.
"What's wrong?" Tweek asks, and Craig turns his camera from the dog to the man sitting beside him.
"What?" Craig asks dumbly.
"You made a face."
"That's just what his face looks like!" Kenny mock-yells across the room, his hands cupping his mouth.
Craig flips him off as he says to Tweek, low so that Kenny does not interrupt them again, even though he wants to insult the bastard to his face, "I hate dogs, but I especially hate that thing."
"Kahlua?" Tweek mouths and Craig nods.
"Guinea pigs are so much cooler."
"Don't you, uh, work in a pet store?"
Craig feels his face warm up on its own accord, which is embarrassing in its own right and makes the heat worse. He should not feel embarrassed. "Yeah, but they're gross. They're just like, wild animals that people accept into their homes. Jason's family used to have this huge fucking dog that they'd gate in the kitchen and it was completely fucking insane, barked at the top of its lungs every time people would come in the house. It's gross."
"Rocky. I hated that dog."
Craig stares at him for a moment and the two of them collapse into laughter. It's a warm sensation, warmer than the high he is feeling. His shoulder knocks up against Tweek's and it stays there, comfortable and sure.
"Fucking so gross," Craig repeats. "I have guinea pigs. Two right now, but there are two at the store that I'm thinking of adopting. Celeste and Coraline."
"Are you serious? You still have guinea pigs? I thought that was a joke."
Craig straightens up and gives Tweek what he hopes is a serious, judgemental face. "My guinea pigs are never a joke, regardless of what happened in Peru."
"What happened in Peru?"
"You wouldn't understand," Craig says solemnly, then cracks, falling into laughter and feeling grateful when Tweek joins him. He likes laughing when he's high. He knows that if he isn't with Token and Clyde, he tends to fall into a solemn peace when he's high, not talking to anyone and not needing to fill his hands or his mind with senseless literature. With his best friends, a high is a high speed rollercoaster that eventually comes to a nostalgic stop, but being high with Tweek isn't so terrible either.
"So what do you do?" Craig asks when he can think clearly.
"I'm kind of in college."
"Kind of? How are you 'kind of' in college?"
"Well, the, the future. I don't know what I want to do. I'm in slow motion. Right now I'm in a figure drawing class."
"What's that, naked people?"
Tweek twitches his head hard to the right. "Y-yep! It's awful. All those naked people. I start to feel naked! I'd probably be better at it if I didn't feel so naked. I just look at them and feel guilty."
"There's nothing wrong with being naked."
"Gah! Of course you'd say that!" Tweek says with his eyebrows raised high. "You're the guy in tank top when it's snowing."
Craig is wearing the long-sleeved black shirt he has to wear under his PetSteps polo to cover most-but certainly not all-of his tattoos below the work line. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows for some semblance of cool, but he certainly isn't exposed, like he often is. Craig's fuzzy mind is telling him that Tweek pays attention, and it makes him chuckle again.
"I'd love to live somewhere that didn't snow three days a week," Craig tells him.
"So you could be even more naked?"
Craig nods, feeling himself come down as he looks in the amber eyes, "Hell yeah."
"Ugh, you're weird."
"You don't want to live somewhere warm?"
Tweek looks around the room, eyes lingering on the kids that Craig does not care about. They are hardly doing anything worth noting, as his camera knows. Craig wants the eye contact again. He needs something to look at before his hands and his head become restless. "I hear California is cool, if you're into that sort of thing."
"My aunt lives in LA," Tweek tells him. "I don't have to live somewhere south, just somewhere with less snow."
"Fair enough."
Craig's phone vibrates in his pocket, and he sets his camera down in his lap to read the text message. Savannah needs a ride home from a friend's house. He is feeling a little more sober now than he was fifteen minutes ago, he could do the drive if he stays slow, and the address is nearby so Savannah can spot him for most of the drive, but he is not keen on leaving. Tweek is looking at him, and glancing down at his phone, trying to read his face and his messages. Craig types back that he will be there soon. He meets Tweek's questioning gaze.
"Gotta go," He says and stands up.
Tweek opens his mouth and quickly shuts it again, his left lower eyelid twitching as he blatantly thinks of something to say. Craig watches his process for a moment until Tweek spits out, "Driving! You're... you can drive?"
