Insolence

by Takethe Blanket

After nearly everyone left for college, 22 year old Craig Tucker is stuck in a dying mountain town with a video camera and a few uninspiring faces. Slash.

5. Chapter 5

20:14:58 Dec 16 2012

"All I'm saying," Clyde says over his shoulder when the clerk walks away, "is that Peter Jackson directs some epic movies."

"What does that even mean? Epic? You're telling me it's a long movie. Is that what you're saying is epic, a long movie?"

"No, I'm just saying-"

"Anyone can make a four hour movie. You could make a four hour movie and fill it with panoramic shots of mountains and plains in New Zealand and call it epic."

Clyde exchanges his money for a giant bucket of yellow popcorn and they walk into the theater, squeezing around the people standing confused in the aisle, and dodging into a close-up row that only has a few high school students in it. "I don't think that's what makes his movies good."

"They're all retellings anyway," Craig says before Clyde can explain himself. "He adds pretty scenery and a ton of CGI to old famous stories like Lord of the Rings and King Kong so people will see them. It's a guaranteed blockbuster. He's a money-hungry whore."

Clyde gives him a smile meant to pacify, but Craig frowns. "There are too many frames per second in this movie. I know it's going to make me sick."

Instead of responding, Clyde pulls out his phone and opens his pictures, showing Craig a few shots he took of the party. "Did you hear I won beer pong? I went up against like half of our class and I slaughtered."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Craig says quickly, reluctant to change the subject.

"Marjorine almost got me. She and Eric nearly took me down."

"Eric?" Craig mouths, disgusted. "Don't tell me you're friends with Eric Cartman."

"Dude, he's her best friend or like brother or whatever; the name rubs off. We're kinda friendly now. Besides, she told me he's always admired me."

Craig sighs through his nose and decides not to say anything as the previews start, but he can't resist when halfway through the second preview, Clyde tells him that Cartman has grown up a lot. "You are such an idiot. I can't believe you'd fall for that shit just because of a crush."

Clyde frowns. "Marjorine's my girlfriend. I really, really like her."

"But doesn't it feel weird?"

"Does what feel weird?"

"That you've known her forever and that she's, you know, a guy."

"Not cool," Clyde levels with him, but he is calm and relaxed about the matter. "She's a woman, and if you're actually asking about sex and not doubting her choices like it sounds like you are, I don't mind it. I like her so much that I don't care what people think. Well, you should know, you're gay."

"What?" Craig deadpans.

"You and Tweek snuggling up on each other and sneaking off together?" Clyde suggests with a smile.

Craig feels a rush of horror over him, it's a cold wave running down his body from his head all the way down to his toes. He has no idea what sort of expression is on his face, but Clyde seems to read his signal immediately, and he raises his hands in apology. "Sorry, sorry, my bad, I thought you two were…"

He trails off, and Craig sits still, staring straight at Clyde with a tornado of thoughts ripping through his mind. Despite the panic and the fear, and years of being desperately closeted, Crag says, "No, uh, yeah, we are."

Clyde's face breaks into a huge grin and he pats Craig's arm. "Dude, congrats."

Clyde squeezes him in a sideways one-armed hug before retracting his arm and putting the bucket of popcorn between them. "Have some," He says with an expression that is all too enthusiastic.

Craig doesn't say anything, and he remains quiet until about halfway into the movie when he leans over and stage whispers, "One hundred percent special FX."

15:02:41 Dec 18 2012

Craig only finds himself at the Cartman house because Clyde begged him to join them when they were walking home from the movie theater. It was a long, whining conversation that Craig brushed off because he assumed Clyde just wanted to show off his fancy new social circle. It's not as though Craig never tried hanging out with them before Clyde and Marjorine started dating. Clyde quickly grew close to Marjorine, Wendy, and Nichole in college since they were in New York City and he was only a train ride away, but this is different. This involves friends of friends. He shudders to think about it.

It turns out he is absolutely right. There are a few regular people just hanging out that Craig can sweep his camera over, but when he gets into the kitchen he sees Wendy, Stan, Bebe, Token, Kyle, and Nichole standing around the counter talking to each other. He immediately feels uncomfortable and outside of the group. He watches, camera trained on the group of smiling people who do not notice him. The hosts and friend who invited him are nowhere to be seen, and Craig is leery of approaching Token when he is with friends, especially Kyle. He turns around and walks back into the living room.

Annie waves to him from the couch, but does not invite him any closer. Craig avoids Jason and Jimmy when he sees them and instead takes to the unfamiliar route to see who is upstairs. He hasn't been in the Cartman residence since he was a kid and even then it was only in groups, but most South Park houses have similar layouts so when he reaches the top of the stairs, he can take guesses as to what is behind each closed door.

There is a fear that he will walk in on wherever Clyde, Cartman, and Marjorine are, and when he goes to open the door of what should be the guest room, he hears voices from inside. He pauses, listening. Words are muffled, but he hears the unmistakable voices of Clyde and Cartman talking amongst themselves. As Craig tries to make out what he is hearing, he cues into Marjorine's voice. They're discussing how one of them looks, and Craig rolls his eyes, irritated that they are fawning over Marjorine, and walks back downstairs.

He cuts around the corner and into the basement where he is hit with a familiar smell of weed, but to his surprise, the only people he finds down there are Red, Pete, and Firkle. They all look up when he enters.

"Is this it?" Craig asks and Red raises an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean? Yes, it's just us here."

"No Kenny or Stan to push their drugs on everyone?"

Red rolls her eyes and holds up a small bag of weed. "This is all we've got. Kenny showed up for a few minutes but took off pretty suddenly. He's trusting me to sell this."

"Not that there's anyone to sell it to," Pete mumbles. "This is the lamest party I've ever been to and the best Kenny could do to make it fun is leave $30 of weed with his girl toy."

"Hey, fuck you."

"He doesn't love you," Firkle tells her. "Romance is dead."

"I don't love him."

"As long as you're both miserable together," Pete says and Red stands up, pocketing the bag.

"Damn straight. I'm out, I'll buy this shit myself. Have fun, assholes." She flips Craig off on her way out and he returns the gesture. He stands in place, filming Pete and Firkle lounging on the floor leaning up against a couch rather than sitting on the couch itself.

He wants to ask about Tweek, but Pete was a part of the Go Fish where Craig whisked Tweek away. Pete is good friends with Stan, who openly accused Craig and Tweek of being gay, and he is sure Pete had to listen to Stan complain about it. Craig is not sure what else to do. He doesn't want to be upstairs, but he does not want to hang out down in the basement with the goths. Pete has a look on his face like he knows what Craig wants to say and he finds it hysterical.

He hasn't spoken to Tweek since the party. He debated sending him a Facebook message, but felt uncomfortable and thought it best if they organically met up at another party. After all, all of their graduating class is home for Christmas break and it seems like every night someone is having a small gathering. His Facebook invites are loaded with dates and times accompanied by messages of what drinks to bring and how to dress and whether or not people can crash on the couch if they need to. None of the events sound inviting and a bare few of them sound like they would gather the drug crowd, so Craig left every invitation unresponded to. He noticed, in a totally normal way, that Tweek didn't respond to any of them either.

The idea of talking to Tweek is terrifying, but Craig can't help but think of how relieving it was to kiss him that he refuses to let himself be too overwhelmed by his reservations. He does not know how their next interaction will go, but as long as he stays relaxed about the whole thing, then he shouldn't have to worry.

Pete raises his eyebrows and Craig realizes he has been standing in one place for far too long. He turns around and walks back up the stairs without saying another word.

At the top of the stairs, he looks around for a flash of a shaved head, but instead he finds himself making eye contact with Marjorine as she turn a corner. Clyde and Cartman are behind her, but his eyes are stuck on Marjorine's strange expression.

She approaches Craig quietly asks, "Are you okay?"

"What?" Craig asks at full voice, gaze darting around the room. No one else is paying him any mind except Clyde.

"I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you'd be pretty upset."

Craig stares at her, confused. He hates being confused, and uncertainty swells with frustration in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. "What are you talking about?" he asks, with more aggression than is probably necessary.

Marjorine puts a hand on his arm and leans in to ask, "You haven't heard about Tweek?"

Craig says nothing this time. The camera is forgotten off to the side, aimed at nothing in particular. He is not used to someone being so close to him. His eyes scan her face quickly, trying to take in her features from up close. He can see the wrinkles in her peachy makeup.

"He's in the hospital."

Craig's eyes snap from her smile lines to her eyes and the expression contained within is so serious that Craig almost laughs.

"Have you spoken to him at all?"

Marjorine's expression is so worried and real. Craig has to look away. His gaze darts around the room. The kids on the couch aren't paying him any mind. Wendy and Nichole are watching from the kitchen. He looks down at the camera in his hand but does not raise it up.

"I thought… he told me he was going to talk to you," Marjorine rushes out and Craig watches her concerned eyes as she speaks. "I only found out because I was there for group and one of the other kids told me he is sharing a room with him. I hopped over there when group let out, but he only had a few minutes before he was whisked away to therapy and he told me he wanted to talk to you. I didn't think you'd be here."

