06:42:41 Dec 9 2012
"Boy. Hey, boy."
Craig blinks away a foggy dream of green to see the light piercing into his dark room through the open doorway. The huge, unmistakable black silhouette of his father blocks the painful hallway lights. "What?" He grumbles, sitting up because he hates when his family sees him lying down.
"Did you lock the car last night?"
Craig closes his groggy eyes and rubs his tongue along the roof of his mouth. It feels fuzzy from the alcohol. It's a weird feeling, one that does not happen often because he usually only falls asleep with after kicking back one beer, or he passes out for a day and a half after six shots with Token, where the fuzziness of his mouth is submissive to the pounding his head. He feels sticky from the night before, but functional, so it's not a bad feeling. Craig notes that he could get used to going out to bars with Tweek more often.
"Did you hear me?"
"God, dad, what?"
"Did you lock the car last night?"
Craig throws his legs over the side of the bed. "Yes."
"Your radio's been stolen. Maybe this is the kick in the ass you need to take as much care of the car as you do that damn camcorder."
His dad walks away but leaves the door open. Craig groans, he'll have to get up and close it. He looks down at his phone charging on his desk as he walks to the door. The time reads six forty-three. He has to be at work at seven.
"Fuck," he whispers, adrenaline washing over him and waking him up. In an instant, he is stumbling around his room searching for his work pants, digging through piles of clothes that have been on the floor for so long Craig can't remember if it's a "dirty" pile or a "clean" pile. He settles on the black skinny jeans he wore the night before. Technically, employees have to wear slacks to PetSteps, but at the absence of his slacks, at least jeans in the right color aren't the worst he could do. There are a few PetSteps polos hanging on a hook on his door, and Craig yanks one on before shoving sockless feet into a pair of vans and grabbing his black leather jacket from where it's laying on top of Gideon and Lenora's cage.
The Canon in his grip, Craig jogs downstairs. His mother and sister are still asleep and won't be heading to church for another two hours, but his father is awake at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and glaring at Craig disapprovingly as he enters the kitchen. His father stands, and Craig stops to face him. The two towering men stare at each other in silence for several minutes. Craig cannot help but wonder when in his life Thomas Tucker became so depressed, but the melancholy is easily recognizable on his face. Briefly, it seems that time stands still, but the glowing green numbers on the microwave light warn Craig that it is now 6:48 am, and he turns to leave.
"Craig."
Craig holds his middle finger up behind his back as he pushes open the door and steps out into the morning bite.
He lights a cigarette and smokes as he stares down at his car. Not only was his radio stolen, but whoever broke into his car used a jimmy to do so, and his driver's side window is open several inches. He reaches through the window to open his car from the inside and is greeted with a half inch of snow coating his seat, center console, and steering wheel.
"Fuck this shit, man."
He carefully places the Canon in the passenger seat after making sure that side is dry, and then makes a half-hearted attempt to brush some of the snow off his seat. His hand causes most of the thin layer to melt and to avoid exploding on the blameless half inch of snow, Craig throws his head back and stares up at the sky. He takes a few more drags on his cigarette before pulling off his leather jacket and using it to cover his seat.
Craig shuts the door, and after taking a sad glance at the wires that are hanging from the hole where his stereo had been, he shoves his key into the ignition. Power coursing through the car brings two new discoveries: the first being that whoever jimmied the window open used enough strength to jam it in the door, and no amount of cranking seems to help align the glass back on its belt. Secondly, the exposed wires seems to still being attempting some sort of connection, and the speakers in Craig's car are hissing static as loudly as they can. Without a radio, he is without volume control. His car is now a cold and noisy hell.
PetSteps is an eleven minute drive from the Tuckers' residence. It is a horrific event, but the pain of being jacketless in sixteen degrees with forty mile per hour winds whipping his bare skin is nothing to the pain he feels without the distraction of the radio. Nothing about the drive makes Craig want to drive off the side of a mountain more than being stuck alone with his own thoughts for eleven entire minutes.
He has never been more relieved to pull into the PetSteps lot. The heat of the building is so comforting as it wraps him up, that he is able to ignore Kyle Broflovski and his hands on his hips.
"You're twelve minutes late."
Craig purses his lips together and nods, keeping his eyes shut as he leans back against the doors. The store doesn't open for another two hours, and he is grateful he doesn't have to deal with any customers yet.
"You look like shit."
He opens his eyes to study his boss. He can't imagine he looks too well, especially compared to Kyle, who looks professional, put together, and satisfied this morning. Craig runs a hand through his hair, and he catches of whiff of sweat and booze from the night before.
"Why are you late?"
Craig rolls his eyes, walking past Kyle and towards the break room. His high school classmate follows him, waiting for an answer while Craig clocks in and locks the Canon in his locker.
"Someone broke into my car last night. Stole my radio and broke my window, so I had a pretty fucking cold drive here. Can you try resisting being such a manager for twenty minutes?"
Kyle studies Craig for a moment, head tilted back, looking down his arched nose at him.
"Just check the task list after you've cleaned up."
The other man turns on his heels and leaves the breakroom.
Craig takes his time in the bathroom. He washes his face with soapless water and drinks a couple mouthfuls of water from his cupped hands. There is a bottle of dog perfume in the restroom and he uses it to try to hide the smell of the bar from his jeans. He leans back against the door and lets himself slide down to the floor, pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling to the last page where a rarely used Facebook application waits. There is a two in a red circle on the top right hand corner, and he presses it uncertainly. The first message is from Marjorine, thanking him again for what he did for her and Gary and "Wends" and Nichole, and asking when she can get the video from Craig. He does not respond, immediately scrolling to the message from Tweek.
"Hey, a guy I know is throwing a party tomorrow night. Any interest in going?"
Craig's heart thumps once against his ribcage, and he sits up and clears his throat as if someone were witness to the involuntary reaction. Craig studies the thumbnail photo beside Tweek's name. It is not him, but a photo of a painting of a mountain range.
"On a Monday?" Craig responds.
He does not expect an answer right away, but one appears anyway while he is he occupied staring at Tweek Tweak's bolded blue name.
"There's always parties if you know where to look."
"Where is it? My car got fucked last night, I can't drive it very far."
"Denver. I'll borrow my mom's car. You can bring your camera."
"It's a film about South Park."
"Cool. Pick you up at 8?"
"See you then."
Craig waits several minutes, but the green dot that indicated Tweek was online vanishes, and he quickly closes Facebook and opens the most recent text he has in his messages from Clyde.
"We need to skype soon," Craig texts him.
It's only a few seconds before his best friend responds.
"You're up early! We can talk but not today because I need to study and tomorrow I have a final. You good for Tuesday night?"
"Yup."
"Cool! We'll talk then. Anything important?"
Craig puts his phone away without answering.
The task list of pre-opening responsibilities is pretty obviously divided into things requiring money or expensive product handling being directed to Kyle and everything that happens to belong on a top shelf belonging to Craig. He groans, and heads to the back of the store to clean the top row of fish tanks.
9:16:51 Dec 10 2012
"Gah! Just be quiet!"
Craig sighs and slumps into his seat, lowering his pointed finger now that Tweek is driving past yet another potential parallel parking space. Their hour long drive was mostly pleasant, even though few words were exchanged. Tweek knew where he was going, so Craig didn't even have to navigate the GPS directions. They mostly sat and watched the road.
But now, they're circling Tweek's friend's house for the fourth time and Tweek is having what Craig can best describe as a meltdown. Some spots are too close, others too far, all too small and triggering Tweek to writhe in his seat and yelp every few seconds.
"I can park the car for you," Craig attempts to offer.
"No! Are you crazy? This is my mom's car. What will I do if you dent it? Gah! Shit, what will I do if I dent it?"
