[Author's Note: Thanks for being patient and sticking with us you guys! We are back and steadily writing. :) The next update won't be an 8 month wait!]
14:34:21 Jan 2 2013
When Craig gives his name at the front desk of the Children's Therapy Center, the woman behind the desk looks him over skeptically. With the typical lack of urgency of the hospital staff, she checks the list, consults the computer, and looks back to Craig, who has taken to raking his bitten nails over the laminated desk surface. "Mr. Wilkinson is unavailable, but Mr. Tweak can meet with you."
"Unavailable," Craig repeats in a deadpan.
The front desk attendant nods and turns her attention back to the computer as she asks for the items he isn't allowed to bring in. He hands over his keys. He doesn't move away, but continues to watch her while she stores his belongings. He sees this same woman every day that he's here. How old can she possibly be? No more than two or three years older than himself. He recalls mopping up the seven foot stretch of diarrhea a dog left in his store yesterday and he wonders how much she gets paid to sit on her ass.
"A nurse is on the way to let you in."
"Thomas is unavailable," he repeats, shaking his head clear of resentment and trying to clarify the situation.
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
She glances at the computer. Sighing through her nose, she leans forward, eyes widening, like this is a speech she has given many times, without once receiving a good reaction. Still, she tries to deliver it as pleasantly as possible. "I can't disclose that, it's not only our policy, but it's illegal. I can tell you," She says with a small, fake smile, "that it's temporary and that it doesn't necessarily mean anything bad."
Craig turns away when a nurse appears through the doors and follows him without acknowledging the woman behind the desk. He peers in the windows of the few doors on the way to the common room, wondering where the fuck Thomas is. The nurse steps inside and the heavy door closes behind him. There are a few kids with their parents and even one with a friend, but no Tweek or Thomas. Standing alone in the middle of the room heightens Craig's awareness of how uncomfortably tall he is. He would have guessed a hospital like this would have taller ceilings, but the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling's low, yellowing tiles make Craig feel stale and claustrophobic. The two armchairs by the window are empty. He starts walking toward them when the door jumps open behind him to reveal Tweek, looking a little frazzled but pleasant and welcoming all the same.
Craig can feel the tension leave his shoulders at the familiar sight of the blonde. He feels a quick burst in his chest - a fragment of what he felt at the Thanksgiving party - and he thinks he may be smiling a little. The pressing loneliness from the night before has been erased. Tweek approaches, almost fluidly, his eyes on Craig. But then he breaks eye contact, jerks an arm toward the seats by the window, and the illusion of healthy love shatters in the back of Craig's mind. He steels himself and follows Tweek to the chairs. They sit across from each other.
Tweek is mostly looking at him, punctuated by the occasional glance behind Craig before his amber eyes shift back into focus.
"Happy New Year," Craig says, because he thinks Thomas would say that to him with that strange knowing smile. It doesn't sound as clever when he says it. It sounds desperate and sarcastic. He can't communicate as fluidly as Thomas can.
Tweek's hands, perched in his lap, flinch hard at the sound of Craig's voice. "What?"
It's comforting to know that it sounded as stupid to Tweek as it did to Craig.
"Nothing. How are you?"
"Gah! Fine!"
After a moment of tense silence, Craig says, "I'm fine too, thanks."
Tweek shoots him a look that Craig doesn't bother responding to. The guy is too unpredictable, too scattered. He finds himself looking around for a distraction, but nothing jumps out at him. It's the same visiting room he's been in before, the same bunch of vaguely familiar background faces. The appeal of the sad faces in the hospital work off quickly and he no longer resents having to leave his camera in the car.
"I'm going home tomorrow."
Craig tears his gaze away from a young girl playing checkers with her bored parents to look at Tweek, whose face is now turned away from him, studying the same girl that Craig was watching moments before. He is scratching his nails over the itchy pink lines in his wrist caused by the plastic band that lists his name and the date he was dumped in the hospital. Tweek is not acting as though he had spoken up, but his wavering voice is unmistakable to Craig.
"For good?"
"For, uh, now."
Craig nods. Those words could mean a thousand things, none of which he can begin to understand.
A lot of things about Tweek don't make sense. He can live with that. He won't ever understand him, not fully, but he'll observe. He's watched plenty of foreign movies without really reading the subtitles, and he can usually keep up with what's going on. His situation with Tweek shouldn't be too different. Thomas throws private information at him unknowingly; he's a character whose purpose Craig cannot quite determine yet. He flits between eating up the information he has to offer and wanting to tell Thomas to shut up. He glances around the visiting room hopefully, but Thomas is nowhere to be found.