Clyde is watching, but not listening. He knows. Craig takes a step back. The words hospital and rehab are still echoing in his head, flitting in and out of blank spaces without sticking. He has no idea what to do with the information, what to make of it. What do those words even mean?

"I'm sorry," Marjorine tells him. "I thought you knew."

11:42:05 Dec 19 2012

The camera is sitting on the dash, pointed at Craig as he sits in the parking lot of The Children's Therapy Center. He does not want to give the camera the satisfaction of seeing his face, so he sits slumped in the driver's seat with his head tilted down as he scrolls through his phone. Marjorine's information paired with the hospital website affirms that this is where he is supposed to be, but he has reservations. According to the really vague Google research he did sitting up in bed the night before, he should be in the right place. It's a one story brick building. It has a large fenced-in backyard like houses do, but it looks like a park with benches and trees and a garden. It's snowed over, but well-shoveled. There are a few people walking around an unseen footpath.

He looks at the front entryway. He can see a receptionist behind a desk and a few people standing in front of it. When they leave, he pockets his phone and gets out of his car, locking the video camera in the trunk.

As he pushes open the door to the facility, comforting heat encourages him to remove his jacket. However, the heat is the only comforting thing. Everyone in the room turns to look at him before quickly averting their gazes. The receptionist smiles at him.

"Checking in or visiting?"

"Tweek Tweak," he says. She frowns. "I'm here to see Tweek Tweak. I'm a visitor."

She scrolls through the bulky beige computer in front of her and he looks around the lobby. There are a few chairs, but it doesn't look like a waiting room, more like the front room to a small hotel. There is an attempt at decor in the room, silk plants and tapestry curtains filling the room with artificial coziness. There is a girl sitting on a chair, staring up at a wall mounted television where the news plays on silent. Craig notes the tears running silently down her cheeks. Who Craig can only assume are her parents sit adjacent to her, filling out paperwork on a clipboard. His fingers twitch, muscle memory longing to hit the zoom button on such a scene. A few halls lead from the lobby, the walls lined with doors. He makes eye contact with another young girl in a beanie sitting in a lobby chair and glaring at him over her Gameboy. He turns back to the receptionist, who has a hand extended to him. "Your ID?"

Once she checks his driver's license, she goes over protocol while he signs his name and date of birth onto a half sheet of paper. He barely hears her, instead reading the board behind her head that tells him which doctors are in and which seminars are occurring today. There is a painting class and yoga.

"Sir?"

Craig checks back in, making eye contact with the receptionist.

"Sir, do you have any electronics, sharp objects or drugs on you today?"

"What?"

"Cellphones, car keys, scissors, pocket knife, lighters, cigarettes, medication?"

"Um, my phone and keys."

"I'll hold on those for you up here."

Reluctantly, Craig hands them to the woman at the desk. She slides it into a cubby behind her, along with the small piece of paper that identifies his belongings.

"We told him you're coming." She points to a male nurse who then leads Craig down one of the hallways and through a heavy wooden door. The door locks behind them with a metallic thunk and Craig notices the number pad required to get the door to open again. They're in a small empty room, no larger than the bathroom he shares with his sister. The nurse intentionally blocks Craig's view as he punches the code for the second door. On the other side, there is a living room, not unlike the living rooms of various homes in South Park. Admittedly, it is larger, with four couches directed towards a large television and a few small tables scattered amongst armchairs that line the walls. There is a family sitting on a couch in front of the television, but Tweek Tweak with his fuzzy head is sitting in an armchair by the metal barred window. Craig is thankful to see a familiar face, distracting him from the claustrophobia that has begun to set in.

Tweek is wearing green South Park Cows sweatpants, but otherwise he looks completely normal in his thick sweater and Birkenstocks. Craig approaches and sits in the opposite armchair, a small round table stands between them. He avoids looking at Tweek, his eyes sweeping throughout the room. The gaudy interior design from the entry way has been abandoned for functional furniture and tables that are bolted to the ground. How many movies has Craig watched where characters end up in mental institutions? How did he not realize this is where Tweek would be?

There is a hallway that leads to what Craig assumes are bedrooms. Along one wall is a collection of the types of phones you only see in hospitals and prisons. Beside the phones is a row of windows where various people are standing and talking on the other side. It is clear these people are not patients. From this fishtank, a man emerges and walks directly towards Tweek and Craig. He sits down in a chair a few feet from them, occasionally glancing up at Craig while he plays a game on his smartphone.

Craig glares at the employee for a few moments before finally turning to study Tweek's face. He doesn't looks any different. His hair is still a little overgrown, but he does not look tired or sick. He looks just as he did when they stood in the laundry room at Clyde's house a few days ago. Craig feels like he could strike up a conversation about their classmates or about how Kenny passed his drug duties onto Red at the last party, but Tweek's face is stoic. He doesn't seem angry or disappointed. He barely looks sad at all. Tweek is neutral. Craig's eyes snap back to the attendant that is watching them and Craig audibly sighs.

"He's not going anywhere," Tweek assures him. "He has to make sure you're not sneaking me drugs."

The nurse smiles at them, and Craig shows him his most influential finger.

Craig wants to speak quietly, but he also doesn't want to give their chaperone the satisfaction of making him uncomfortable, so Craig tries his best to ignore the man.

"So," he begins. "What happened?"

"Gah!" Tweek lurches backwards, pulling his legs up on to the chair and wrapping his arms around his calves. "I crashed my parents' car."

"When?

"After Clyde's party. I guess I was still high and kind of drunk and I just drove right through the garage door without opening it."

"Shit."

"Yeah… Ugh! I fucked up!"

"So they sent you to rehab for that?"

Tweek shrugs, watching him with narrowed eyes that make Craig uncomfortable.

"It was bound to happen," Tweek tells him. "It's what everyone wanted to happen."

"What do you mean everyone wanted it to happen?"

"Shit! They just did! They all want me to stay here!"

Craig leans back into his armchair and crosses his arms across his chest. He's put off. This isn't the Tweek that filled him with hope and a desire to run away. This isn't his chariot to Chicago. This guy looks sick.

"When are you going to get out of here?"

"I don't know! Depends on how I do!"

"Stop yelling, dude, shit."

Tweek simply twitches in his chair.

"Are you okay, Tweek?" comes the soothing voice of the man that is still sitting near them.

"I'm fine, Rick," Tweek mumbles, leaning his forehead on his knees.

"I wish I could get you out of here," Craig sneers, his words directed to Tweek, but his eyes trained on Rick.

"Gah! Why?!"

"This place isn't good for you," Craig decides.

There is no response from Tweek. The other man does not lift his head from where it has fallen to his knees. Craig feels nauseous. His hands drum nervously against his thighs. Rick stands and approaches them. Craig watches, his ears rushing with blood as the nurse leans over Tweek and rubs his back.

"Do you need to go to your room for a bit?"

Tweek rocks in his chair and Craig feels his face turning red with frustration.

"What do you need, Tweek?"

"I need my meds."

"You have twenty-four more hours of drug hold."

"I can't, I can't," Tweek moans, breathing heavily into his legs.

"Come on," Rick coos, helping Tweek stand and guiding him down the hallway. Craig does not watch them leave. He stares right at the empty chair where Tweek had been sitting a moment before.

He wants to leave before Rick comes back to tell him he has to, but he doesn't know how, so he begrudgingly waits. He glances around the room a bit, wishing he had his camera. It seems a few other visitors have arrived, and people play board games, watch television or simply sit and laugh together. Part of Craig wishes he had an excuse to wear pajamas and drag his feet around a mental hospital all day.

"Cock!"

Craig's eyes target the source of the profanity. A young freckled man with sandy hair sits across from a middle aged woman. A scrabble board is laying between them and they are laughing.

"Asshole!"

The woman is undisturbed by her son's outbursts and Craig can only think of how Tweek doesn't belong here with these crazy people.

"Aw, shit!"

"Thomas, you're going to beat me again," his mom laments.

Craig stands and is moving towards the boy and his mother before he prepares what he's going to say. The two of them look up at Craig when they realize he is standing there and Thomas's mother seems to be preparing a defense.

"Hi?" Thomas asks.

"Hey. Thomas? I'm Craig. Do you remember me?"

"Yeah. Of course I do. How are you? Are you here to visit Tweek?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Stupid shit!"

"I was. He went to bed."

"Yeah, he's having a hard time off all of his meds. I think he's struggling to stay cognizant."

Craig nods, reminding himself to google the definition of cognizant when he gets in the car. He hesitates, unsure of what to say next and feeling surprise relief when Rick returns.

"I'm sorry," the attendant tells Craig, "he's having a hard time adjusting. He'll feel better tomorrow, why don't you visit then?"

He turns from Thomas and his mother and doesn't wave goodbye as Rick leads him back to the exit. He passes through each thick door as it is held open for him. Craig retrieves his belongings from the front desk and bolts to the car.