Craig rubs his hand over his forehead, digging his phone out of his pocket and reading some junk mail that's been ignored in his inbox. He does not plan of following through with the offers and suggestions from the companies spamming him, but they are worth the read, just in case. Beside him, Tweek is occasionally shouting to himself, and Craig misses the moment when the shouting turns into a nervous excitement. He looks up just in time to see Tweek barely shift into a long parking space, stopping dead probably three inches from the truck in front of him. Tweek grips the parking brake.
"Don't stop here," Craig says. "Reverse a little. That guy'll back into you."
"What? Fuck!" Tweek squeezes the steering wheel and the brake, not moving.
"Just switch to reverse and ease your foot off the pedal."
"Shit, shit, shit," Tweek groans and lifts his foot just slightly. "How much?"
"I don't- Brake!"
Tweek shouts and slams his foot on the brake, jerking the car. Craig puts his hand over Tweek's and puts the car in park. He lets go immediately and stares at him. "Okay?"
The blonde's wide eyes are staring straight ahead. His body is stiff. Craig wonders how Tweek is ever allowed behind the wheel of a car, and if he even has a licence. The drive was overall fine, but meltdowns like that are life-threatening. He decides against commenting on it, lest he send the other guy into another panic.
Against his every desire to do what he wants, Craig remains in his seat. He looks back down at his phone and waits for Tweek to compose himself. Before too long, Tweek turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt. Craig follows him when he opens the door and they stand on the sidewalk. Again, he waits while Tweek looks around to see where he's going. Craig walks with his face in his phone, letting Tweek take care of things. It isn't worth the conversation.
They come up to an apartment building with twenty-somethings standing around on the small front lawn and chatting. Tweek checks his phone. "This is it."
Craig follows him through the door and up a few flights of stairs. The more young adults they pass, the more apparent it becomes to Craig that this is off-campus housing for a college. There is a door on the fourth floor that is wide open with kids coming and going that Tweek warily approaches. Craig does not ask, just watches as Tweek frets over whether they are in the right place, but then he sees someone he knows and walks in.
They stop next to a couch that has a few couples lying on top of each other. Craig watches a couple make out heatedly while Tweek glances around and closes in on himself. It's a spacious apartment for a college student, even if it is for a group of them. It's crowded and the lights are dim. Craig adjusts the lighting on his camera so he can see in the dark. As he looks through the viewfinder, he finds he is not receiving the usual stares. This is a new group of people, but he seems to be blending in. He lowers the camera and looks around. A few people are sparing a lingering glance on his neck tattoo or maybe his stretched lobes, and there are three freshman girls giggling in his direction with open lust, but no one is looks judgemental or awed. Craig glares around the room. There are a few people dancing together. The music is not too loud, probably because they have neighbors though it seems as if everyone on their floor is in attendance. He lets his camera fall to his side; there is nothing of interest to film here, and he certainly doesn't want any college kids thinking he works for MTV. Tweek feels tense beside him, and Craig pulls out his phone when the man he is watching makes eye contact with him.
"Tweek Tweak!"
Craig looks up when a short Puerto Rican guy walks up and gives Tweek a one-armed hug. He pats his chest. "How are you?"
"Good, good, fine," Tweek responds, relaxing a little.
"I heard you were home! Jess told me you were coming and I didn't believe it!"
Tweek smiles and it takes Craig off guard. It's a nervous but genuine smile. The young man finally notices Craig and nods. "Hey, man. I'm Ian."
Craig does not react so the man turns back to Tweek. "Good catch. I'll let Jess knows you're here when I see her. There is Grey Goose in the kitchen and weed in Jess' room. I think her name is on the door."
Ian disappears and Craig turns his shoulders just slightly toward Tweek. "Want something to drink?"
"Ah, no!"
Craig frowns. "Weed?"
"No! Not yet."
"Okay."
Craig looks around. He picks up the camera and scans the room. There is nothing of great interest save the few people making out. It's not his usual thing, but he is feeling on edge tonight.
Surrounding him are adults with alcohol in hand, none of them shouting or screaming, but casually moving around the room and talking. They laugh together and at each other, and they help their sloppy friends. There are a few people dancing together, but it is not overly raunchy, never going farther than light grinding. Craig has been to many parties, but he feels out of his element. This is so much more mature than the screaming masses of oversexualized teenagers he pushes through to find solitude in the back room. Craig is at a college party and he wants more. He feels for the first time as though he may have missed something by staying home. It's a terrifying feeling and he quickly pulls out his phone and opens Reddit.
Beside him, Tweek is nearly shrunken into himself as he looks wildly around the room. He looks lost.
The internet isn't telling Craig anything interesting and he sighs and slides his phone back into his pocket. Tweek yelps in response to the sound of disdain coming from Craig's throat and he turns to the shorter man, looking down at him and cringing internally when the other shifts away from him.
"I need a drink," Craig announces to himself, walking towards the kitchen.
Tweek follows, looking at the array of beverages skeptically while Craig decides on mixing himself a drink with every hard liquor available. A few glugs of sweet and sour and a few glugs of sprite over the ice in the cup leaves Craig with a neon blue AMF to clutch in his inked hands. He takes a large mouthful as he studies his date who seems to be flinching at nothing in particular.
"I need... I, uh, gah! I'll be right back."
Tweek is gone in an instant, and Craig leans back against the wall to nurse the red solo cup. He's noticeably irritated. He's not sure when the night went from decent to shit, but all Craig knows is that Tweek's jumpiness is making him feel on edge as well. He's thankful to have a few minutes away from him as he pulls the alcohol into his body as quickly as his queasy stomach will allow.
The idea of going out to a foreign party together sounded like a good idea earlier in the day, and it even still sounded okay when they were in the first half on the drive, but as the reality of hanging out alone with Tweek sets in, Craig cannot imagine what made him believe that they would have fun. Back in high school, he would have rather broken a bone than hang out alone with someone like Tweek.
People move in and out of the kitchen, filling or refilling cups and entirely ignoring the tall tattooed man leaning on the wall with a professional grade camera. It's a foreign feeling to Craig, and the invisibility is liberating. Here, he blends in. Here, Craig is another college kid with an artistic streak and the world lying open before him. In the eyes of the others, he is not yet a fuck up. Craig is swallowing quickly, filling himself with alcohol and confidence.
Before long, his cup is empty and when he moves back to the spread of alcohol to refill it, he finds that he is not sober enough to recreate such a complicated drink. He fills half of his cup with coke and the other half with rum, hoping to make the cup of poison last the rest of the night. If he's drunk, he can do a night with Tweek. It might even be fun.
"Hey."
Craig turns around through the warm fuzz that is the early awareness of intoxication to find Tweek standing behind him. Craig's eyes fall to the light blonde's buzzed skull and then down past his amber eyes to the apologetic smile pinned to his lips. He looks good.
"I'm sorry for... that shit. Earlier."
"It's okay," Craig tells him. And it is. Everything is okay. They're far from South Park, in a building where no one seems to give a shit and Craig takes a step closer to the man in the oversized clothing. A toothy smile opens across Tweek's face and Craig sighs, his body relaxing with the help of the alcohol. He feels warm, and Craig shifts out of his cardigan and drapes it over a nearby chair.
"Want to walk around?"
Craig nods.
They push past a group of girls entering the kitchen and Tweek leads the way up an additional staircase to what looks to be a student lounge. Various chairs and couches are scattered around, somewhat grouped near tables that are hidden beneath cups of alcohol and card games. Everyone is laughing or smiling, no one looks displeased, no one looks like they're trying to be something they are not. The young adults here are attractive to Craig- not in a sexual way, but in a wistful way. He wishes his peers in South Park dressed like this: skinny ties, asymmetrical haircuts, colored denim. His eyes shift over to Tweek, who looks good in his clothes, but clearly wasn't trying. Olive green khakis hang low on his hips and a misshapen brown flannel is open to reveal a dark grey t-shirt. Suddenly, he understands why he and Token stand out so much in their hometown. Amongst the typical red-neck mountain town tendency to throw on anything capable of covering their skin, Craig and Token look like outsiders.