He doesn't know what to talk to Tweek about anymore; all they have are hazy parties and two-cent gossip. It felt like so much more at the time. He could swear there was more. But maybe that's all they've ever had and now they have rehab and the consequent inability to connect.
He thinks about asking if Tweek is looking forward to leaving this claustrophobic shithole, but decides against it when it occurs to him that he won't have to drive out here anymore and tiptoe through conversations with this damaged version of his friend. They can hang out at the diner, or at Tweak Bros., or at a party. Things can go back to normal, whatever that may be, and the thought excites him. Craig feels anxious to leave and eager to never return to the hospital. He leans forward and asks, "So we can hang out soon?"
"Yeah."
Craig sighs through his nose and stands up.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Tweek."
It isn't until he is sneaking a right turn through a red light near his house that he realizes that was his last chance to see Thomas. He doesn't turn the car around.
14:12:03 Jan 3 2013
The door to City Wok is almost frozen shut and Craig has to balance the Canon on his feet so it doesn't touch the snow as he shoves the door open with both hands. The owner of the restaurant shouts a protest in his direction and Craig flips him off as he scans the establishment for Tweek.
He sits down across from Tweek, who looks agitated in his seat.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Gah! You're late!"
"What time was I supposed to be here?" Craig asks, checking the time on his phone.
"Two O' Clock!"
"It's 2:12," Craig explains, his voice bland with apathy.
"Well, it's a long time to sit here! I was here at like, ugh, 1:45! I thought you weren't coming!"
Craig sets his forehead in his hands and presses the heel of his hand hard against his eyes. He watches the tiny explosions of lights move away from the pressure on his eyelids. This isn't the reunion he'd been hoping for.
"You're sort of… off. Aren't you on like… meds or something?" he asks, his eyes still shut.
"Gah! Yes! But they're going to take some time to stabilize. They may still change them again. They don't fucking know what they're doing."
"You can't sit here unless you a customer of City Wok!" the owner screams in their direction. Craig opens his eyes and sighs audibly. He and Tweek both rise from their seat and move towards the counter to place their orders.
Tweek looks better than he did in the hospital. Craig isn't sure if it's because he isn't seeing Tweek in the same sweaters and lounge pants that the boy wore every time he visited, or if it's just easier to process attraction outside of that place's sterile claustrophobia. Tweek stutters through his order, and Craig indulges himself in letting his eyes slide over the other man: his face and jaw, down to his neck and collarbone, the latter exposed as a result of his knitted pullover's stretched neckline. He lifts the camera to point it at Tweek, who shrinks away from its gaze sharply to pay for his food.
"Ohh, you film commercial for City Wok!"
"No," Craig answers.
As they return to their seats, Tweek admits that he did not miss Craig's camera.
"Well, it missed you."
Tweek blushes, readjusting himself in his seat so that he's sitting on one of his socked feet, the birkenstock left empty on the floor.
"What time did you get home yesterday?"
"Around noon. They wanted me to do one last group therapy session before my parents came and got me."
"Were you happy to see them?"
"Of course I was. They're my parents."
"You don't blame them for throwing you in there?"
"I got myself in there, Craig."
"Spoken like a true twelve stepper."
Tweek blows air through loose lips in frustration, fussing his food in circles with his fork.
"So," Craig says through a mouthful of rice. "Since you're actually sort of speaking to me now, are you going to tell me why the fuck you were in the hospital?"
"Agh! I told you! It was rehab. My parents found out I was using drugs."
"They don't just put drug addicts on drugs without something else going on," Craig probes.
Tweek stares at Craig for a few moments, only giving the camera one nervous glance when Craig adjusts it to make sure it's viewing both men from its adjacent seat.
"I'm schizoaffective."
"You're schizophrenic?"
"Schizoaffective. They're different."
Craig nods, his eyes falling from Tweek's face to his plate of beef and broccoli. He eats a few bites, trying to piece together the information Tweek is giving him with the things Thomas has let slip over the two weeks.
"We can talk more about it later…" Tweek says softly from the end of the table. "Just not here. Not at City Wok. Ugh, can't we just enjoy our lunch?"
"Enjoying their lunch" seems to consist of awkward silence. Craig says nothing, and Tweek doesn't try to make him speak. Craig can't even seem to recall what they used to talk about. It's only been two weeks, but he feels like he and Tweek have lost the rapport they'd built up since November. With no conversation to distract him, Craig finds his mind drifting to Thomas. He can imagine Thomas in the hospital's joke of a "family room", sitting on the couch, staring at the door and wondering if Craig is going to visit. He wonders why it's so much easier to talk to Thomas, someone he hardly knows, than to Tweek, the guy he's supposed to be dating. He feels a deep, unplaced resentment.