12:04:26 Dec 20 2012

Craig feels a lot less anxious on his second trip to the Youth Center, and he purposefully left his phone and camera in the car, depositing his ID and keys with the woman at the front desk when he approaches. When the nurse leads him to the common room, which has a few more people in it today, he looks at Tweek, sitting in the same armchair by the window with the sunlight glaring over him, and he sees a new angle of the young man.

He doesn't know what it is exactly, but that tightness in his stomach that he usually feels when he sees Tweek is accompanied by a temperature shift he doesn't know how to interpret. It is as though the moon is waning, but it's too damn bright to make out the craters. He stands still for a moment, watching Tweek, trying to capture him as he is. The blonde does not react to him, and he feels safe observing until the nurse catches his eye and he feels forced to proceed.

Craig takes the seat across from Tweek as he did the day before. The man is in sweats again, which makes Craig feel a little better about the old hoodie he pulled over his PetSteps polo to cover up any evidence of his shitty job. Tweek has a book in his lap, closed with a finger propped in it like Craig interrupted him in the middle of an intense plot and not that the nurse dragged Tweek from his room or an inpatient-only common room to bring him to meet his visitor. Maybe he wanted Craig to feel outcasted. Craig frowns and leans forward, studying the little that Tweek will show him of his downturned face.

"How's it going in here?"

"Fine."

"What happened yesterday?"

Tweek gives him a passing glance as he raises his head to gaze out the window instead of at the book cover. He makes no move to answer and Craig feels like reaching over and shaking him until Tweek spill everything, or at least holds eye contact with him for more than a second. His chest is tight with frustration. He feels a little lost.

He googled cognizant when he arrived home the day before, and found it meant "being aware of." Tweek didn't look spaceout or crazy the day before, and he mostly looks okay today, but something about him looks off. There is a strange look in his eyes that Craig cannot pinpoint. Thomas told him Tweek was off his meds, whatever that means.

He returned today partly due to concern and partly due to curiosity. Thomas indicated a few things that filled gaps that Craig didn't realize were left open until yesterday. For much of last night he mulled over the few words exchanged with the guy after Tweek was taken away, his camera took hours of footage of him absently playing video games, trained on Craig's face and missing all the deaths and losses occurring as Craig thought a little too hard.

Having trouble staying cognizant means that Tweek feels disconnected and he can't plug himself back in. Tweek's eyes are unmoving as they aim through the glass and beyond the bars, but they don't seem to be looking at anything in particular, just some trees or the mountains in the distance. If he thinks enough about it, which he isn't fond of doing, Craig could understand what it feels to be disconnected. He is familiar with apathy and carelessness. He would sit in his high school classes and study everyone around him and condemn them for being idiots. He would watch them flirt and socialize and realize how fucked they all were, which brought him back to how fucked he is.

Tweek sinks lower in his chair and says, "I'm just not feeling well."

The key to finding out more information may be leading him on. Direct questions are not working, so he may need to be clever. "Kenny wasn't at Marjorine and Cartman's party. Red sold his shit for him. Just weed again," He says, even though the nurse can clearly heard him.

Tweek doesn't respond.

"I wasn't in the mood for it, so I just left."

Nothing.

"I haven't been that bored at a party in a long time," He says, almost openly admitting that he has fun with Tweek when they crash boring parties and gossip about the kids around them, just in case making out a few days ago was not enough to prove that. Craig thought that maybe after being stupid enough to open himself up, their relationship would be different. He wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting, but the blank boy sitting across from him was not it.

Tweek turns his head suddenly, passed Craig and toward the far corner of the room. He watches a kid and a mom chatting quietly and his eyes widen. He strains to be closer, like he can pick up supersonic hearing if he just scoots an inch or two closer. Tweek looks anxious, his body tense and set.

"Dude," Craig says slowly, "Are you okay?"

Tweek twitches and snaps his amber gaze to him. His dry lips fall open, but he says nothing. Tweek looks awful, absolutely awful. Craig thinks back to telling Tweek the day before that this place isn't good for him. Now he isn't sure if that's true or not. He certainly seems to be at rock fucking bottom, but the question of where this all came from still lingers. Thomas seemed to know.

Bony fingers bunch up the legs of his sweatpants, but he goes back to looking out the window like nothing just happened. He looks tense, his eyes waver and seem to want to watch the mother and child. Craig watches them for him. They don't seem suspicious.

Without warning, Tweek stands up and a nurse is immediately flocking to him. "I have to go," He tells Craig and walks off, the nurse touching his back lightly as he goes.

Craig sighs and leans back in the chair for a moment. He does not want to process what this all means. It's a lot of information. He stands and walks out of the room, nurses' eyes following him.

Once in the hallway, he hears a soft, distant muttering of "shit." Craig's full body jerks. He stops and turns toward the sound. It's around a corner, and he makes sure no one is watching him as he takes a few steps and rounds the corner. At the end of the hallway in front of a window that reveals the backyard, there is a line of telephones and Thomas is sitting on the ground under them, a phone pressed to his ear.

Seeming to sense being stared at, Thomas catches sight of Craig and quickly stands. He waves and turns back into the phone, muttering quickly and quietly before snapping the phone back on the receiver. He grins at Craig as he approaches. "Sneaking around, are you? Balls!"

Craig raises his eyebrows in amusement. "I heard someone making a ruckus, thought I'd check it out."

Thomas laughs, but gives him an expression like Craig is being cheesy, which he doesn't think he is being. "It's hard to always be an R-rated spectacle; I attract weirdos."

Craig gives him a reserved half smile. Thomas knows things. Craig's morbid curiosity seemed to hitting a wall with an unresponsive Tweek, but he saw some things that interested him. He eyes Thomas carefully. The man is shorter than he is (but isn't everyone?) He is round and soft. His ears stick out from his hair, which is cropped closely on the sides and left messy and long-ish on the top. He is wearing a soft green t-shirt that reads "Olivine City Gym Champion." Craig doesn't know of any Olivine City in Colorado. He is pretty sure Thomas still lives in Park County. Thomas' face carries a big smile. He looks a good deal healthier than when Craig knew him as kids.

"So how was Tweek?"

"Fine," Craig says, and then corrects himself. "Unresponsive."

"Ah. Typical, I guess. His body is just reacting to the chemical change. They're probably altering his meds. I think he mentioned in therapy that they've taken him off everything, so they probably want to detox him and start all over."

Craig nods as though he knows what that means.

"It's, fuck, common practice here."

"Which you would know."

"Of course," Thomas tells him without faltering. "I've had Tourette's Syndrome since I was seven and my parents separated almost immediately after, I've needed a lot of therapy." He pauses for a moment and then says, "I'm not in the rehab program. I'm just in-patient for mental health. Depression."

Thomas looks so at ease that Craig can't help but feel calm. Craig has questions he needs to ask, but he has to figure out the most tactful way to ask them if he wants to find out about Tweek without being too nosy, and then he realizes the first, most glaring question.

"How did you know I was here to see Tweek?"

Thomas gives him an inquisitive smile. "He talks about you in group pretty often. Fuck, shouldn't have said that."

Craig smiles, "What?"

"Confidentiality. What's said in group stays in group. Sometimes I just say stuff, though. Tourette's has a way of weakening my filter, but it's totally my fault for not controlling that."

"Ah."

"But I hear you two are regular party kids," Thomas says with a sly smile, completely undoing his loosely woven apology from moments before.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Cock! You guess? I've never been to a party that didn't involve Skype and a few friends I've never seen in person or tagging along with my mom to really boring grown up parties. I've been to baby showers, which are supposed to be ladies only."

Craig nods, uncertain how to respond. It's a lot of information to process at once. He thought he felt overwhelmed digesting the scenario with Tweek a few minutes prior, but Thomas is spitting facts and context at him that he doesn't have time to file away properly. He wishes he had his camera so he could play this conversation back.

"You two are quite the duo."

Craig says nothing.

"Tits!"

He shudders and digs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. He should probably be heading out soon, he has work soon.

"You're making a movie."

Craig opens his mouth, fascinated and speechless.

"The counselors are fucking fascinated by that. I can only imagine the prodding that happens in his private sessions, but in group the counselors are always like, "Craig filmed you doing that? You were okay being filmed like that? You smoked weed on camera? He brought a camera into a bar?" It's hysterical. Tweek is either totally cool with it or just has blocked it out completely, I can't tell."

"Yeah, I guess it can be a little… revealing?"

"I imagine that's the point," Thomas says simply and Craig thinks that makes perfect sense.

"Yeah, my friend wants to make a movie about South Park."

"Very cool. What do you expect to find?"

Craig shrugs.

Thomas looks around and swears, which Craig isn't sure is a part of his Tourette's or a regular expletive. "I have to go. I have finger paint like, now. I know, finger painting." He laughs and walks passed Craig and through a heavy wood door.

Craig watches for a moment after he left and then walks toward the lobby himself. A nurse eyes him, but he doesn't give them the opportunity to speak to him. He picks up his artifacts from the front desk and removes his camera from the trunk of his car to sit on his dashboard as he drives to work.