"I would move to Denver," Craig muses.
"Me too. Well, I'd really move anywhere out of South Park."
"Preach."
Both men laugh, and it's a relieving feeling. He feels open, for once. Craig takes a sip of his coke and rum and puts a hand on Tweek's shoulder to steady himself. Amber eyes slither up his arm and towards his face, and Craig watches the other man over the rim of his plastic cup.
"What are you thinking about?"
"That these kids here in Denver are perfect."
"They're not perfect," Tweek laughs. "Look."
Craig lifts his camera to focus on each subject as Tweek takes him on one of his journeys of gossip and personal information. He learns of Sarah, the manic depressive cocaine addict and Paisley, a girl who (accidentally) killed her identical twin and pretended to be her for more than a year. Tweek tells Craig a story about Tunny, who just like Bebe, lost his leg in the military and came home an entirely different person than the one who left. Nancy is bulimic, George is autistic, Freya is a freak.
"How do you know all of this shit?" Craig laughs in disbelief. "Where did you meet all of these people?"
Tweek shrugs. "School."
Craig takes a step away from Tweek so he can turn the camera on him and Tweek glares through the lens at the filmmaker.
"Do you have to?"
"I find you fascinating."
Tweek smirks but turns away from him, bashful and red in the face. It's overwhelming and catches Craig in a moment of awe. He walks away, and Craig hesitates for just a moment to film the other man moving away from him before he lowers the camera and stumbles after him in an attempt to keep up.
They move into a hallway where nearly every door is propped open. Each room seems to be housing something, whether it's a round of Super Smash Brothers or a game of spin the bottle. The occasional person waves at Tweek, and Craig takes a sip of his drink when a vague fear of being spoken to rises to the surface. Tweek seems to sense his discomfort, and calms his nerves with a simple hand on Craig's forearm. The strong skunk-like smell of marijuana stops Craig in his tracks and he peers inside the crowded room.
"Hey, did you want to smoke?"
"No, I'm fine. Do you?"
"No. I'm drunk. You're not even drinking."
"I'm fine," Tweek assures him, hooking his arm through Craig's and pulling him further down the hallway.
No one cares, that's the amazing part. No one reacts to them as they walk arm in arm. Craig can only imagine the shrieks and gasps and gossip he'd be forced to endure if he and Tweek decided to walk into a South Park party like this, but college must be different. College must provide tolerance he has never experienced. Maybe it's just the anonymity of a big town. Craig has been going to school with the same forty kids since he was three. He has been around the same crowd for eighteen years of his life regardless of how hard he has tried to push them away. Maybe he could use a city.
They continue to travel down the hallway as it turns ninety degrees. A couple vanishes into a bedroom and pulls the door shut behind them. Another door opens to reveal the boom of a sound system. Craig and Tweek pause. The small apartment is crowded with party-goers. The lights are off, but a strobe is on. There's a man with a laptop and a disc player in the back, blonde, greasy hair falling over his eyes as he leans over his computer and adjusts the volume. Bodies are shifting and swaying together with the music. The room smells inviting with the hot breeze of sweat and alcohol that is rolling out into the hall. Tweek's hand slides up to Craig's bicep and tightens ever so slightly.
"Wanna dance?"
Craig doesn't answer, but does find himself smiling and stepping into the room. The door shuts behind them, someone mumbling about sound laws, and the room is cloaked in darkness. With every pulse of the strobe, Craig catches glances of dancers caught in still frames, arms above their heads, hands on lovers, mouths open as they sing along with the music. It's a scene he feels that Token cannot miss, and Craig finds a spot on a bookshelf to prop the Canon. Half a second after the camera has been settled and Craig takes a step back, Tweek's arms are snaking up around his neck. His hand presses firmly on the back of Craig's neck, pulling him into his grip. Craig looks down at Tweek's face, catching his changing expression in each flash of light. He takes a long drink of his coke and rum, watching the thin man start to smile up at him as Craig's free hand falls to Tweek's hip.
The tune is fun and dance-worthy, even to Craig's clumsy body. He usually dislikes pop music, but he is enjoying the beat that sways them. His body feels light. His heavy boots are on the ground, but his body is floating. Tweek is keeping him in place, stopping him from leaving earth. He sighs, the last of the tension in his body escaping.
He can only see Tweek's face in flashes. Wide features are washed out and eyes yellow in the brilliant light. Craig has danced at parties three times in his life and only one was with another person, a North Park girl in high school he didn't much care for and didn't even know the name of. It didn't mean anything and grinding barely felt like anything except a rough force of pleasure that left him uncomfortable. Dancing with Tweek doesn't feel meaningful, but it's arousing. Tweek's hands crawl up the back of his neck, just reaching the back of his skull, scratching at his undercut. Tweek is considerably shorter than Craig, but the weight of his hands seem determined to pull Craig's face down to his level. He turns his head to the side and breathes out anxiety.
The song changes, the beat heavier, and Craig does not know if he is ready for that yet. He swallows a mouthful of his drink, and then another, and then another, until he is mourning the dry bottom of his cup. As Tweek presses a hard pelvis into Craig's thigh, he lets the cup fall to the floor. They rock together, Craig's hands nervously looking for a place to lay on Tweek's thin body.
The strobe helps Craig commit, knowing that if he looks foolish, no one will be able to see it. He's able to move with Tweek's body, letting the alcohol assist the motion of his limbs. Craig doesn't really know how to dance, but coke and rum certainly does. Tweek doesn't seem to mind, and as a new song begins, they stay dancing hard, bodies grinding against each other. Tweek's forehead falls to Craig's chest, his hands sliding from his neck down to his biceps.
The song ends and another begins; a few girls near him cheer and begin singing along. He recognizes the song from the radio. He doesn't know who it's by and he cannot recite the lyrics, but the familiarity of the song makes him feel like part of a generation. He feels like he fits in with the rest of the youth in the room, and he glances around at the still frames of his peers surrounding him. A smirk pulls at the corners of Craig's mouth and as his head swirls around in the vertigo of hard liquor, he wraps his arms around Tweek and pulls his body into his own.
"I could show you love. In a tidal wave of mystery, you'll still be standing next to me. You could be my luck. Even if we're six feet under ground, I know that we'll be safe and sound."
Craig has never been pressed up against another man before, and while horrifying, it is also exhilarating. He knows what he's feeling beneath Tweek's zipper. He notices the hitch in his dance partner's breathing pattern. He does feel safe, his face framed by two hands, his body being worshipped by every part of Tweek that is rubbing up against it. He lifts his hands from Tweek's back and brings them to his skull, letting his hands skate over the short buzz on Tweek's head where shaggy blonde hair once was. Amber eyes and red lips turn up towards Craig, giving him a look that terrifies him. Tweek stands up on his toes and brings his mouth to Craig's ear.
"You're going to hate me."
The words don't register. All Craig hears is hot breath breath against his neck. His knees weaken; his stomach flips.
"What?" he has to ask, pressing his own mouth against Tweek's ear. He pulls back, letting Tweek pull him back into his mouth so he can shout through the music into his ear once more.
"You're going to hate me, but we have to leave at ten-forty five. I have a midnight curfew."
Craig almost asks him to repeat before the words sink in. The warmth sinks from his body and he pulls back, looking down at Tweek's flushed face. The uncertainty and reservation are small portions of his wild expression. Craig gapes at the dilated pupils and parted lips, and he has to turn away. His hands feel empty without the glass to fill it, even as they hover over the soft tickle of Tweek's buzzed hair. Tweek's arms fall from his shoulders.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine," Craig grumbles.