Craig pulls his phone out of his pocket. The screen lights up to facebook, where the conversation with Tweek about meeting up for lunch is still open. He taps his finger on the search bar and types "Thomas Wilkinson."
He finds him immediately and momentarily considers requesting his friendship, but opts not to since he knows Thomas doesn't have access to a computer anyway. Craig tries to look through his photos but they are locked. The only photo he can see is his profile picture: a well lit photo of Thomas and a giant stupid fucking gross-looking poodle. Thomas looks happy in the picture, his freckles more noticeable in the daylight than they are under the medical fluorescent lighting he is used to seeing him under. Thomas looks good. He looks better out of the hospital than he does when he's in it. Craig decides he doesn't want to visit the ticking boy in that hellhole again, but he's suddenly aware that he misses their friendship.
"Balls!"
Craig breathes in sharply and looks up at the man in front of him. Tweek is standing, frantically trying to wipe soy sauce off of his jeans, but really just wiping it in. Craig breathes out slowly, slouching back in his seat.
"Anyway," Craig starts, as if they're picking up from a small lull in an otherwise engaging conversation. "There's a party tomorrow night at Leroy's house. Go with me?"
"Uh.." Tweek begins. He stops dabbing at his pants with the napkin and stares at him wide-eyed. Craig watches while the other man searches for the word. "Sure."
20:01:56 Jan 3 2013
Craig walks to Leroy's house; he hasn't bothered making plans to pick up Tweek since the strange disaster of letting Tweek drive him to Denver. He thinks he wants his relationship with Tweek to pick back up, but he finds it difficult to even face him and the possibility of another long silence sitting in each other's company.
He bumps into Nichole at the door, who's coming out just as he's going in. She taps her arms around him, kisses his cheek with her painted purple lips, and spins away. He stares after her, eyes and lens following her sway down the walkway. He doesn't remember consenting to being friends with Token and Clyde's friends. He warns himself to make sure he doesn't give off the wrong signals tonight.
Thankfully, he isn't accosted by Clyde, Token, or any of their douchey friends before he hits the back porch, where Tweek, Kenny, Red, and Milly sit talking in the freezing night air, huddled close together. Everyone is looking at a very uncomfortable Tweek.
Craig briskly approaches and stands over them. The hushed chatter stops and they all look up at Craig. He takes a step back. "What've you got?"
Kenny pats his pockets, "Just a little bit of Mary Jane tonight."
Red interrupts before Craig can say anything smart, "This is Leroy's house. Everyone is just sitting around. You'll make an ass of yourself if you take X."
"Fucking whatever," Craig grumbles and turns back into the house.
There is a very limited amount of drinks on the kitchen counter. Cheap vodka, two empty six packs of beer, and a mostly consumed jug of cranberry juice. With a minimal amount of hope, Craig opens the refrigerator to find only a pitcher of iced tea and a Britta water filter. He grabs an individual package of string cheese and turns around to find himself face-to-gaunt-face with Tweek.
"What's that?"
"String cheese."
Tweek reaches past him and grabs the pitcher of iced tea, pouring himself a glass without looking at Craig. Craig leans against the fridge and watches him silently. Jeans and a worn t-shirt, sneakers instead of birkenstocks: he probably snuck out.
Tweek leans against the island counter and they find themselves staring at each other from just a few feet away. It feels a lot like sitting in the visitor's room at the hospital. Despite the freedom, the drinks on the counter behind Tweek, and being in a room of chattering people they both know, tonight feels like they are back in the hospital and Tweek is giving him his blank stare.
Craig tries not to regret making this suggestion. When it comes down to it, he has to know if whatever happened between he and Tweek is salvageable. He can tolerate some insanity for the sake of whatever connection he felt earlier. There was something there, he was pretty sure of it, but time has twisted his memory, and he knows that. Time makes it difficult to see through the bias and remember what he felt when he was kissing Tweek in Clyde's laundry room. Feelings seem worthless when thoughts get in the way, or maybe thoughts are worthless when feelings get in the way. He can't tell.
It could be that the only way to feel, or to understand feeling, is to impair his thinking.
With a decisive push off the fridge, Craig grabs himself something alcoholic. He can feel Tweek watch him pour a glass of vodka and cranberry juice. He can feel Tweek's amber eyes on him, on the drink. It feels dirty. It feels like hinting at a terrible secret to be drinking in front of poor, sober Tweek, whatever Tweek's vice may be. He turns back around and meets a shaky gaze, holding eye contact over the glass as he sips his poison.
"What's wrong with you?" Tweek asks, voice low and wavering.
Craig says nothing.