13:11:26 Dec 20 2012

"Eleven minutes late! You just missed the grace period." Filmore's arms are up in the arms like Craig just scored a touchdown. A customer turns from the wall of fish tanks to observe the commotion with an irritated expression. Craig doesn't acknowledge her or Filmore. He walks to the back with his camera in hand, ignoring the jovial shouts behind him. "You better not change the fucking time card, you entitled prick! You're just a retail slave!"

Craig sets his stuff down in the back office and pulls off his hoodie to throw over the back of his desk chair. He doesn't punch in, and instead writes his name of the "missed punch" log, claiming he arrived three minutes ago, just within the grace period. He doesn't want to look to punctual. Besides, it seems weird that Filmore is in the store alone.

He drapes his name tag around his neck and walks out of the office and barely avoid bumping into Victor coming in through the backdoor.

His boss is a man in his mid-sixties with tight curly hair and a thin moustache. He opened PetSteps when Pets-U-Luv couldn't rebuild after the fourth time the mountain town was destroyed, and smartly kept it near the border of Middle Park as to save it from some harm. He recently opened another location down in Hartsel, about twenty minutes away, and is spending most of his time there. It was nice being promoted to a manager, but Victor bumped Kyle up to general manager, and the ginger douchebag basically runs the damn place. He does everything but the operations costs, but Craig wouldn't be surprised if those duties shift over to Kyle soon.

Victor is a stern but humble man, and he smiles brightly at the sight of Craig. "Oh, Craig, you're here. That's great. I was just taking out the trash. I have to head down to Hartsel soon; I have an interview to do - apparently the girl worked at a Petco in Colorado Springs before her family moved to Park County. She may know fish!"

"That's great," Craig says, humoring him.

"Keep that boy in check," Victor says, darting his eyes toward the front of the store.

"Always do."

Victor gives him a signature old person squinty smile and pats his arm. "You're a good kid."

Victor goes into the office and Craig walks up to the store, where Filmore is ringing up a customer. The high schooler is eying Craig as he sorts through the basket of things to be put back on the shelves and disappears down the aisles with them. Only eight more hours to go.

13:22:56 Dec 21 2012

Craig is trapped in a bout of deja vu, sitting in an armchair by a window with Tweek seated across from him. The blonde's legs are tucked up under him, the same book lying in his lap. He leaves it open this time as though he will pick up reading any moment and is just giving his eyes a brief reprieve. Craig feels like he is interrupting something.

He thought about waiting for Tweek to speak first but after about fifteen minutes of watching Tweek read and about five minutes of watching him look out the window, his already short patience is waning.

The television in the room has a family sitting in front of it, they are talking to each other, but the volume is loud enough for Craig to hear the orchestra concert playing on public access. Violins give music to the image of Tweek sitting before him. It's ridiculous, if he looks at it objectively, but in the moment it just feels overwhelming. He used to have images of Tweek as the love interest in all the movies he will never make, but now the picture-perfectness of the scenario makes him uncomfortable. All he thinks about when he thinks of Tweek is morbid curiosity.

Tweek looks down at his book and Craig immediately interrupts him. "Really? I come out here to see you three days in a row and all you do is read? You stare out the window and you read. Thank you for assuming that's enough to keep me around."

Tweek makes eye contact with him, but his eyes look washed out in the sunlight. All Craig sees are sclera and pupils. He frowns and leans forward in his chair, not breaking eye contact with Tweek. The blonde closes the book without saving the page. Without the book open, he looks jittery.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know," Craig admits.

Tweek frowns and twitches. "Then what is there to say?"

"I want to know why you're here."

"I crashed my parents' car. I drove high."

"So you got in one accident, made one mistake, and now you're in rehab? Don't they just suspend your license and send you to driving school? You hit your own damn garage."

Tweek definitely looks uncomfortable, and now that Craig is engaging him in conversation, he can see the shadow of the boy he never really know in elementary school, shaking and shouting all the time without a filter. It's an unpleasant connection, one that he doesn't think is deserved. Surely, Tweek has grown passed all of that chaoticness.

"Driving high is illegal," he says through his teeth, his voice cracking. "Driving under the influence of marijuana is illegal."

"Weed is not not addicting."

Tweek jerks a hand over his hair. "Between that and the drinking I've been doing…"

"Really," Craig deadpans.

"Yes! Gah!" Tweek stands up. "God, you're such an asshole!"

Craig slumps back in the chair, watching Tweek walk up to a nurse. The blonde is giving up too easily. He is not whether it is worth his time to drive out here every day when Tweek keeps walking out on him. It would be nice if the man gave him something in return, but he is getting nothing out of him. He stands and walks out of the room after Tweek, and standing in the hallway already looking at him is Thomas. He immediately shouts out, "Tits!" upon seeing him.

Thomas approaches with a sheepish grin. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

Thomas glances down the hallway in the direction Tweek left. "Everything okay?"

"More or less," Craig answers because that seems like the truth.

"He's not a very chatty kid in group. He volunteers a lot less than the other kids around here. We're in the older group and basically everyone is quiet. Ass! It's totally different than what it was like in the eighteen and under group, mostly everyone there would share their feelings with a little prodding. Fuck!"

"I can't imagine you need much prodding."

Thomas pauses for a moment, long enough for Craig to think that he may have hurt his feelings, and then Thomas laughs. "You got me. I do a lot of peer counseling."

"They let a kid who screams "fuck" in the middle of a conversation counsel children?"

Thomas shrugs, "It's not often they have someone who is willing to talk. I react very well to my meds. Bitch!"

"That's right, depression."

"You got it. Besides, I come here a few times a week when I'm not in-patient, so those times I usually have my suppressor on."

"Your suppressor?"

"It's a little machine that hooks to my head and helps me control my ticks. I do a lot less cussing that way. I'm like 80% more kid friendly. When I'm here they don't let me wear it, which is just fine. Sometimes it's nice to just let loose, especially since everyone's gotten used to it pretty quickly. It makes me feel a lot less depressed about it."

"Why would you feel depressed about it? I told you, if I had Tourette's I'd be stoked."

Thomas shoots him a look at makes him feel a little guilty. "It's not fun. Whenever I go out in public, people stare at me. It's a miracle when I can get in and out of a store or something before I have to tic. A lot of people in North Park know of me by now, but they're not used to it. They think I'm a freak. It sucks."

"Well, fuck them. I bet their lives suck a lot worse than yours."

"You don't know me," Thomas says with a small, cautious smile.

"Besides, you say what you want without a filter. That's pretty awesome."

"You're the only person on the planet that feels that way."

"I am the only person on the planet, Thomas."

Thomas opens his mouth and pauses. He studies Craig, really looks at him, and Craig feels itchy all over. Thomas' green eyes search his own and then leave for his neck and down to his torso, probably taking in his clothes right down to his shoes. He's already forgotten what he wore and it would feel stupid to look down and check while Thomas is so obviously looking him over.

Thomas holds out his arms, which are textured in pale horizontal waves. It takes Craig a few moments to understand what he is looking at, and Thomas tics loudly under his gaze. "Cock! These aren't suicide attempts. I've thought about it. Damnit! I've been thinking about it since I was nine, aw shit, I tried it once when I was twelve, but killing myself would not solve my mom's problems. Fuck! I made her life harder, but her only child's suicide is not going to make it easier."

He is quiet for a few moments, and Craig doesn't try to interject with useless words.

"When my dad left my mom, I thought- Balls! it was my fault. Of course, it was in a way, but if that was enough to make him leave, then he clearly didn't love my mom. Shit, shit. There are vows taken when people get married. I imagine he broke those long before he walked out."

The confession takes Craig aback. Someone so chatty shouldn't be so eloquent. His words are powerful even when his voice is lowered. He never considered suicide, not for himself and not for anyone else. He supposes that statistically he must know a lot of people who have contemplated suicide, but he certainly doesn;t know who they are. He looks Thomas over. "Why are you telling me this?"

Thomas' thick lips turn into a frown. "No filter, I guess. Sorry."

"I didn't-"

A nurse quickly approaches, "Thomas, do you need a minute?" She then turns to Craig and looks down at his name tag stuck on his chest. "Shouldn't you be on your way out?"

Craig looks at Thomas. "I didn't mind."

22:31:48 Dec 22 2012

"Well?" Clyde finally asks after they have been sitting together playing Need 4 Speed Underground 2 on Clyde's PS2 for nearly an hour. Token brings the footage back to regular speed and rewinds to catch what he fast forwarded through. Craig has been repeating activities over the past few days: work, porn, sleep, driving Savannah around. Token has enough footage of these things already, and it's not as if Craig has been speaking enough to any one to share any important information. Token desperately needs something to make up for the missing chunks of footage for when Craig is turning the camera off.

Craig grunts simply in response, busy trying to drift around a sharp turn.

"How is Tweek doing?"

Craig crashes the car into a wall that really has no business being in the middle of a city.