"Yes?" Craig responds, waiting for more.
"But the weed."
"Oh." He looks at the camera in his hand pointed at Tweek. From above he can see him, he's kind of small and unassuming-looking. Craig might pass him by on another day. "I'm fine."
Tweek does not say anything more, he just lets out a grunt when he twitches, so Craig picks up his camera and walks out of the room without a word to anyone else.
18:11:31 Dec 1 2012
Token comes downstairs, one arm supporting a large pizza fresh from the oven and his other hand wrapped around the neck of an unopened two liter bottle of pepsi.
"Come on," he tells Kyle, who seems a few seconds away from slamming his head against the desk. "Take a break."
Kyle wheels his office chair towards Token's expansive desk, where there is enough room for them to set the pizza down, a few paper plates and then some. Token watches Kyle grab a slice and begin to eat, while his eyes drift from screen to screen and take in the footage Token is currently paused on.
"Are you finding anything good for your thesis?"
Token nods, taking a few long drinks of soda.
"Yes. I finally have a direction for this thing."
To answer Kyle's unspoken question about what direction that is, Token scrolls the footage back to a marker he left on it. He hits play and the scene starts at the bland front door of a South Park home. Craig's inked hand is seen in the frame for a moment as he pushes the door open and then it retreats, leaving the camera to float lonesome through the crowd of people.
Craig seems to know where he's going tonight, or at least, he knows where he isn't going to go. The camera does not pause to take in any of the other party-goers, and it skips right past the kitchen, where Craig usually stops to grab a drink. Token drags his notepad towards him, without his eyes leaving the screen. Kyle hands him a pen, and Token whispers "thanks."
The frame moves upstairs and from the slight bounce, Token can tell Craig is trying to keep the camera still as he jogs. When he reaches the top landing, Craig pauses, the camera showing the path of his eyes as he studies each door and settles on the bedroom door that is left slightly ajar. Craig pushes it open and sitting in a circle on the floor is the usual group, clouded by the smoke of a communal bong.
Craig sweeps the camera from right to left, briefly taking in the faces of Stan and Kenny, Wesley and Richard, and three high school boys Token doesn't know. He knows from a previous viewing of this footage that Milly, Red and Heidi are there too, but for now, they go unseen. Craig stopped the camera once he reached his target. Kyle and Token watch as Craig zooms in on Tweek's face. The other boy melts from nervous uncertainty to a genuine smile upon seeing Craig. Token notes the timestamp.
"Camera off!" Kenny demands.
Craig does not oblige, keeping the camera rolling as he moves forward and takes a seat beside Tweek where the other man has readjusted to make room for him. Briefly, they get a look at Kenny's disappointed expression, but South Park's notorious dealer seems to give up on Craig. "Fine," he warns, "but all sales off camera. And if I catch you-"
Token and Kyle don't get to hear the rest of Kenny's threat, because Craig is swinging the camera back to Tweek, who flinches with the lens so near to his face.
"Gah! We all got used to you carrying a camera around in highschool, but, uh, this is a little more intense."
Craig doesn't respond, setting the camera down on the floor in front of them. Craig wedges the toe of his Docs under the front of the camera to give it enough lift, and Tweek and Craig's bodies comes back into frame. "Better?" Craig asks, gesturing towards the camera on the floor.
Tweek nods, but looks skeptically at the camera, as if any second it may strike. A hand from off frame passes the bong to Tweek, who takes it, seemingly grateful for the distraction. They try to hand him a lighter, but he shakes his head, reaching into the front pocket on his shirt and pulling out his own. Craig is watching Tweek, who is repacking the bowl from a plastic bag of bud nestled between his crossed legs.
Craig leans back against the wall as Tweek inhales, his lips pressed into the wide mouth of the pipe, pulling hot white smoke into the glass neck of the piece. Craig crosses his legs, dislodging the camera. He pulls off his hat, folds it into a square, and uses it to get the camera back into its proper position. Once the frame is still, Token pauses the footage and takes a screenshot before hitting play once more.
With the smoke still in his lungs, Tweek passes the bong to Craig, who also borrows his lighter. Craig takes a couple hits in a row, trying to catch up to the rest of the people in the room, who almost always get to parties before him and get stoned long before he's pulling out the PetSteps lot and racing there. Craig makes eye contact with someone across the circle and leans over the camera to pass the bong to an anonymous user.