Not too far away, the kitchen erupts with the booming laughter of several old classmates. Lola stumbles over to the counter and reaches behind Craig to put more vodka into her drink. She doesn't acknowledge either of them and they don't acknowledge her. This is more like what Craig expected life after high school to be like. He doesn't watch her walk away.
Craig slowly downs the rest of his drink. He can tell that Tweek trying not to watch him, darting his eyes everywhere. It feels like deja vu, a strange combination of life before and during the hospital, blended together and trying to tell him that this will never work. Craig spent every day of those two weeks doing almost exactly what he had done before he was reintroduced to Tweek at the Thanksgiving party. The only difference was the thirty or so minutes he would spend at the hospital staring at the boy he thought he might have felt something for.
His passion was dying. The little he had left was slipping. Craig feels slightly fulfilled at the same time that he feels barren. He tried caring for something and he got shot down.
"I was thinking, ah," Tweek says quietly, "about, uh, places."
Craig doesn't say anything. He doesn't know how to respond to something so fucking vague. Tweek never says anything. Not a single thing. He's a waste of time. Craig considered Tweek something to work for and now that idea is gone and he is thinking about other things, other people, himself. Craig swallows the rest of his beverage and pushes off the counter. "I think it's time for me to bolt."
He spares a glance in Tweek's direction and catches a glimpse of sadness and the desire to ask him to wait, please.
He pauses just long enough for Tweek to gather the courage to step away from the counter and stand in front of him. Despite the other people in the room who are buzzed at worst, Tweek stands two feet from him, looking nervous but determined. Craig looks him over again and sees Tweek in his sneakers. He snuck out to see Craig. "Do you want something to drink?" Craig asks, agitated and ready to blow off a terrible party in a terrible fucking town.
Tweek ignores the question. "Chicago."
Craig stops.
"Do you want to go?"
"Now?"
"Gah! No! Just. Eventually."
Craig rolls the idea over in his mind, on his tongue. "Chicago," He says. The word tastes like it did before the hospital, before Craig had to consider a change of heart. The word is warm, familiar, and exhilarating. He feels almost like he did standing in Clyde's laundry room with the wet taste of someone else in his mouth, high and warm and always wanting to pull in closer, closer, closer. He remembers the excitement that shot through him when Tweek first whispered the word to him. Chicago.
"With you?" Craig asks for clarification, even though he knows the answer. He watches Tweek over the rim of his solo cup.
"With me," Tweek confirms.
There is an intentional silence while Craig makes sure the camera is pointed towards the two of them. He takes a step towards Tweek, feeling the other's body heat as he enters his personal space. He know they are standing in plain view for all their old classmates to see them standing close together, but Craig just nods and tells him, "yeah."
Craig offers to walk Tweek home. While they barely say anything the whole freezing walk to Tweek's house, Craig doesn't mind.
02:02:03 Jan 5 2013
Craig walks quietly down the hallway, past his parents' bedroom, past his sister's bedroom, past the small bathroom the four of them share. He winces as every stair creaks, threatening to give out beneath his weight. He's been wildly successful lately in avoiding his family, and any questions about why he's been out of the house so much more lately. He'd greatly appreciate if his rundown house wouldn't ruin that for him now.
He arrived home from work at eleven. Filmore had no helpful information about any parties and Tweek has been silent on facebook. Friday night finds Craig with nothing better to do than google "Chicago" and eat Hot Pockets in bed. He rounds the corner into the kitchen and hushes Gideon, who is chirping from his shoulder, as he flips on the lights.
"Hey."
"Fuck!" Craig whispers harshly. "You scared me."
Savannah is sitting fully dressed at the kitchen table, feet propped up on the edge, staring at her phone in her lap.
"What are you doing up?" he asks his little sister.
"Nothing interesting," Savannah bites back and Craig feels sudden embarrassment that his sister is able to sense his probing for parties. "I'm waiting to hear back from Ike. He went on a date, or something, a while ago. He won't answer my calls, but I don't want to call his brother because we all know what an uptight prick he can be. Wow, why am I telling you this?"
Craig shrugs, setting Gideon on the kitchen table while he opens the fridge. He grabs a piece of celery from the drawer and tosses it to Savannah, who trades it for her phone and begins to feed the guinea pig.
"Mom and dad are going to think it's pretty shady if they catch you fully dressed in the kitchen at 2 am."
Savannah says nothing.
"Are you on drugs?" Craig mimics their dad.
"Are you?" Savannah spits, throwing a dark glare at her older brother before kicking the chair back and leaving the kitchen. Gideon squeals when Craig grabs him from where he was left unattended. He sighs, turns back to the fridge, and grabs an orange soda.