"You've visited him, right?"

"No."

Clyde pauses the game and leans over, making sure Craig can see his disbelieving expression. Sometimes, Token wants to punch him, and he knows Craig is fighting the urge as Clyde gapes at him. "I didn't visit him. What the fuck do you want?"

"Dude, he's in the hospital."

"No, he's in rehab."

"How would you know that if you didn't talk to him?"

"Marjorine told me."

"No, she didn't because she didn't tell me."

"Maybe she doesn't tell you everything."

The offended look on Clyde's face is enough to satisfy Craig for the moment. He reaches over to unpause the game, but Clyde immediately pauses it again. Token cringes. He can't imagine this turning out too well, and he's suddenly connects the distraught text he received from Clyde the day before that simply read, "We're losing him again."

"Dude."

"Drop it."

"Dude."

"I didn't see him and I'm not going to."

Token knows he's lying of course. Craig may leave the camera in the car, but he gets to watch Craig drive to the hospital every day and he gets to watch him burn through three cigarettes on the way home. Clyde sits back on the couch, but his eyes never leave Craig. In the background, Clyde's dad is pattering around the kitchen, fixing them a late night snack. Craig rolls his neck and grabs his beer, tossing back a mouthful and unpausing the game.

Token pauses the footage and swears under his breath, writing down the timestamp of Clyde and Craig's conversation and going over the numbers repeatedly while he thinks. There's no way Craig is getting a camera inside the hospital; Token needs to get Craig talking about his trips to visit Tweek on camera. Token finally drops his pen once the numbers are nothing but thick, indigo blocks. He grabs his phone and texts Clyde.

"I know. I'm worried about him."

13:04:21 Dec 23 2012

"Where were you?"

It's the first thing that Tweek has said to him without pulling teeth since they started meeting at the center. After a few days of wishing that Tweek would respond to him, it's surreal that Tweek would be the one to make the first move. The blonde stares at him with intense eyes. There is no book in his lap this time and his feet are planted firmly on the floor. He looks more alert than Craig has seen him since Clyde's party.

"Where were you?"

"Working."

Tweek doesn't look satisfied. He looks more on edge. It's a terrifying expression, but at least there is focus in his eyes. He looks like a real person for once. It reminds Craig of when Tweek first walked into the Thanksgiving party and sat beside him. He doesn't look like the boy he's known for most of his life, but he looks like one he could get to know.

"Listen, I would have been here if I could, but it's not like you've been begging me to visit."

Tweek frowns, and Craig is thankful for an expression he can read.

"Gah! I'm sorry. Obviously, I'm going through some stuff."

"Clearly."

Tweek sits back in his seat and sighs, "I just need some time."

"Time for what?"

"Ugh! Time for them to figure out my meds and time for me to sort through some stuff and then I'll be back to normal and we can get back to us."

"To us?"

"What?! To whatever we were doing! Ugh, I can't handle you right now!"

Craig crosses his arms tight across his chest, letting Tweek shout and twitch in his seat. He knows a nurse will be there in a moment, casting judgemental eyes towards Craig and his ability to send a twenty-two year old man screaming to his bedroom.

"Tweek, are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Tweek shouts at the nurse.

There is no other conversation. Craig watches Tweek leave with his lips pursed. He instinctually reaches for his phone so he can bury himself in Candy Crush, but it's not there. His hands remain frustratingly idle, and he shoves them deep into his pockets as he stands.

"Short visit today. Shit! You skip a day and then you only hang out for ten minutes. You may be in the doghouse."

Craig lifts his head to see Thomas standing a few feet away with his arms crossed and a small smile on his lips.

"Yeah, he seemed irritable," Craig looks down at his hands and then back up at Thomas. "You have a visitor?"

"My mom was just here, but she wasn't- cunt! here yesterday, so I had to stand around in the hallway for three hours."

"Why?"

Thomas raises his eyebrows and Craig cringes.

"Shit, man, I didn't think you'd wait around for me."

"It's fine," Thomas says, waving it off. "I had this like, killer vanilla pudding, so I was fine."

"I prefer chocolate."

"They only offer vanilla here; better stay out of rehab."

Despite himself, Craig lets out a short burst of laughter before stopping himself. He should feel guilty. He stiffens his expression to his usual blank demeanor. "I'm sure he's been spitting shit about me."

"Fuck. Not really. He's going through a lot of stuff right now. Lucky for you, you're only one out of twenty things he's fighting with."

Thomas' face carries a tinge of mirth and optimism, but Craig just feels annoyed and jealous. It's sudden, and he looks around to try to change the subject. Over by the door, a fussy grandmother is patting down her teenage granddaughter's frizzy hair. "Does your mom visit you a lot?"

"Every day that she has visiting hours off work. She's a nurse, so her schedule is all over the place. Today we played Chutes and Ladders. She won every round. Ass. I wanted to follow up with Candyland because I rock at Candyland, but she told me not to be a sore loser."

"Is that all you guys do when you're together?" Craig asks, eying the tall stack of board games on top of a bookshelf.

"We also play Life. Cock."

"What variety."

Thomas leads him over to a nearby table and picks up a painting on a thin piece of watercolor paper. It's mostly blue tones with a spiral sun and a butterfly. He holds it out to Craig, who hesitantly takes it and looks it over. It's not a very good drawing, but Craig can barely draw a stick figure, so he can't complain too much. "It's the wrong sort of tone. I guess I should have been aiming for jolly or warm, but when I think Christmas, I often think about the darkest days of the year. And then I wanted to personalize it," He says and points to the butterfly. Craig tilts his head, taking in the thick, wavering lines and harsh colors. He wonders briefly where Thomas got the impression of the butterfly from him before he quickly sets the painting down and unzips his jacket. He pulls down the loose neck of his t-shirt and Thomas swears. "A moth, dammit. I totally thought I had it figured out."

"You could have asked."

"Piss. I thought it'd be a strange question, I only ever see the tips of wings, nothing more concrete. I figured you'd be weirded out if I asked about the least visible tattoo you have, though I'm sure you have tattoos in much naughtier places. But, uh, Merry Christmas."

The round face across from him is so open and pleased. He seems completely unembarrassed by his incorrect guess, or that he has been peeking at Craig's tattoos, or that he made somewhat of a sexual joke about Craig. He doesn't even seem to care that Craig showed up empty-handed. "Thanks. I didn't get you anything."

"You don't have to," Thomas responds and it is clear that he is being completely honest.

"Sorry," Craig says anyway, even though it isn't needed.

"Please, it's a different life for me in here than it is for you out there. I don't have much to do, I don't have my mom, I don't have my dog, and my roommate keeps talking about what to make his family for Christmas. It was kind of circumstantial, I wasn't expecting- tits! anything in return."

"I won't be here until the twenty-sixth."

"That's all I needed to know." Thomas puts his hands in his Olivine City hoodie pocket.

Craig thinks about asking him about Tweek; he knows he can draw a few answers from him, but Thomas is being so friendly that it feels manipulative and weird to ask about Tweek after Thomas just made him a present. Craig is never put on the receiving side of nice gestures, so he just picks up the painting and holds it gingerly as he excuses himself. Before he leaves, Thomas tells him to have a good cock!Christmas, and Craig duly repeats it back to him.

20:48:03 Dec 25 2012

Although he was pretty enthusiastic about the game, Craig finds that seven hours of Far Cry 3 is way too many. He took a break to eat a long, quiet dinner with his family, but most of his day consisted of frantically consuming the only tangible present he got for Christmas. Other than the video game he had been anticipating, his gifts from his parents were socks and a scarf he won't wear, along with a promise that if he goes to community college, his parents will pay for it and his books. Savannah gave him a plush camera strap, which is the most weirdly thoughtful gift he could have imagined. He kind of expected a coupon to McDonald's. The only thing he got his sister was a bag from the thrift store that he wasn't really sure she'd like anyway. She seemed pleased, but the gift paled in comparison to what she gave him.

Craig was about three hours into his second sitting of Far Cry 3 when his phone rang and he dropped the remote without pausing to answer the call. His guinea pigs, who are walking slowly around his bed, scamper to the far corners in surprise. He doesn't say anything when he clicks "accept;" Token does the talking for him.

"Ho ho ho," Token laughs and Craig frowns. He is about to respond when he hears Clyde in the background.

"Did Santa leave you any thick, juicy presents when he came down your chimney last night?"

Craig rolls his eyes, even though his friends can't see him. He picks up Lenora and scratches her back. "Just Far Cry 3, which is not as cool as everyone thought it was going to be."

"Really? Damn, I haven't tried it yet," Token says. Of course he'd get the game for Christmas. Token gets everything.

"Any chance we can steal you?" Clyde asks.

Craig looks around his room. He pauses the game and eyes the drawer where a bottle of Jack he thought about drinking hides. Drinking with only a game for company could be okay, but hanging out with his friends could be even better, or perhaps worse, but he has been pretty lack for footage lately and there are only so many hours he can spend filming himself play video games. He agrees reluctantly.