The lights feel too severe, flashing hard off of Tweek's light skin. Craig's arms drop down to delve into his pant pockets and remain there, itching for the cigarette he cannot light indoors. Tweek is suddenly a few feet back, his exaggerated facial features comical and cartoonish in the bursts of white light. Open eyes, long beaked nose, and wide mouth stare back at him, studying him the best they can. Craig is rooted to the floor, letting himself be analyzed even though he wants to grab his camera and run.
Tweek grabs his naked forearm, trying to drag him closer. "Craig, shit, what's wrong?"
Craig yanks his arm out of his grip and glares down at him. He knows it's a pathetic expression and that he is too drunk to look intimidating or standoffish but he keeps his frustration obvious and unexplained. Tweek takes a step back.
"Let's go to Denny's." Tweek's mouth curves in the smallest half-smile. "I need coffee if I'm gonna drive."
Craig says nothing, but grabs his camera and walks out of the apartment. The echo of music from the room deafens him to the sound of Tweek following, but he does not turn around to check. He wants to get back to the car. He hates Denny's, but at least it's cheap. They are almost to the stairs when he hears someone shouting Tweek's name, and he turns around to see Tweek be stopped by a chubby young woman touching his arm. It's weird to see Tweek be interrupted and not look startled. He knows her.
"There you are! Ian told me he saw you and I couldn't believe it!" She embraces him. "Are you leaving already? It must have taken you forever to get here!"
"Midnight curfew."
"Ouch!" She laughs empathetically. "Well, come back some time during the day so we can actually hang out, yeah? Find a day you're not at the store and you can see my apartment when it isn't full of drunk kids."
She waves in the direction of the first door they entered. She looks back at Tweek and fake frowns before hugging him once more. "Have a good night!"
"Have fun," Tweek tells her before releasing her from their shared embrace. She takes off on high red heels and Tweek looks at Craig.
"Friend of yours?"
"Yeah, Jess. She's the one who invited me."
Craig pushes the fire door to the staircase and walks down, Tweek somewhere behind him. Their footsteps echo through the metal and concrete stairwell. He can hear the bass of music played to hopeful college kids without a future and not much else. They are alone. The hardness in Craig's jeans has subsided from a pressing need to an uncomfortable nuisance. Five minutes ago, he and Tweek could have snuck off to the stairwell to make out. Five minutes ago, they had their hands all over each other. The thought makes his skin crawl.
Cold air is healing for all of one breath before Craig lights a cigarette. The sucks the heat into his lungs as the walk to the car. Tweek walks a nearly certain path toward where they parked.
"Are you mad?" Tweek asks over his shoulder and Craig initially does not realize he was being spoken to.
"No."
"Are you okay?"
Craig drops the remaining half of his cigarette to the ground and doesn't bother to step on it. Craig is surprised that Tweek does not keep pressing, but his head is floating on vast waters, and he does not want to deal with any conversation that may loop back to when they were dancing.
Tweek finds the car easily enough. Craig looks warily at Tweek. "Do you know where we're going?"
"Yeah, it's not too far."
Craig's eyes linger on his shallow profile before turning to his phone. He scrolls through Reddit, opening the occasional image post but never looking at the corresponding comments. They arrive at Denny's within only a few minutes, and the host lets them choose where to sit. Unremarkably, they choose the nearest booth.
The bench below them is peeling, and the rips are covered by duct tape sharpied over in a color somewhat close to the forest green of the fake leather material. There are granules of sugar or salt spread over the far end of the table where the bus boy could not reach. Craig looks around the room to see mostly people their age and a few families. Something about Denny's feels uncomfortable to him. He can deal with lazy staff and poor maintenance, because he hates customers himself and doesn't think they should mind when a fixture isn't pristine, but the place feels stale and the air smells like Windex. He thinks it should at least smell like food.
Craig sets the camera down on the table to face both of them. Tweek opens the menu and scans it quickly. It doesn't look like he's reading, just glancing down the pages at the categories of options. He flips through to the back and sets the menu down. Craig debates asking him something kind of rude about his attentiveness before the waitress appears to take their order.
Tweek only orders black coffee.
Craig stares at him a moment then glances down at his shut menu. His eyes rolls back up to the expectant waitress and he mutters, "Same."
He doesn't like coffee. On the few occasions he has drank it, he prefers it with as much cream and sugar as possible to mask the coffee taste, but he ordered it plain. Craig eyes the packets of sugar on the table, wondering how many will make up for the absence of the small ceramic pot of creamer the waitress would have put on the table had he asked for it. He winces at his own stupidity and wonders why this is even a debate.
With a belly full of booze, he looks at Tweek and says, "I don't like coffee."
The blonde laughs. "Why did you order it?"
"I don't know. You were getting it. I didn't look at my menu."
Tweek narrows his eyes a little, watching him closely, a smile stuck to his thin lips. He glances at the camera before sliding his menu to the edge of the table. Craig looks back down at the menu, hoping to see something he might want to eat. He drank a good deal and he's just about coherent enough to pass as sober though he certainly does not feel that way. Thankfully, he does not have to drive, and Tweek seems capable enough to get them back to South Park. Craig looks out the huge window beside him at the somewhat busy street. Denver looks nothing like South Park. If there are mountains in the distance, the nighttime hides them, just like in his hometown.
"I haven't been here since I was like nine," He tells Tweek as he squints beyond the traffic lights, inked fingers picking at a cut in the menu's binding. "My parents took Savannah and I to the Denver Art Museum and a Broncos game. I think they wanted the art for Savannah and the football for me, but we reversed that on them. They're good people, though. They were freaked out for a little while before they just accepted that my sister likes sports and I like art, or whatever."
"Wow. You like art?" Tweeks asks.
Craig frowns and tears his eyes from the outside world. "I guess? I don't know anything about it. I just like looking at it."
"You never told me," Tweek says as a hand slides across the table and rests an inch from the top edge of the menu, Craig watching silently.
"Nothing to tell."
The coffee comes and Craig spews a request for creamer. The waitress casts a lingering look at his coffee cup in hand and it takes until she walked away from Craig to realize she was looking at his tattoos. He feels out of control when he is drunk, which is an awful feeling. He steadies his clumsy hands enough to pour the creamer, filling the mug up to the rim. He is forced to take a few hot sips before he rips open sugar packet after sugar packet under Tweek's watchful gaze.
"I feel like you're upset. Did you have a good time tonight?"
"Sure."
At this point, Craig can't even tell if he's lying or not. He's not sure he had a good time, but it could have been worse. He stares at Tweek, who is uncharacteristically still as he gazes back. He plays back scenes from the party, eyes shifting over to the Canon that records them now and recorded them then. He wonders what it'll look like through the eyes of an audience: Craig and Tweek, hands skating over each other's bodies, hips moving with the beat of the DJ's carefully selected songs. A twinge of arousal sneaks back into Craig's stomach, flushing his face and causing him to let out a sudden breath.
"Yes," he amends his previous answer. "I did."
Tweek seems to slump in his side of the booth, probably from relief. Craig is sure his callousness only causes the paranoid deep unrest. Tweek cups his coffee mug in both hands and Craig attempts to mimic him, but has to set the cup down due to the scalding temperature of the ceramic. He watches his date take a long, deep sip of the bitter drink without flinching once at the taste or heat.
"So, yeah," Craig begins. "Denver's cool."
Through a partly suppressed smile, Tweek responds, "Yeah, but shit, if I ever get out of South Park, I'm going further than Colorado."
"Good point."
"Where would you go?"
The question is heavy, and Craig has to take a sip of his sickeningly sweet brew before answering.