Back in his room, Craig can hear his sister's muffled voice talking on the phone through their shared wall. He plugs his headphones into his laptop and turns on the same playlist he always uses to drown out the manufactured moans of gay porn. Clyde made him this mixtape for his birthday one year, spewing some bullshit like: "Listen to the lyrics, man. Listen to them."
He doesn't listen to the lyrics. He sets Gideon and Lenora on the floor and ditches his boxers, leaving his naked tattooed body flopped over the unmade blankets. One hand lazily strokes his cock as the other scrolls past thumbnail after thumbnail of porn, unable to settle on a video he wants. Finally, he tries a few, but after failing to get hard he slams his computer shut in frustration. The music stops.
That's when he is struck by an idea. His eyes dart shamefully to where the camera has been observing him from its nighttime location on his desk. For a moment, the blinking red light seems to judge him before Craig remembers that it's a fucking machine. He grabs his phone, opens facebook, and types the name his phone has already memorized: Thomas Wilkinson.
He cums with his headphones still on, playing nothing but the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears as he rolls onto his back and wipes his phone screen with his boxers. He throws them at the camera and successfully blinds it. Sleep finds him quickly.
14:52:33 Jan 7 2013
Token and Kyle sit side by side at Token's desk, sharing a plate of pizza bagels and a bowl of chex mix. They watch Craig's footage from Firkle's party the previous night on full screen, Kyle's arms folded above his head, Token's hands furiously scribbling away at his worn yellow pad of paper.
"Three days," Kyle sighs in enthusiastic disbelief. "That's the shortest amount of time Tweek's stayed sober after leaving rehab."
"How do you know that?" Token asks, writing down the number in his notes anyway.
"I like numbers," Kyle shrugs.
"And gossip."
"Look who's talking!" Kyle retorts.
They fall silent for a moment, watching as Craig takes Tweek's mostly empty beer and finishes the last swig himself. He hands the blonde a new bottle, popping the lid off with the opener that hangs from his belt loop like a dog tag, announcing his allegiance to intoxication.
"What is it about the promise of running away that makes Craig such a fucking gentleman?"
"You don't have the best reference point for gentlemen, Kyle."
Kyle's protest comes in the form of his chair squeaking in rhythm with his suddenly restless left foot.
"I'm just saying," Kyle clarifies. "No one looks more suave taking your sobriety than Craig Tucker. He's like a tall, drunk Don Quixote."
"With a frantic desire to run away."
"Everyone wants to run away from South Park," Kyle laughs, reaching over Token to grab another pizza bagel.
"Uh-uh, not me," Token contradicts. "South Park is where the story is. Ain't nothing gonna happen in Chicago."
The friends fall silent. Kyle's eyes shift between his phone and the computer screen, and Token leans his face in his hands as he listens to shallow conversation between Craig and Tweek. They're gossiping about old friends and acquaintances, but Token doesn't care. This movie stopped being about the residents of South Park a long time ago.
"How behind are you on homework?" Kyle asks, observing the stack of books he knows belongs to Token's to-do pile.
"Doesn't matter," Token tells him, tapping his pencil against the edge of the desk. Kyle seems to be observing his own pile of class work waiting for him back at his own desk, but Token knows he's doing so only to act as if he's also dangerously behind on his school work.
Craig and Tweek leave the kitchen after yet another beer. As they walk through the house party to the basement, the camera is swinging loosely at Craig's side, suggesting Token's cameraman is too drunk to hold it steady. It finds a haphazard seat on what is probably an armchair or coffee table pushed to the edges of the room. The frame is turned towards the dance floor, but it is too low, and only captures Tweek and Craig from the waist down as they fall together.
Kyle tries not to react to the sight of Tweek and Craig dancing. It begins pretty casually with some space between them and some awkward-looking dance moves, but he winces when they draw closer together. He doesn't have any particular feelings about Tweek, but he hates Craig and is certain that any person trying to date him has a victim complex. Kyle looks away and Token watches the screen.
23:41:44 Jan 9 2013
"How did you get here?" Craig asks, not looking at Tweek as he locks the backdoor to Petsteps.
"I walked."
"It's freezing out," Craig says, turning around to face the shorter boy. He is in his typical outfit, oversized jacket making him look smaller than he is. His socked toes stick out of damp birkenstocks. He is shaking one of his feet, maybe because he's cold, maybe because he's nervous.
"Yes," Tweek confirms.
"My car takes a while to heat up," Craig warns.
"I, uh, know another way we can keep warm," Tweek suggests. From his peripheral vision, Craig can see Tweek's amber eyes locked on his face, trying to read his expression. When he turns around, he tries his hardest not to react, pulling his camera up to his face and looking down at Tweek through the viewfinder. They stand there for just a moment before Craig digs his car keys out of his pocket and they move towards his car together.