Twenty minutes later, he hears his sister answering the door and a few seconds later, heavy feet are stomping up the stairs. Craig puts Lenora and Gideon away as Token and Clyde burst into his bedroom like they live there, which they certainly do not. Craig spends hours upon hours in Token and Clyde's rooms, but he rarely lets them come into his. Token lingers in the doorway while Clyde flops on the bed.

"Dude, come in," Clyde says.

"I'm allergic to the pigs; I'd rather not."

Craig stands up and moves the camera so it can capture all three of them in one frame. He sits on the bed beside Clyde. "Good, that means we can't stay here."

"So then where do we go?"

"My family has people over."

"My dad has his girlfriend over."

"We can go to the movies."

"Craig and I just went like last week."

"We could do to Village Inn."

"I just ate and my dad's cooking is so much better than diner food."

"I'm just saying we'd go for coffee or milkshakes or something."

"Let's go downstairs before you start swelling up," Clyde says and pushes Token out the door. Craig grabs his camera and follows them downstairs, but when he expects them to walk out the front door, they walk over to the couch where Mr. and Mrs. Tucker are watching a movie. Craig freezes as his parents invite the boys to join them. Token drops onto the couch beside Mrs. Tucker and Clyde takes the floor as Savannah walks in from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and contorts herself into the armchair. Craig reluctantly sets the camera on an end table where it can see everyone before sitting next to Clyde.

The movie is It's a Wonderful Life, which Craig recognizes instantly. He loves the old classic, which is the only thing keeping him sane when Savannah starts throwing popcorn kernels in hopes of one landing in his mouth. Clyde slumps down until he is laying flat on the floor, mouth wide open and bulging eyes looking at Savannah as she hits his nose and his ear. Craig's parents and Token are watching the movie in pensive silence, which is disturbed when Savannah cheers and Clyde chokes on a piece of popcorn.

"Come on, guys; I'm trying to watch."

"It's not like you haven't seen it before," Craig responds, and when he is met with silence, Craig whips his head around to look at Token. "You've never seen It's a Wonderful Life?"

Mr. Tucker shushes him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Language," Mrs. Tucker reprimands.

"I just never got around to it."

"It's one of the greatest movies of all time. What else haven't you seen? Citizen Kane, The Godfather, Apocalypse Now?"

"Dude."

"West Side Story?"

"No," Token admits.

"Documentary buffs are not the same as film buffs," Craig muses aloud.

An unpopped kernel hits his cheek and Craig turns to glare at his sister. "Fuck off."

"Craig!" His father yells and the young man slumps back against the couch. Token's legs are in between he and Clyde, so he punches his calf on an awkward angle. They watch the rest of the movie in near peace. Savannah occasionally throws a piece of popcorn at Clyde when he isn't expecting it, and once at Token, who caught it despite her plan to catch him off guard.

Token spit it into his hand and flicked it at Savannah, and she yelped even though he missed her completely.

Mr. Tucker kicked them out fifteen minutes from the end of the movie.

"But Token has never seen It's a Wonderful Life before," Clyde protests.

"Should have thought of that sooner," Craig's father grunts and the four kids disperse from the room. Standing in a circle in the kitchen, Savannah immediately whips out her phone and begins frantically texting.

"How likely do you think it is that Mom and Dad would let me leave?"

Clyde glances over his shoulder at the adults sitting on the couch watching the end of the movie with dry eyes and blank faces. "Probably pretty damn likely. Where are you going, little Tucker?"

"To a friend's. His family isn't doing some stupid tradition."

"We could drive you."

Savannah gives them a skeptical look.

"Or not," Clyde deflates.

"I need to head home," Token says as he texts. "My parents noticed I was gone. I just told them I'm pooping."

Craig leans back against the counter and watches his best friends leave. They are opening the door when Savannah bolts after them for a ride, leaving Craig alone. He considers his options before slinking back into the living room and sitting in the armchair.

13:56:32 Dec 26 2012

"Did your parents visit?"

Tweek's expressions are alert today, brown eyes darting around the room and never really settling in one place for too long. He seems awake and less withdrawn, but they have been sitting across from each other in the armchairs for about fifteen minutes without a word passing between them, though it is difficult to tell time without a phone. "Nngh, yeah, they did. My mom and my dad came. There was a nice brunch and visiting hours were all day. Mom gave me this sweater," Tweek grabs and yanks the center of his blue knit pullover. "Ah, shit, might stretch it. Ugh. She says I'm hiding myself and this is more, ah, flattering."

It isn't, but Craig doesn't tell him that.

"My dad brought me a mug from the store, but the nurses wouldn't let me keep it. Ugh, my dad was unnecessarily offended by the plastic square mugs they give us here."

Craig processes this for a moment. "The store. Your parents own a coffee place."

"Tweak Bros."

"Do they visit you?"

"Ah! Why do you ask? Do I look like I've been abandoned? Oh god."

"No, but there's no one else here when I am."

Tweek's mouth snaps closed and he tucks his legs under him, shifts around, and then puts his feet on the floor. "They're busy. But they were here all day yesterday and the day before. They try to keep a close eye on me but, ugh, they're busy."

"Do they need to keep a close eye on you?"

Tweek shoots Craig a dark look that makes him itch.

The room is decorated with neutral holiday decorations: garland, balls, and snowflakes make up the majority of the items glistening around the room in silvers and golds, with the occasional red, green, and blue mixed in. A few signs read "Happy Holidays" and there is a yellow bowl filled with leftover red and green mints near the nurses' station, which Craig eyes with some interest. South Park is often alack for specific holiday decorations. The few things that exist are the tree in front of City Hall and a thin string of lights running along the lampposts on Main Street. He didn't find the town celebrations to be worthwhile, but he wishes he had his camera to capture this very controlled holiday celebration.

Tweek draws his legs up onto the chair and crosses them. The book he has with him today is sitting on the window sill. Craig glances at it and Tweek picks it up and holds it so Craig can see the cover. "Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf."

"You like books? You told me you hated lit: too open-ended.."

Tweek twitches and clutches the book to his stomach. "I hated studying it. I like reading it. Woolf is, ugh, really complicated. Nothing is ever straightforward with her, ever! But if I stay calm and just read, the pieces start to fit. I can't always read her. I can't."

He thrusts the book out and Craig takes it from him. The cover is a painting of a woman's lips down to her floral top. The book is worn, with creases in the cover and the spine. It looks like Tweek has read it several times, or at least has tried. He flips through the crinkling pages to find the occasional pencil underline. He flips it over, but doesn't read the back before handing it to Tweek. "Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself," Tweek says.

"What?"

"It's, ah, one of the most famous first lines in literature."

Craig nods. It's been a long time since he read a book.

Tweek places both of his hands on top of the book, looks down at it, opens his mouth, looks at Craig, and promptly shuts his mouth. Craig can't be too irritated by this, after all, because this is the most conversation he has gotten out of Tweek in over a week.

"I have to go," Tweek tells him. "I have, uh, I need to, ugh, meditate."

Craig nods, but says nothing, watching the blonde stand up and walk out. It's the first time Tweek wasn't dragged away by a nurse or asked a nurse to guard him. Craig exhales and gets out of the chair. He leaves the room to find Thomas standing in the hallway with a cup of vanilla pudding. The chubby blonde's eyes brighten when he sees him and he waves excitedly, spoon in his mouth.

"You can't be too excited to see me; you knew I was coming."

"Fuck," Thomas laughs and offers the spoon to Craig. "You got me. You want some pudding?"

"Fuck your vanilla pudding."

Thomas grins. "Merry Christmas to you, too. Was your holiday that terrible?"

"It was fine. My family is boring, and my friends came over, but they just wanted to hang out with my family."

"What's your family like?"

Craig stuffs his pants in his pocket and eyes Thomas, who is wearing a new white hoodie that has a bloody-looking undeterminable symbol on it.

"Mom, dad, annoying little sister."

"That's all you have to tell me?" Craig shrugs, so Thomas continues for him. "Well, it's just me and my mom, so she came yesterday in the afternoon. She would have been there in the morning, but since a lot of her coworkers have kids who are actually home, she decided to take the morning shift. She's awesome. She gave me this sweatshirt, but we have some other gifts to exchange when I get out of here."

"When is that?"

Thomas shrugs again, but he doesn't look bothered by the question. "At least I'm not hearing, like, voices or anything."

"What?"

"Every time Tweek admits in therapy that he hears a voice they add another three days to his stay."

Craig doesn't say anything. This is new information. He looks Thomas over. The boy looks completely nonchalant, shoveling scoops of vanilla pudding in his mouth as he spills someone else's secrets. His pudding is lumpy and Craig scrunches his nose up at the sight.

"What is that?"

"Cheerios," Thomas answers through a mouthful of pudding. "The food gets boring."

"That's disgusting. You got perfectly good Cheerios soggy."

"Milk makes them soggy too. Don't you eat your cereal in milk?"

"I don't want to think about it," Craig objects.