Settling into their highs, the men lean back against the wall. Craig has a satisfied smirk creeping across his lips and Tweek's face reads the slack relief of the calming substance. Tweek runs one of his hands back and forth erratically on his scalp, his eyes falling shut for a few moments. Craig scratches his head. Token takes a screenshot.
"You think these rooms are going to get more crowded once smoke shops actually start carrying weed?" Craig muses, glancing around the room at the regulars.
Tweek lurches out of his haze, eyes snapping open and glancing over at Craig. He takes a deep breath and centers himself. "Nah. It's not like everyone downstairs doesn't smoke weed already. They're just party users- recreational users. All of us up here have a reason to use. No one here is here for the party, everyone is here for the high. You- you know, a quiet room, and a quiet high."
Craig's eyes narrow skeptically, turning to face Tweek, who is smiling in a way that tells Craig that this is his specialty.
"Heidi for example," Tweek begins. Craig leans forward, grabbing his camera and spinning it on the floor so it points towards their subject. "Gave up. Started smoking uh... senior year of high school, after struggling to pull B's and C's for the last few years, decided she probably wasn't ever going to go to college. Traded studying for the false comfort cannabis supplies."
Tweek's voice is low while they gossip, and Token's pen hovers over his notepad, where the dialogue of the scene has been scribbled down, changing the occasional word once he hears it better. He's going to have to add subtitles if he uses this footage.
"Red," Tweek moves on, the camera readjusting as well. "Heartbreak. Dated Kenny... a couple times I think. Don't think she ever took a hit until he encouraged her to. Ugh, people will do anything for a crush. Now she smokes as an excuse to see him."
The bubbling sound from behind the camera suggests that Craig has the bong back in his hands and is taking another hit. Token misses the commentary on Milly, but when Tweek is moving on to Wes and Richard, the bong has gone silent.
"Immaturity. Goth kids grow up too fast. They were smoking cigarettes when we were eight, so when most high schoolers are trying tobacco, they're trying weed. When we had our first drinks, they were doing MDMA. I don't think those two can even remember having fun without the use of drugs."
The camera catches Richard placing a pill in Wesley's palm. They both pop their heads back.
Next in line is Stan, who is sitting with his knees pulled into his chest and his head on his knees. The bong is standing beside him, his fingers lazily running up and down the neck.
"Depression."
The camera shifts to Kenny.
"Money."
Kenny notices them and glares. Craig quickly spins the camera back to focus on Tweek and himself. Tweek has been leaning close to Craig, whispering his knowledge into Craig's ear. Token watches Craig lean back quickly as Tweek does the same, his observing eyes now falling to his friend.
"You use because you're bored."
Craig doesn't seem too bothered with Tweek's observation of himself. South Park is a boring place, and Token can recall countless times that Craig blames South Park's monotony for his delinquent behavior. Tweek runs his palms over his thighs, the pressure slightly changing the color of his olive corduroys. Craig places his hands on his knees, gently squeezing his legs through his work slacks. Token takes a screenshot and Kyle lets out a single laugh in quiet disbelief.
"And why are you here?" Craig asks.
Tweek's face changes expressions for half a second, as if he wanted to scream or bolt like he's done so many times in their childhood, but he is able to overcome it, smiling gently.
"Makes me less jumpy," he answers simply. "Helps calm me down."
Token pauses the film, sitting back in his chair and looking at Kyle.
"Let me see those screenshots," the redhead requests.
Token pulls them up on another monitor, flipping through the three he just took and a few others he took another time he watched the material. In every frame, the boys are oddly symmetrical. If one has their arms crossed, so does the other. If someone is touching their hair, the other copies. Token pulls up a few screenshots he took from a few minutes past the scene he's currently paused on. Tweek is smiling, and a rare sight, so is Craig. The dark haired man's eyes are locked on the face of the pale, flighty person beside him, calculating his every move.
"He's mimicking him," Kyle scoffs.
Token nods, laughing softly to himself.
"Dude. Craig is into him. Craig is into Tweek."
"Yes, he is," Token states, slamming his notepad down on the desk and taking a celebratory slice of pizza.
"Oh my god," Kyle laughs. "This is going to be a fucking disaster."