Craig sinks into the driver's seat, propping the Canon on the dash in its usual seat. He reaches to close the door when Tweek's voice cracks from the back seat.
"No, no! Come sit back here."
Craig looks Tweek's reflection in the lens of his camera. In reality, he shouldn't be so reluctant; Tweek is his ideal hookup. He's aggressive enough to make the moves so Craig can more or less follow his lead and they're sort of dating now, he guesses, which means Tweek isn't going to gossip about him. He's hot. His hair is a scruffy inch long and Craig can imagine running his fingers through it with Tweek's head in his lap. His breath materializes in the cold air of the car, floating above Craig's head as he turns the camera to fit the back seat into the frame.
The heat blasting from the front seat is hardly reaching the back, so Craig does take solace in the heat of Tweek's body and scoots close to him as he pulls the door shut. He looks outside at the snow falling around the car and he wonders how many times he'll skid off the curbless South Park roads before he makes it home. Tweek's hands lay lightly on his thighs and Craig turns to look at him. He's grateful for when Tweek's mouth suddenly lands on his, because he was starting to think too much about childhood friends and making out in the backseat of a filthy car in the parking lot of his part-time job.
Tweek is a good kisser. Craig hasn't had much experience to compare this with, but Tweek's tongue is drawing circles on his and it's making Craig's mind feel pleasantly distant. His body is speaking instead, and when he feels Tweek pushing back on his shoulders, Craig lets him. Their mouths fall apart and Craig has to contort his long legs around Tweek's body, but when they're done moving, Tweek is kneeling between his thighs and Craig is propped up on his elbows, staring across the seat as the other man watches him. Tweek's face is colored orange by the solitary street lamp illuminating the interior of the car. He licks his lips and Craig stammers out, "Wanna get high?"
"Gah! What?"
Craig sits up, reaching for the dashboard and manipulating his hand into the glovebox. "I bought some Ritalin off Kenny when he came in to buy dog food for that fat fuck they call a dog."
Tweek seems to laugh to himself, hands pulling away from Craig's body as the other sits up and throws a few pills back. He offers the bag to Tweek, who shakes his head no.
"I stopped taking Ritalin when I was twelve."
"Suit yourself," Craig shrugs, leaning back against the window while he waits for the drugs to kick in.
"Gah! Listen," Tweek starts, fingers picking at pills on his knit sweater. "I need to ask you something."
"Uh, sure, shoot."
"I don't like having to sneak out to see you. If you, uh would agree to… god… meet my parents? They'd uh, probably let us hang out during the day and I wouldn't have to sneak out at night anymore."
"You want me to meet your parents?"
"Ugh, yes. Shit! As a friend, just a friend. Just... come over for dinner, shake their hands, and then we're golden."
Craig sighs and he feels the tension leave his body. The car is finally starting to feel warm and his limbs are relaxing. He feels as if his body is melting into the shape of the backseat, and Craig eventually nods. He reaches forward for Tweek and catches a flash of the other boy's smile before they kiss again.
Tweek's mouth trails to his ear and Craig turns his head to the side and shuts his eyes as Tweek's hand skates down his chest and stomach to rest over his erection through his jeans. "You know I'm not going to tell anyone, right Craig?"
He feels it more than he hears it, and Craig isn't sure to thank Tweek or Kenny, but he presses his hips up into the contact and presses his tongue back into Tweek's mouth as Tweek's hand creeps below his is good. This is exactly how it's supposed to happen, Craig thinks. Stoned and sprawled out in the back of his car. This is an artistic enough of a place for his first hand job.
Craig surprises himself by moaning into Tweek's mouth, never having elicited such a noise from himself before. The effects of the pills are making Craig feel electric and Tweek's hand on his cock causes his body to surge in response. Tweek takes Craig's lower lip between his and sucks lightly before pulling away. Craig's head is could have never imagined the look on Tweek's face when the other boy pulls his swollen flesh out of his boxers. Craig is so hard, and Tweek looks hungry.
The pleasant ache in his groin intensifies when Tweek's hand properly encircles him. It is better than porn, Craig confirms. Seeing someone else's hand pumping your cock is definitely more erotic. Tweek's mouth is on his again and their body heat is quickly filling the small car. Craig is thankful for the pills he swallowed as the pressure in his body swirls in his pelvis, building fast. He has watched hours of porn, stroked himself until he felt nothing but raw skin on skin, but arousal has never been like this. It's never been a foreign touch. He's never even really tried to imagine the acts on his computer screen being done to and by him. He's in high awe of the boy leaning over him, in his space, breathing the same hot air.