Thomas smiles at him around the spoon and Craig feels naked. He watches as the other boy leads him into the visitors' room and over to a couch and plops onto it, patting the seat next to him as an invitation for Craig to join. His green eyes are narrowed in a way that suggests Thomas thinks Craig is both the coolest and lamest person he knows. Thomas is so at ease around him. Craig reluctantly sits on the couch beside him. Thomas is comfortable in his hoodie, pajama pants and two pairs of the same grip bottom socks every other patient is wearing. Craig wants to be at home in his boxers, cozy in his bed.

"Sure you don't want any pudding?"

"Positive. What's your sweater about, anyway?"

"It's a sigal. It keeps the angels away."

Craig stares at Thomas for a moment. He wonders if everyone here is crazy. Of course they are, he decides. This is a mental hospital. Thomas bursts into laughter.

"Sorry, not really funny I guess. Ass. Cock! It's from a TV show."

Craig nods, intentionally not asking what show. They sit in silence for a moment and listen to Thomas crunch his slimy cereal. He thinks about Tweek meditating in his room, and the thought of him makes Craig slump back on the couch in frustration.

"Now you look more comfortable."

Craig's eyes slide to the side to burn into Thomas with what he hopes is anger. Thomas just shrugs and starts to lick the inside of his empty yogurt cup.

"Thomas, have some manners. Let me throw that away."

"Shit, sorry," he laughs, pulling the cup away from his face and handing it to the nurse in front of him.

"Craig, right?"

"Sure," Craig tells her.

"I'm sorry, but we can't have guests lingering around after their patient has ended the visiting session."

"It's okay, Nancy, Craig and I are friends."

Her eyebrows raise in surprise.

"Oh," she says, "Okay. I'll add you to Thomas's visitor list so you can see Thomas whenever you want."

"I wouldn't want to take time away from Craig's boyfriend. Balls."

"I don't see why it would be a problem. Tweek doesn't usually want a full three hours of visitation. You can visit with Thomas when Tweek goes back to his room," Nancy clarifies, directing the entire statement towards Craig.

He fidgets in his seat on the couch. These people know way too much about him already. Apparently, Tweek talks about him in therapy and now he's sitting and sharing information with the chattiest kid in the building. Craig feels sick to his stomach and suddenly misses the quiet simplicity of guinea pigs. Decidedly, Craig stands up, leaving the conversation before it's meant to be over. He marches towards the door and waits with his arms crossed for an attendant to let him out.

18:22:11 Dec 31 2012

Craig slowly returns to consciousness. His eyes feel glued shut, and he blindly reaches for the bottle of visine that lives in his bedside table drawer. The liquid allows him to blink his room back into focus. He hears a quiet wheeking from the floor and Craig rolls to the edge of his bed to find Gideon attempting to crawl up the side. He scoops his pet up, frowning at the fact that he left them out last night. Lenora appears from behind the closet door and Craig winces at the thought of what they might have gotten into. He puts both of them back into their cage and closes it. They pigs purr as Craig tosses in a fresh handful of alfalfa.

His phone is dead, so he checks the time on the Canon instead. It takes him a moment to process what day it is. He worked the incoming shipment at PetSteps last night and he celebrated the end of the twelve hour shift with half a bottle of cough syrup and a bag of Jolly Ranchers. He was passed out from six in the morning to six in the evening, apparently. That make this the 31st- the last day of the year.

Craig is mildly irritated that he missed visiting hours two days in a row, mostly because he stormed out the last time he was there and didn't have a chance to warn Tweek or Thomas that he was working the next day. He intended to be there today, but codeine can't be trusted.

His phone lights up after a few moments plugged into the wall. He has twelve text messages waiting. Four are from his sister a few hours before, threatening to take the car if he didn't wake up and drive her. One confirms that she has, in fact, taken the car and won't be home until the morning and that it's his "own fucking fault." One is from his father asking if he's alive, but there is no follow up to the question. Three are from Token, telling him what to wear to the party and what kind of alcohol to bring. Four are from Clyde, asking Craig if he can really believe that another year is over already.

It's a slew of stupid, useless text messages. His sister does whatever the fuck she wants, regardless of what he says; of course he is alive; Token is rich as fuck and does not need Craig to bring booze; and he and Clyde are going to see each other soon where they can engage in small talk in person, which is the only place small talk ever needs to surface.

Craig rolls out of bed and drags his feet to the bathroom down the hall. Before he reaches the door, his father appears at the top of the stairs. They make eye contact and his father grunts.

"Your sister took the car because you didn't answer her texts."

"Yep."

His dad looks him over for a moment and then keeps walking.

Craig shuts the door behind him in the bathroom and turns on the shower.

By the time Craig makes it back to his bedroom, he has more text messages. They are two nearly identical texts from Token and Clyde and therefore pretty suspicious. Both ask where he is and when he will show up. Craig ignores the messages and opens his closet just to stare at the collection of dark neutral-colored clothes. Parties make him feel as though he has to dress his best, but this event seems hollow. He keeps thinking about the last party he went to, Eric and Marjorine's, and the strange feeling when he walked into the basement and saw only Pete, Red, and Firkle.

After flipping through the shirts has has hanging and cataloguing the pants folded on a shelf in his closet, he pulls out his most comfortable jeans, Doc Martens, and a Colorado Springs tourist shirt. It's an acceptable outfit in his eyes, but he grabs a blazer just so Token doesn't put him in one of his own, which may be decorated with sequins or a fur trim. He picks up his phone and texts Clyde, "I need a ride."

He sits at his computer and browses Reddit until he receives a response.

"I'm already at the party."

"I assumed. Savannah took my car so I'm stranded."

"Dude. :("

Craig doesn't say anything, and without a few minutes, receives a second text, "Okay, I'll be there in five minutes."

Craig turns back to Reddit, browsing the front page and barely venturing into the second when his phone lights up. He doesn't pick up the incoming call, but pockets his phone, grabs his camera, throws on the blazer, and walks out of his house to the car stalling against the curb. He stops when he realizes there is someone in the passenger seat. Marjorine looks up at him and waves, bright red lips stretched in a huge smile. Craig climbs in the backseat.

"Dude, I didn't know your sister could drive."

"She can't. She only has her permit. My parents just don't give a shit and they don't think Barbrady does, either."

"No way," Marjorine joins in. "Barbrady totally gave Eric a speeding ticket when we were coming home from a play in Denver last year."

"Neither of you could get out of it?" Clyde asks incredulously, abandoning the conversation with Craig. "Eric is a smooth talker and you have your sexy feminine wiles."

"Well, I don't like to take advantage of the system. It's put in place for a reason, you know."

Craig slumps in the seat and aims his camera at the couple in the front seats.

"I don't understand how you two get along."

Marjorine just smiles.

They park just off of Sierra Madre and walk up the long block, which is lined with cars. The wealthy families are hosting almost all of the New Years parties in town. They pass by people who have already separated themselves from parties and are smoking on the big front lawns of the small mansions. Craig keeps himself composed as they walk into Token's house and run into classmates both older and younger. Craig doesn't recognize all of the people he sees, but he knows that Token has connections all over Park County; he just tries not to think about them. A few people stop Clyde or Marjorine to hug or high five them and arbitrarily ask them how they've been.

To Craig's horror, Clyde and Marjorine take him to the back porch where Token, Kyle, and Eric are waiting for them. He hesitates before following his friend to the low ember fire pit under the heat lamps and takes a seat between Token and Marjorine. Immediately, Token pops out of his chair and offers to bring the newcomers something to drink.

He blinks and slowly spins the camera, capturing Marjorine beside him, then Clyde, then Cartman, then Kyle, then Token's empty seat. This is not the ideal group of people to be with, even though his best friends are involved. He hates both Kyle and Cartman more than anyone else he has ever met. Marjorine is okay-ish. Not ideal. The back door slides open and Craig turns his head, about help Token carry drinks, but Wendy and Nichole are there instead and, as though with the sole intention of making Craig's life worse, take the vacant seats in the circle. He is about fifteen minutes into this party and it's already torture.

Token gives him something strong. When Craig asks what it is, Token just smiles. "It's alcoholic."

That's good enough. Craig sips in large mouthfuls, swallowing as much as he can while conversation bubbles around him. Token has on his sly and charming smile as he talks to Nichole and Wendy, who look mostly unaffected. Craig keeps the camera on Token's futile subtleties. They're talking about college, which isn't all that alluring in the first place. Token tells them about his dorm and Nichole and Wendy tell him about art history, which they both took together as a core class but now Nichole wants to pursue.

"How is Aubrey?" Nichole asks and Token frowns, all attempts at the flirting game immediately forgotten at the mention of his ex.

Wendy tells him she doesn't want to talk about her love life at all because it's all a big confusing mess. Nichole says she has a few vague interests, but nothing serious. Craig doesn't notice right away when Token asks Craig about his love life.

When he does notice, he frowns and says, "No."

They drop the subject when Nichole follows up by telling them about someone adorable she sat next to on the plane ride home from NYU.