"What is the furthest place in the world from South Park, Colorado?"
"Smack dab in the middle of the Indian Ocean."
Craig's eyes widen at Tweek's quick answer.
"Why do you know that?"
"Because I'm restless," Tweek grins.
"I'm not much of a swimmer. What are the closest countries?"
"Madagascar and Australia."
"No."
"Peru is pretty far from Colorado."
Craig shoots Tweek a poisonous glance, causing the other man's eyes to widen as he apologizes under his breath. Craig shakes his head, but smiles in a way that let's Tweek know the joke is forgiven.
"So in the United States, where would you want to go?" Tweek continues.
Craig scrunches his nose. This feels an awful lot like his junior year of high school, when teachers started pressuring students to choose the universities they'd be applying to. He reminds himself there is no pressure in this conversation, no talk of careers or futures. He closes his eyes for a moment, causing himself to slip back into the hazy buzz of his intoxication as he ponders the question.
"Austin?" Tweek asks.
"God, no."
"New York."
"No way."
"Los Angeles."
"Nope."
"I thought you wanted to be a filmmaker!"
"Not in LA, I don't."
"Salt Lake."
Both men laugh, pausing to take a sips of their coffee. Craig can feel the caffeine working to override the alcohol. He pushes the half-full mug to the edge of the table in an attempt to ignore it.
"What about you?" Craig asks. "Las Vegas?"
"Shit, I'd die there."
"Reno?"
"Fuck! No more Nevada!"
"D.C."
"Too many cops."
"Atlanta."
"Too far South."
"Ann Arbor."
"I'm not moving anywhere as cold as South Park."
"Chicago?"
Tweek hesitates, raising his eyebrows and frowning as he considers the possibilities.
"What do you know about Chicago?" he asks Craig.
"It's windy. There's some decent film festivals. That's pretty much it."
"I could do Chicago," Tweek muses.
Tweek got another coffee to go, but he seems too focused on the difficult drive to take a sip of it, so it sits untouched in the cupholder, where the occasional bounce in the road causes the brown liquid to slosh out of the lid. Craig knows one sip would keep the cup from overflowing, but he's not sure he can stomach the taste now that sobriety is tangible.
"I hate driving in the mountains," Tweek grinds out. "It totally freaks me out. Like what if we got in a wreck? No one would even fucking know."
"The other car would."
"What if I swerve and hit a tree?"
"Then pay attention to the fucking road?"
Tweek huffs out a laugh. He turns up the low murmur of the staticy mountain radio to a listenable volume. Craig leans back and looks out the windshield. They are on a long stretch of mountain road, one lane running either direction and desolate nature surrounding them that Craig can barely see with only the high beams the guide them on a quiet Saturday night. He doesn't like the song on the radio until Tweek starts singing along.
He looks over at him, at the long profile of the blonde beside him, head tilted just slightly to the right as he sings. Craig does not know the song, but it's just the sort of indie pop Token would make him listen to. Technically, Tweek has a terrible voice. It's scratchy and as he mimics the pattern in the music, his voice nearly cracks on every high note, but it's sweet. Craig wishes he knew the song.
Tweek turns his head and they make eye contact. Tweek smiles and Craig laughs. A warmth floods his tight stomach, different from heat he felt earlier in the night. His hands squeeze his phone. "Look at the road!" He barks, but he's smiling.
Tweek jumps back into position, but Craig cannot take his eyes off of him.
"I drive better when I can concentrate on music," Tweek tells him. "It sounds stupid."
Craig does not respond, but his smile stays in place as Tweek sings again. He looks down at his phone and opens his messages, scrolling to Clyde and typing, "I like someone." He hits send before he can question his own judgement.
Tweek sings them the rest of the way home. He pops in a CD from a band Craig doesn't know, and even though he does not like the music at all, he is content just to listen to Tweek.
Craig directs him when they reach his neighborhood. All of the houses in South Park look the same at night, and when Craig was a kid riding his bike he would lose his own house. Craig is pointing wildly as Tweek nearly passes his house. "There! The tan one!"
Tweek pulls over on a harsh angle and slams his brakes as he hits the Tucker's garbage cans. A chorus of dogs bark from around the neighborhood and Craig frowns. "Dude."
"Sorry, sorry!" Tweek yelps and climbs out of the car. He pulls the trash can out from under his car and sets it upright. He looks wild in the headlights even without the messy crown of hair he used to have. Craig is still staring when Tweek returns. "Are you okay, man? You're looking at me weird."
Craig takes his camera off the dashboard and steps out of the car. They look at each other over the roof. "You can get home? You're looking shaky."
"I'm fine," Tweek laughs. "Just a little buzzed. Coffee."
Craig nods and walks away, listening to Tweek drive off behind him.
He opens the front door and is hit by the heavy smell of popcorn. His family is still awake and sitting together on the couch watching a movie. Craig frowns as they all turn and look at him over their shoulders, each of their faces reading minor curiosity and major irritation. He waves a lazy hand and walks passed them and up the stairs to his bedroom.
There are texts flooding his phone from Clyde. Most of it is incoherent babble in all caps and a bunch of questions he isn't in the mood to answer. After he brushes his teeth and strips, he lays in bed with his phone, scrolling through the texts. He sends no response, but sets his phone on the nightstand next to his charging camera and falls asleep.
15:02:41 Dec 11 2012
Ugly music sounding from the laptop on his desk alerts Craig that Clyde is Skyping him. He pauses Skyrim and climbs out of bed and into his desk chair. He runs a hair through his hair before accepting the call. Within moments, he can see Clyde, handsome as always even through the pixelation.
Clyde has the good looks every college jock should have, and the man is busy on the East coast between school and hockey. All the hard work is aging him nicely. Craig frowns when he sees him, which is the exact opposite of the reaction Clyde has. Clyde's big head is split in an even bigger smile.
"Craig Tucker, you beautiful beast!"
"Hey."
Against the solid cream colored backdrop of his college dorm wall, Clyde laughs, "I haven't seen the new one yet, show it to me, dude!"
Craig sighs and yanks on the neck of his worn tank top to reveal the healing grey moth spread over his chest. Clyde's big, dumb mouth drops open.
"That is awesome. How do you come up with this shit? I've been thinking about getting a tattoo."
Craig glares at him. "Really?"
"Yeah!" He pushes the arm of his short sleeved shirt up over his shoulder and slaps his solid bicep. "Right here. I've been seeing some cool ones on some people I know and I like them. Not that I don't love yours," he says when he sees the look on Craig's face, "but your tattoos are so perfect that they seem fake. Like they're art. You're art. I can't imitate art!"
"So what are you going to get?"
"Some guys on the team have these like black bars or like black barbed wire on their arms. I like that."
"No."
Clyde frowns. "What?"
"No tribal tattoos. Never. I forbid you from ever getting a tribal tattoo."
"What! Why? They look so cool!"
"They're not cool. You are exactly the kind of guy to get sucked into that shit. Trust my judgement on this one." Craig leans forward in his desk chair and minimizes Clyde while he opens his browser. "There are much better bro tattoos you can get that are not fucking tribals. Here," he says as he sends a few links to Clyde. "Koi fish, skin rip, Superman logo, dead tree, feather, pin up girl."
Clyde is mostly quiet as he looks over the links. He hums aloud his intrigue, pleasure, and disinterest. It's the closest to quiet that Clyde can be. "The feather is kinda cool. I like the sexy lady."
"Pin up," Craig repeats as he narrows his search. He gives Clyde a few more links, but Clyde is already busy looking at tribal tattoos now that he has a name for them.
"Wait, dude, did you see this like full arm tribal? It's like your arm."
Craig may have accidentally let Clyde see the look of horror on his face before he steels himself. "Is there something else you wanted to talk about? You're going to be here like tomorrow."