A deep, resentful part of Craig always believed if he never acted on his sexual preference, it wouldn't have to be true. Now, at twenty-one, he has finally given in. Finally. He finds himself panting into Tweek's mouth and pushing his hips towards the sensation of Tweek's hand pumping his cock.
The camera isn't capturing everything; Craig knows this as his body slides down the uncomfortable car seat. He hasn't been in the back of this car since it belonged to his dad and he was just a passenger. His eyes sweep over his surroundings, trying to pause and make this last, an attempt toremember every last detail, but his heart is pounding and Tweek is staring at him. This is the most solid eye contact Tweek has ever made with him and Craig can't hold onto it. His head rolls back when Tweek squeezes his cock, and he pushes his hips up into the grip. Craig shuts his eyes; this is surreal.
Tweek is panting too, his heated breath splashing over Craig's neck, inches away from his skin. He feels like he's sweating and overheated, the muscles in his hips tight and tense. It's almost painful, but that only makes it so much better. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that there are so many other things he and Tweek can do that might feel even better than this. He won't let himself think about it, but he knows that his body wants it.
"How is it?" Tweek asks, quiet and uncertain.
Craig exhales sharply and drops his chin to his chest, looking up at the blonde through his eyelashes. "Fuck."
Tweek huffs out a quiet laugh and slides his hand faster on Craig's cock, making sure he hits the base and circles the base of his palm over the head. Craig thrusts his hips up, trying to fuck Tweek's hand. He gasps noisily, but he's too high to be embarrassed about it. His hands reach up under Tweek's jacket to rest on Tweek's ribs through his sweater. He feels small and comfortable, and while Craig tries pulling him closer, Tweek resists, muttering something about balance. Craig groans and grips the car seat below him with one hand to use as leverage to thrust up.
The anxiety he would usually feel at the thought of Tweek already being sexually experienced with men has gone, replaced with a gratitude that someone can touch him exactly as he needs to be touched. He hates admitting that need. Tweek seems to be reading him, shifting his focus to just below the head of Craig's cock, stroking in short, fast bursts before sliding down to take care of the rest of his length. Craig is moaning, completely out of control as Tweek takes him far away from who he is.
"Faster, faster, more," He gasps, dropping his head back and tightening his hips as Tweek complies.
Craig is gasping, his entire body clenched. He can feel a line of muscles all the way down the back his legs burning as he pushes his hips, groaning and squeezing the waist and cushion under his hands as he cums under someone else's care for the first time.
"Good?" Tweek asks as he pulls back. In the low light of night, Craig can see his wide eyes, pink cheeks, and his wet hand held out away from their bodies. Craig's spent cock feels warm and satisfied.
Craig says nothing. He just closes his eyes and quietly tries to catch his breath.
16:11:00 Jan 10 2013
Token lets the footage play, but scrambles for his phone. A toothy smile stamps his face as he texts Kyle.
"Tweek gave him a handjob!"
A second later, the phone lights.
"THIS IS GETTING GOOD."
17:45:59 Jan 11 2013
"Gah! You're fifteen minutes late!" Tweek snaps, marching out of his front door to meet Craig halfway down the path to his front door.
"Sorry!" Craig responds. "I was at work all day and some asshole brought in his skunked dog for a bath and Kyle made me help hold it down in the tub. I had to go home and shower."
Tweek twitches in front of him, not taking his eyes off of Craig's, even when Craig hoists his camera to occupy the space between their faces. Tweek clearly doubts the excuse and Craig decides that instead of lying next time, he'll say nothing. He fidgets with a few settings on the camera aimlessly and Tweek lets out a rush of air that sounds like he'd been forgetting to breathe.
"Let's do this," Tweek announces, turning sharply for the front door.
"Wait, you gotta coach me or something first!" Craig demands, letting the camera fall back to his waist and grabbing Tweek's shoulder in his hand. The other boy turns around, but backs up out of Craig's touch and Craig recoils at the idea that he'd be perceived as "the gay one" at the Tweaks' house.
"Ugh, you'll be fine. As long as you pretend that we're just friends, which you're already pretty fantastic at, you'll be fine."
Craig studies Tweek for a moment, trying to decipher the angry tone behind his last statement. Tweek has turned back around and begun walking up the concrete path to the front door. Craig rolls his eyes and follows him, watching his step over the frozen slush beneath his feet. Just as Tweek pulls the door open for Craig he mumbles "Oh, and Craig? Camera off."
Token's heart sinks at the words. He'd already put headphones on and turned off the lights in his studio so he could properly immerse himself in what he knew would be an important scene in Craig's story.
"Alright," comes his friend's deep voice. With cautious optimism, Token watches the screen as Craig snaps the lens cap on the camera. The screen goes black for a moment and then satisfaction floods him when he hears Craig's deceitful confirmation. "It's off."