Craig tunes out the conversation for a while instead letting his camera catch it. He doesn't need the meaningless dribble. Token will edit in anything he thinks is useful, but if Craig's only job is capturing the moments as they happen, then he doesn't need to be listening to the bullshit around him.

He balances the camera on one knee and scans through Reddit for a while before switching to Facebook, which he typically hates but has been drawn to lately. It feels dead lately, but he keeps checking as though something new and interesting will happen when it so obviously will not. There is nothing posted on his page, there are no new messages in his inbox, and his feed is completely lacking of anything interesting and is overrun with ads and Facebook-brand friends sharing viral videos and biased articles. He waits as long as he can stand, browsing through his awful feed, before clicking on Tweek's page.

Someone named Jane left him a link to a YouTube video of a cat in a box. Heidi Turner wrote, "Miss you! Hope you can come to the NYE shindig! xo" Craig feels strangely smug knowing that she is devoid of Tweek on New Year's Eve, just as he is. Other than that, there is nothing from Tweek himself. The last status or post of whatever they call them now is from three weeks ago. Craig assumes Tweek has no access to the internet or anything like that when in the hospital. It's kind of depressing. Craig doesn't know what he would do with himself if he were there without access to the internet.

"Let me get some more chairs," Token insists, taking another swig of his beer before setting it down and jogging towards a storage shed in the back. "I'll help!" Clyde offers, disappearing into the dark after him. Craig lifts his eyes to reluctantly find out who else has arrived. Kenny takes Token's now empty seat beside Wendy and Stan stands behind her. Gary receives a hug from Marjorine and Craig watches him spin her around before setting her back on the ground. There isn't anything left for Craig to say, he's livid and extremely uncomfortable.

When Token returns, everyone shifts their chairs around to make space for three more seats. Clyde is carrying three pieces of firewood in his thick arms. After arranging the wood in the fire pit before them, Token takes Craig's drink out of his hands. He pours the remains over the logs and drops a match into the pit. After making sure Token sees his middle finger, Craig half-heartedly checks that his camera is pointed towards the growing crowd. The quantity of people is causing them to all move further from the blazing fire pit at the center of the group, and like one many-limbed beast, the young adults of South Park lean forward as a unit, hands extended toward the flame.

Craig's old classmates are socializing in a way he never learned how. He watches Kenny with mild irritation. When is the drug dealer going to disappear into a guest bedroom? It doesn't seem like it's going to be any time soon, as Kenny is deep in conversation with Nichole, whose arms are moving in sweeping arcs as she explains something Craig cares nothing about. Of course, Tweek isn't here anyway, so Craig's evening in the users' room will mostly involve using whatever drug will supply him the fastest route to unconsciousness. He resents Token for using his drink as lighter fuel. He resents himself for being too anti-social to walk into the kitchen for another. He wonders how long he can go without saying anything before Clyde calls him out on his introversion. Craig wishes Thomas was here force him into conversation.

"So, Clyde, Marjorine, I heard you two won beer pong last week," Wendy calls across the fire to her friends. "Pretty good for the clumsiest couple in South Park."

The playful jab triggers a chorus of challenging calls from the group. Craig looks through the viewfinder of his Canon as he zooms in on the exchange. Their faces flicker orange and yellow in the light as Clyde and Marjorine smile at each other and then the crowd.

"A challenge then!" Marjorine giggles, her hand falling to her boyfriend's thigh in anticipation.

"Why don't we resume the summer's tournament, then! If I recall correctly, Marjie and me are only one game behind Team Marshaburger."

Just minutes after all that chair shuffling and fire lighting and the crowd is breaking apart to follow the two opposing teams as they head indoors. Craig doesn't understand all the formalities. If social events are truly just opportunities to compete, let's just avoid the smiles and hugs to begin with.

The camera leads as Craig follows the crowd inside. When he arrives in the Black's formal dining room, he sees the space has been converted into a literal beer pong court. The twenty-four seater cherry wood table has been covered with a green table cloth with the foul lines and cup placements screen printed on. There is a white board leaning up against what is normally a large painting of the Colorado Rockies and the evening's scores and a few dicks are already scribbled onto it. Craig finds a space to stand between the stacks of blue and red solo cups and the chilled keg of Stella Artois. From here, he is able to fit the entire room into the frame and he spends a few moments adjusting the settings on his camera to accommodate the difference in light. He is interrupted by Token pushing a replacement drink into his hand and Craig immediately starts to down the beverage as his best friend leans on the wall beside him.

The match between Stan and Wendy and Clyde and Marjorine is heated. There is laughter, singing and a lot of sloshing beer. Stan and Wendy are playing like they practiced, and the opposing team is quickly becoming inebriated. Craig is busy staring at Tumblr on his phone but despite that, Clyde is frequently turning around to lean on Craig while he commiserates about his lack of aim. "Be my wingman," Clyde begs. "If I take any more drinks I'll be too drunk to throw."

"No helping!" Stan calls out from the other side of the living room and Clyde frowns at Craig. Token takes Craig empty cup and replaces with a full one. Craig lifts it slowly to his mouth and pockets his phone.

He knows what his best friends are doing. They're scared he's going to bail on the party because Tweek isn't here. They're mostly correct. The longer the night goes on, the more restless Craig becomes. Kenny is uncharacteristically above ground, lingering around the beer pong game and occasionally disappearing for a few minutes. Whenever he's gone for long enough that Craig feels his hopes rising, the blond appears again, hands fussing with the orange hoodie tied around his waist like a child. Craig tries for eye contact but Kenny won't give him what he wants.

No drugs. No Tweek. There is no reason to be here.

Craig pulls his phone out of his pocket and tries to keep his camera hand steady as he browses Reddit. There is nothing too new except a few uninteresting posts on subreddits he doesn't like very much anyway. He trades his phone for the red solo cup sitting on the table beside him and like a frog snatching a fly, Token's hand whips out and grabs his phone. Craig glares at him as he takes a few gulps of his drink. His head swirls with alcohol and frustration. He knows what Token is going to do next.

"Come on, let's climb the hill."

Craig cannot say no. Token has his phone: the one thing Craig won't leave there without is being held as collateral. Clyde and Marjorine have lost the game, but he is smiling anyway as he kisses Marjorine and they part ways. The tall blonde walks off with Kenny, Wendy and Stan. Clyde moves towards Token and Craig and throws his arms around the both of them. They planned this. He's too drunk at this point to protest.

Token drags him upstairs and makes Craig change his black leather jacket for a brighter, olive green coat, spewing shit about the camera and lighting.

"Should I change?!" Clyde asks in a panic.

Token says no, but Clyde shrugs out of his brown coat and into a burgundy letterman jacket anyway.

Craig smokes a cigarette as they walk through a snowed path in Token's backyard. The hill is simply the bottom of a mountain, where it ends at the edge of Token's property. When they were young, Mr. Black hung rope ladders so the boys could climb up, and to this day, they seek out the reclusive view whenever they need to get away.

They all climb one handed, Token holding the camera, Clyde a six pack of Blue Moon and Craig, his cigarette. The cold wooden rungs of the ladders make them all regret not wearing gloves.

It's a ten minute climb to their hideout, a hollowed out side of the hill that the three boys created by banging it with spades and sharp rocks. Years of work created a cave their parents knew nothing of. It's the first place they smoked pot. It's the place where Clyde lost his virginity to his baby sitter, a woman nearly twice his age. It's the place where Token would hide the hateful and violent poems he wrote in his youth. It's a place that Craig knows well, but has never really understood. As they ascend into this space, South Park comes into view in the form of twinkling lights and a biting breeze.

The cave always feels smaller than it did when they were kids, but it's still an impressive space There is an old oriental rug laying on the floor, and tucked in the back is a bookshelf they found on the side of the street a few years ago. Clyde finds an oil lamp there and lights it, and setting it on the ground as they huddle around it and warm their fingers. The Canon takes its place, pointing towards them as the trio gets settled into old dusty bean bag chairs and Token passes around amber bottles of beer. Craig's palms itch with the desire to stare at his phone, but he knows there won't be anything interesting on it, so he allows it to remain in Token's pocket.

He's drunk enough to feel a little queasy, but it doesn't stop Craig from working on the bottle his buddy handed him.

Nearly two hours pass before Clyde grunts from his bean bag chair and says, "it's nearly midnight. We should head back to the house."

Craig rubs his eyes, kicking an empty beer bottle over with the toe of his boot. "I thought 2013 was going to be my year, finally, my year. This isn't exactly how I expected it to begin."

Clyde's hand hits a single thump on Craig's shoulder and Token doesn't make eye contact, but kicks over one of his beer bottles as well in a symbol of solidarity. Token hands him his phone, and Craig spins it in his hands a couple times before tucking it into his coat. Silently, the boys rise and descend the hill.

Back inside the house, cheers and echoes of vocal "clinks" mark the end of 2012. While the partygoers are occupied celebrating the beginning of another year with closed eyes and eager mouths, Craig slips out the front door and slides a cigarette between his lips.