"Four days," Clyde corrects. "I'm coming home the night of my party, which you're coming to, right?"
"Always."
"Good. I miss my woman so you'll just have to do. Oh my god, she told me she saw you at Gary's open mic! You filmed for us!"
Craig sighs and leans back in his chair. He wishes he had a rolling chair with a bendable back like Token does, but he has to settle for the stiff wood chair from his parents' old dining set. He wishes he didn't have to talk about Clyde's friends. "Firkle Vargas paid me to film Henrietta. It was convenient to take another job."
Clyde rolls his eyes affectionately. "You are the grumpiest giant."
"Fuck off," Craig retorts, but he is almost laughing because Clyde is ridiculous enough to warm his icy heart from time to time. He has had his ups and downs with Clyde, but they always come back up.
"My roommate left last night and I'm already super fucking bored. I can't leave because I have one more exam-one-and it's the night before my party. So basically I'm doing nothing for the next three days. I could study, but I could also just save it for the day of, you know what I'm saying?"
Craig doesn't. He didn't study for anything in high school and he didn't even try to enroll in college.
"My dad is going on a date the night of the party so we have the house all to ourselves. Apparently he and the new lady are hitting it off because this is like the fourth or fifth date and since he'll be gone all night I guess they're expecting to have sex? That's farther than he's gotten with any of his dates since mom died," Clyde tells him, leaning back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling as he rambles.
Craig drums his fingers against his desk. He is itching to talk about Tweek or how he is feeling, but Clyde seems to have forgotten the entire reason he was begging Craig to Skype with him. Now he sits on the line irritably as Clyde babbles on. He is going to see him by the end of the week, there is no reason for the call if they aren't going to talk about Tweek. He doesn't want advice assurance, because that would be embarrassing, but he wants to talk. He wants Clyde to be a silent statue while Craig opens up for once.
"You've got to get there early and pre-game with us." Craig doesn't want to know who the 'us' is because he is pretty sure it isn't just them and Token. Clyde's tone tells him that this is not something he would like to attend. The party is bad enough. He knows the only good thing will be Tweek, so there is no reason to arrive before the blonde.
He realizes, after what is probably too long, that Clyde is silent. Craig has no idea what he was talking about, and tells him as much.
Clyde smiles patiently and says, "Who is this person who has melted Craig Tucker's icy cold heart? I need to hear all about your love life."
Craig opens his mouth. He is about to say it, about to let it come rushing forth. After all, this is why they are Skyping right before Clyde returns home. Clyde could be out having fun with his college buddies, but instead he is in his room chatting with a friend he will see in a few days. Craig looks at Clyde's excited face. He wants to hear about Craig's "love life," a phrase that makes him cringe. It's not a love life. It's an interest. His heart isn't melted. Craig closes his mouth and frowns.
Clyde droops. "Aw, come on! Really?"
"Not today."
Clyde slumps back in his chair. "You're awful."
23:02:41 Dec 15 2012
Craig's cold chapped lips exhale smoke, his numb fingers lowering the cigarette to his hip. He keeps his head down, trying to look inconspicuous and failing. He knows he is failing, but he may as well try. At least he looks cool. The lingering side glance Jessie is giving him as she walks up the lawn to Clyde's house confirms that feeling. He confirmed with Tweek two days ago that he would be at this party for sure. Clyde insists that just about everyone is home from college, so their entire graduating class should be in attendance. Clyde firmly believes no one would want to miss out on it. Craig hopes he is right as he stamps out his cigarette and picks up his camera off the hood of his car and adjusts it in his hands.
Jessie immediately makes eye contact with him when he enters the house. She is standing by the stairs with Annie, who waves politely, but Jessie's gaze lingers a moment before turning back to her friend. Craig keeps his expression straight. He doesn't want to give her even a frown. He has been painfully aware of her bold attraction to him since middle school. It was annoying then since she has always been good friends with Annie, who has been tight with Jimmy and Jason since seventh grade, and it was more annoying in high school when she'd openly stare at him during dances his friends dragged him to, hoping he'd ask her or she'd get the courage to ask him.
She isn't looking at him anymore, and it makes Craig feel naked. She wanted him once. He grips his camera and walks through the living room trying not to make eye contact with anyone sitting on the couch or standing around the dining room table. The kitchen is where he finds his friend, or where Clyde grabs him and gives him a loud, sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Broseph!"
"Fuck," Craig groans, backing away from him and wiping his face.
"You're the most dramatic little shit," Clyde says, grinning and patting his bicep. "Hey, I have something to show you."
Craig looks around leerily and Clyde chuckles. "Nothing weird, but I got a tattoo."
"No, you didn't."
"Oh yes I did," Clyde says through a big smile and pulls off his jacket so he can push up his sleeve. "The place had this big book full of cool designs. I almost got a Chinese symbol for Protection because of my mom, you know, but I decided to stick with my guns."
Clyde peels the medical tape off of his exposed tan bicep to reveal a beautiful, colorful pin up girl in a sexualized sailor outfit. The colors are maybe a little bright for is tan skin, but they will fade over time. Her face is smooth and elegant, her form curvaceous. He slowly drags his eyes from the art up to Clyde's smug face. "Wow," He says, because he doesn't know what else to say without fawning. He didn't expect anything more than a hideous tribal band or barbed wire.
Clyde flexes. "You doubted me. I totally had you. Dude, I trust you, and if you give me some serious good advice, I'm going to take it. Besides, the guys on the team are gonna be kicking themselves for not getting a hot lady."
Craig laughs, which isn't too hard to do around Clyde. The guy can be too peppy for his tastes, but he is his best friend, and they work together perfectly.
"Holy hell, Donovan!"
The third party of their perfect trifecta approaches in a sequined purple blazer and greets them with a round of high fives. The high fives are immediately followed by Token pulling Clyde into a tight hug. It's a friendly hug, but Craig still inches back. "Long time, man!"
"How's the movie?" Clyde asks them both, indicating the camera Craig is holding at eye level.
"Editing can be exhausting, I have a straight three weeks of footage and I'm running out of hard drives, but you know Tucker is getting some beautiful stuff."
"There is nothing beautiful about South Park," Craig corrects.
"Says the brilliant director. It's supposed to be dismal, that's what makes it beautiful. There is beauty in sorrow." Token is so serious when he says it that Craig finds himself nodding.
"How are things with Aubrey?" Clyde asks Token, and Craig tunes them out.
Token shrugs. "Not talking, barely looking at each other. I couldn't have expected anything less, I guess."
Clyde pats his shoulder sympathetically. "My woman is around here somewhere," He trails off, looking around them at the crowded kitchen.
"Can you stop calling her that? She's more than just her gender."
"Don't I know it," Clyde winks at them, and quickly disappears when he catches sight of Marjorine.
Token gives Craig a knowing look. "They think two weeks apart is a long time."
"I'm ready for the magic to die," Craig says as he watches them kiss across the room. Wendy and Nichole don't look fazed by their friend being ripped from them to engage in what is probably a very common scene for them.
"Well, we've lost him. Maybe he'll want to hang out tomorrow once he rids himself of those blue balls. I'm gonna go badger Henrietta for her next concert."
Token leaves Craig standing alone in the kitchen as Red and Jason walk by. Jason gives Craig an air fist bump, or at least that's what it kind of looks like. He looks awfully smug about it. Craig grabs a beer off the counter and sets down his camera to pop off the cap, accidentally inviting Eric Cartman to talk to him as he mixes a drink. "How's your amateur porno going?"
Craig chooses to ignore him, which never really works. There was a scary point when they were in middle school where Eric was the first boy to hit puberty, and he grew tall before anyone else, but then he stopped, and nearly everyone passed him. It was hilarious, as failures of Eric's often are. The kid barely speaks to Craig, and he likes to imagine that it's because he is so damn tall compared to Eric, compared to nearly everyone. "Did you hear me, asshole? I said, how's your porno? Your amateur porno?"
There are jibes he could make about Eric's mother, but it isn't worth speaking to him. Craig gives him one lingering glance down his long nose and turns away, camera and beer in hand.
"Shut the fuck up." Craig cringes at the sound of Kyle's voice.
"Are you in his porno? Did he get a close-up of your sandy vagina?"
"You're such a fuckass."
He does not bother to acknowledge him and instead keeps walking. He knows where Kenny and Stan usually gather in Clyde's house, and he heads for the basement guest bedroom with only a slow sweep of the camera to satisfy his requirement to film his classmates.
On his way down the staircase, Craig stares at his feet, careful with each step. The ceiling is not tall enough for him to stand up straight, so he has to stoop. He can vividly remember sprinting up and down this staircase as a child and he remembers hitting his head on it hard enough to need stitches on Clyde's fourteenth birthday. When he reaches the bottom he pauses to roll his neck and pop out the kinks.
"What are you doing here?"
Craig looks up to find his sister leaning against the wall of the hallway and talking to Ike, their faces close as they whisper some conversation back and forth.
"I should be asking you," Craig says, trying to sound disinterested, but knowing he comes across as irritated to a sister who can read him like a book.
"I'm here for the party," she answers.
"These are my friends. Don't you have kids your age throwing parties?"
"Yeah, I do," Savannah bites back, finally turning away from Ike to look up at her older brother. "And you show up to most of them and get trashed."
Craig glares at her for a few moments before his eyes wander down the rest of the basement. There are three doors divided among four walls of the large multipurpose room: a locked door that leads to the staircase up to the backyard, a locked door that leads to a closet full of Clyde's sports equipment, and an unlocked door, hanging ajar, that pulses with the occasional shoulder that bumps against it from inside. This door leads to the large guest bedroom, and Craig is tired of talking to his sister.
"Just stay away from my friends," he mutters as he walks away.
There are a few other kids in the basement, mostly the old swim team that Craig once thought about joining, but they aren't worth more than a lingering shot of them sitting on a couch and chatting. He pulls the doorknob to the guest room and is drowned in the smell of marijuana. He groans aloud at the lack of consideration and approaches Kenny, who is talking to Tweek with a smarmy smile. Craig wedges himself nearly between them, enough to divert the dealer's attention. "What do you have?"
"Whoa, there, Yao Ming, calm your shit. Tweekers here was going to buy some weed. That's all I have today."
"The fuck?"
"Yeah, well, with all these new laws popping up, I'm trying to sell what I've got."
"You're scared."
"Just smart," Kenny responds with an gratingly calm smile and holds up a small bag of weed that is enough for two people. "And patient. You want weed? Twenty bucks."
"Seriously? Asshole."
Craig grabs Tweek's arm and leads him away after he has made his exchange. They stand against the wall near window, cold radiating through the glass despite it being shut tight. Craig pulls a pipe and lighter out of his pocket in his leather jacket and hands them to Tweek. He opens the bag and packs the bowl with marijuana, pressing it down and pulls his hands away. "You wanna go first?" He asks without looking at Tweek.
"I-is something wrong?"
"No. I just want to get high." He feels awful. He wants a release. His friends can make him feel so tense, and being at parties is never easy. It's usually funny, but not tonight. Not after their last encounter with the mixed signals and Craig finally being stupid enough to admit to Clyde that he was interested in someone. That someone is standing only two feet apart, the camera focused close on Tweek's hands holding the instruments unmoving, and seeing him talking to Kenny set him off. He is feeling on edge. "Hurry up."
He watches, camera following, as Tweek's shaking hands lift the pipe to his mouth, flick the lighter aflame, and the blonde inhales. Craig exhales with him and his hands reach out to take the pipe back. He sucks in three consecutive lungfuls and passes it back. He doesn't have the will to watch, he just closes his eyes and leans his cheek against the green floral wallpaper, listening to the young man across from him smoke.
The anxiety is leaving him. The worries about his friends and the people he doesn't consider his friends float away. In the darkness of his shut eyelids, Craig can picture Tweek taking him over the mountains, his dry lips moving with the music. He remembers what he felt like before he texted Clyde. It's relieving. Craig's body relaxes.
He doesn't open his eyes until Tweek coughs and lowers the pipe. He takes the camera to Tweek's face where big, wet amber eyes look into the lens. Craig turns away and sits on the floor. Tweek slides jerking down the wall beside him until they are resting together, elbows an inch apart.
Craig looks out across the small bedroom. Stan and Pete are sitting on the bed together, sprawled back against the wall and talking quietly, neither of them looking at each other. Firkle is arguing with Kenny over the drug supply. Milly and Fosse are playing War and laughing at each other. There is no one out of the ordinary here, but whenever he thinks about the people he ends up hanging out in the same room with at parties, he can't help but think that he would have never imagined being with these people on the nights he needs release from his drab routine. He isn't sure what he would have imagined when he was in high school, but he was hoping for some new faces.
"F-fuck," Tweek groans and Craig slides his gaze over to the blonde beside him who is shuddering out a deep sigh. Maybe he can survive on new perspectives of old faces. Tweek certainly feels new. At times Craig forgets that Tweek knew him during his awkward stage and remembers when Eric pantsed him in PE. Conversely, Craig seems to have a difficult time remembering Tweek. The blonde faded into the background of Craig's high school experience, like most people he grew up with. He remembers when he and Tweek beat the fuck out of each other in third grade and he remembers how made they both were when Kyle let it slip sophomore year that he, Stan, and Eric set them up. Craig remembers Tweek's surprised laughter as Craig stalked right up to Eric and punched him in the face.
"Smoking calms me down," Tweek admits, volume barely above a whisper. His voice has a subtle rasp when it's even and calm. He turns and looks into the camera. "I know you're documenting all of this shit. May as well give you a confession."
Craig studies his uncertain expression. "You don't have to say that. It's better if you just ignore it."
Tweek nods and hands over the pipe. Craig takes another hit, exhaling his fears. They are a little on edge tonight, but it's still nice. He is taken off guard by his own compliance, but it may be for the best. Looking back on it, Denver wasn't so bad: they talked over coffee, Tweek sang, it was positive. Craig felt something. With his gaze trained on Tweek's face, he acknowledges that he still feels something. The cannabis in his system tells him to touch Tweek, because he is so close but he could be closer, so Craig sets the pipe down and puts a hand on Tweek's elbow where the scratchy knit of his sweater is bunched up. "Are you high?"
"I'm feeling it."
"Good. Good. Milly is looking at us, I think she wants us to play cards with her."
"No fucking way."
Craig turns his head to where Milly and Fosse are eying them over their card game. "We don't want to play with you guys."
Milly and Fosse break into snickers, a few deep mumbles of "that's gay," floating in Craig and Tweek's direction.
"What are you playing?" Tweek yells across the small room.
"War," Milly shouts back. "You should join us, I'm kicking his hairy butt."
"Dude," Fosse mutters and leans over, trying to shush her as she swats him away. "Not cool."
"I was joking? Everyone can probably guess you have a hairy butt, we've all seen your chest and legs at pool parties."
Tweek laughs and lays a hand on Craig's boot. It's a shame that he can see it, but he can't feel it. He wishes he had worn his Vans rather than his Docs. Warmth permeates canvas, but the wide construct of his leather boots keeps Tweek's touch out. Craig hand slides down the scratchy knit arm to rest just above his wrist. The camera wobbles in his hand, filming Milly and Fosee watching the unseen stars offscreen.
"We can play Go Fish. We don't know any other card games. I know Poker but Fosse doesn't get it."
"Go Fish!" Tweek laughs and crawls across the floor. Craig follows, shuffling on his knees and settled in around the cards. He doesn't know how to play Go Fish, but he may as well try. He can feel eyes on him, and he pans the camera around to find Stan and Pete sitting up straight on the bed beside them and peering over the footboard to watch. He flips them off and turns back to Tweek, who is looking at the cards with a curious expression. "I don't remember how to play."
Milly sighs and hands Tweek and Craig a set of cards each. "You have to collect all suits for a number. Stan, Wes, wanna join us? The game is better with more players."
Stan and Pete sink to the floor, and Craig tunes Milly out as she deals them cards and goes over the rules one last time. His face is turned completely to the side, his gaze rolling over to Tweek, who looks even more handsome than usual despite his hair being a little overgrown. The open sweater he is wearing is just as thick as the others, but underneath is a low neck Henley as opposed to the usual loose t-shirt or button down. Craig's eyes are drawn to the exposed collarbone. It's not that sexy, or at least it shouldn't be. It's a collarbone. It's light skin stretched over bone and muscle, but the deep dips and juts of his neck and his collarbone won't let Craig go.
"Got any fours?"
Craig looks up to meet Tweek's eyes. He was caught staring. There are sound and movement around, but he is locked on Tweek, and the blonde has already turned back to the game and is passing some cards to Milly. When he leans back, Craig's gaze moves up his neck to his jaw. It's a wide jaw, not unlike his own, and it comes to almost a near point before his small ears. He wants to touch it. Tweek's hair color is so light that the vague stubble on his jaw is only visible when Tweek tilts his head a certain way and the light from the bedside table is unblocked. It makes him looks like he glistens, like a foreign creature Craig wants to possess.
"Got any Jacks?"
A sharp knock on his ribs makes him blink into focus on Tweek's eyes. "That's you. Jacks." Craig looks down at the seven cards in his hand. He forgot he was playing. He hasn't made any alterations to his hand and it looks like Milly already has four aces, he wonders if they were just skipping over him. Fosse is looking at him expectantly. Craig hands over the Jack he held over his thumb and continues to look at him after he turns away. Fosse isn't appealing, not like Tweek is, not like any other boy is, but he still fixates. He is wearing pants, not his usual basketball shorts, and for once his calves are hidden. Craig likes Fosse's fat, fuzzy calves.
"I need sixes, Tucker."
"Go fucking fish."
He looks over at Tweek, who is smiling at him. Only a few nights ago they were dancing together at a house party far away from South Park. Craig doesn't give a fuck about Milly or Fosse or Stan or Wes, but they never really left for college. Fosse comes home every weekend and Milly commutes to University of Colorado at Boulder. Pete goes to Park County Community and Stan tried and failed. They've rooted their feet in South Park and everyone who lives here knows everyone else's business. In a room like this, they're all in the spotlight. He misses Denver.
"Holy fuck, Craig!" Stan spits. "Since you can't get your hungry eyes off Tweek for long enough to play the game, maybe you should get the fuck out of here and take your gay lover with you."
"Harsh, Stanley," Wes drones, a mixture of amusement and empathy lining his words.
They haven't broken their gaze, and Craig knows the others are watching them, he is sure Kenny or Firkle or his sister might be, as well after Stan's blowup. He knows what it will look like when he taps Tweek's legs and stands up, but he does it anyway. He leads Tweek out of the room and into the dim basement. As he leaves, he sees new faces, Gregory, Esther, Jason, they shouldn't be in that room. He feels naked, but Tweek is following him and it is hard to focus on anything but that.
Surrounding them is an open TV room. The floors are wood, the TV is mounted into the wall, and there is a worn out couch and coffee table facing it. The rest of the room is full of cheap shelving where Clyde and his father have kept artifacts of their old life in large buckets with masking tape and sharpie labels. The swim team is gone and the TV is playing a car commercial on mute. Craig turns around and looks at Tweek. The TV glow is catching the side of his face, lighting up his faint stubble. He hopes his camera catches a similar angle. "How are you feeling?"
"Good," Tweek says, huge eyes meeting his. "I could use something to drink."
They ascend, breaking into the fluorescent lights of the kitchen. The room is crowded, Clyde is currently shouting and fist bumping every guy in sight over a game of beer pong that he seems to be winning. A few women are flocking him, but it's meaningless. Most of the sexual attraction between South Park kids died out during high school, and anything left either lasted or is stuck in a static dance. Marjorine is on the opposite team looking like she is ready to take him down in the next round.
Token's afro rounds the corner away from them. Kyle waves to Tweek. Craig inches around the beer pong crowd, Tweek momentarily deferred as Nichole hugs him, and grabs a bottle of Popov off the table. He turns to Tweek. "Is this enough?"
Tweek lets out a barking laugh and takes the bottle from, pouring a solid dose into a Solo cup and immediately throwing back half.
"Are you shitting me?" Craig asks and takes the cup from him, drinking the rest.
Tweek drops his head and Craig can see the round cheek indicative of laughter. Craig puts a hand on Tweek's shoulder and jostles him, itching to pull him closer. Looking into Tweek's glassy amber eyes, Craig thinks of trapped insects. Tweek fists a hand in the deep v of Craig's shirt, over the moth.
A passerby elbows him hard and Craig regroups to find himself closer to Tweek than he meant to be. He looks beyond Tweek's ear to see Eric throwing him an expression of smug disdain. Tweek glances behind him and leans into Craig's neck to whisper, "Let's get out of here."
Craig grabs his arm and drags him out of the kitchen into the laundry room. He shuts the door behind them and turns to Tweek, who looks very amused. "What's wrong?"
"This is the best you could do?"
Craig frowns, but he wants to laugh. It's bubbling in his chest. He leans against the washer and Tweek follows. Craig looks at the hanging laundry and the childhood painting of Clyde's. There is an abused rug under their feet. He shrugs. "I don't know where else to go."
"There isn't anywhere else, I guess," Tweek responds. "I guess just home, but I'm… I'm drunk or high or both. I don't want to waste that. All of our friends are out there."
"Your friends," Craig corrects.
"They're okay."
Craig nods and looks over at the brooms and mops leaning against the door. He, Clyde, and Token used to sword fight with them when they were kids. The magic of childhood feels so far behind Craig that it's nauseating. He pushes off the laundry machine and turns back to Tweek. "We need to get out of here. For real. Just you and me. I need to get the fuck out of this town."
Tweek is staring at him with wide eyes. Craig doesn't know how to read the expression. He could have been too pushy of too desperate or something. He feels overwhelmed. Craig keeps the camera trained of Tweek's face while he glances anxiously around the room. He could be anywhere else. He could leave without warning.
Tweek stands up straight and opens his mouth, but says nothing. He looks deep in thought. Craig doesn't want him to think anymore. He's embarrassed and he wants. He takes a step forward, pulls Tweek forward him by his thick sweater, and kisses him.
It's his first kiss, but it doesn't feel like the movies. It feels like he is still high, it feels like Tweek is warm and wet and weird. He tightens his grip on the neck of his sweater and tilts his head, pulling him closer. His hand strapped onto the camera falls to his side when Tweek kisses him back. The shot is lost, but it doesn't matter anymore. They can leave together. Craig follows along the best he can when Tweek pries into his mouth. He sighs into Tweek when his tongue runs over the roof of his mouth behind his crooked teeth. He could stop time. He wants to stop everything and keep kissing. He wants time to continue so they can pack their things and leave.
Tweek pulls out of his mouth and says low against his lips. "Chicago."
"What?" Craig breathes, already mouthing at him again.
"We'll go to Chicago."
[Thank you for reading, everyone. This is not the end yet! The story has just begun.]