"Welcome, Craig! Long time no see!"
Mr. Tweak greets him and Craig already feels like he's in trouble. Tweek gestures towards the table and he moves to sit down.
"Gah! Not that one, that's my dad's seat," Tweek blurts out. Craig freezes, hand hovering over the back of the chair he began to pull out.
"Don't be so rude, son! He's a guest. He can sit wherever he likes."
Craig cannot move, unsure whether he should side with his pseudo-boyfriend or his pseudo-boyfriend's father.
"Go on, Craig. Sit down."
He slowly sinks into his seat, setting the camera by his feet and watching as Tweek sits down in a chair that is probably always his. At the opposite end of the table, Tweek looks at Craig blankly and it finally strikes him that Tweek wants to do this as little as he does. He wonders how many times over the years Tweek has had to introduce friends to his parents like this. Craig wonders if Thomas's mom is as uptight as the Tweaks are.
Steaming cups of coffee are brought to the table accompanied by a few seconds of poetry to describe a flavor Craig is just going to hide beneath cream. Tweek's parents sit on either side of him and now all four sides of the table are occupied. Craig briefly scopes out the path to the door and makes sure his phone is in his pocket in case he needs to fake an emergency and bail.
"Dinner will be ready soon," Mrs. Tweak begins. "Until then, we can talk."
Token had closed his eyes, listening to the audio when a loud rustling against the mic causes them to snap open. Craig had hit the mic with his hand when he reached beneath the table to pop the lens cap off. Token chuckles softly as he observes Craig using his toe to slowly push the camera into a position his wants. Token is impressed with his cameraman's ability to blindly frame a scene. By the time he's done, there are four sets of legs and four pairs of shoes within the shot. "It's not perfect, Craig," he says aloud, "but I'll make it work."
"We love our son," Mrs. Tweak begins. "Like any parent, we want what's best for him, his health, and his future."
Mrs. Tweek uncrosses and recrosses her legs beneath the table.
"We firmly believe that friends are an important part of Tweek's support system," her husband continues, sliding his feet out of their house slippers and letting them rest on top. "We just want to make sure that you're aware of everything you need to be aware of. Do you understand that?"
"Yes," Craig answers. His feet remain still and flat on the ground. Snow melts out of the sole of his Docs and a small puddle of water grows around him.
"Our son is schitzoaffective," Mr. Tweak says after a pause that Token is unable to interpret from his seat on the floor. A pair of socked feet begin to bounce in their sandals and Token sighs in frustration as Tweek's rustling stains the audio. "More importantly," he continues. "Tweek is a drug addict."
"There are a few drugs he takes, with supervision, to help control the anxiety, hallucinations and paranoia that are a symptom of his disease. All other drugs, both illegal and legal, are off limits for Tweek."
"If you're going to be spending time with Tweek you need to understand and encourage sobriety. Tweek is currently on step four of the Twelve Step Program for Heroin Addiction. We recommend familiarizing yourself with this program if you plan on spending time with our son."
"If you're ever uncertain about anything Tweek's participating in, you can call us. We'll make sure you have our cell phone numbers before you leave today. If you're unable to reach us, or would prefer to speak to someone else, we can give you the phone number for Tweek's Recovery Counselor too."
"Tweek's not allowed to have a phone as long as he lives at home because he's had a history of using it to obtain drugs. If you ever see him with a phone, please let us know. Please do not let Tweek use your cellphone."
"In the past, friends of Tweek's have become addicted to drugs due to our son's influence. We do not want to see him ruin another person's life again. If you don't think you have enough willpower to say no to him if he offers you drugs, please reconsider this friendship. If Tweek ever does offer you drugs, please call us immediately so we can take the appropriate actions."
The volley is almost too painful for Token to listen to. He can't imagine what it's like above the table. Several minutes ago, Tweek stopped shaking his feet before beginning to roll his right ankle in slow, deliberate circles. Craig's feet have not moved, but the puddle of water they rest in begins to run in the direction of the floor's subtle slope. Mr. Tweak flexes his toes as he talks. Mrs. Tweak continues to uncross and recross her legs and Token knows the color of her underwear. Token just barely picks up on a timer buzzing from the kitchen and Mrs. Tweak rises from her seat.
"Ah," she chimes. "Dinner's ready."
"Excellent," Mr. Tweak says, shoving his feet back into their slippers. "I think that's enough for now. Let's just use dinner to get to know each other better."
There is a small squelch as Craig shifts his feet in their puddle. "Alright," he says.
"So, Craig, how do your parents feel about all those tattoos?"
"We're going to head out for a little bit," Tweek tells his parents. "Walk to the ice cream shop or something."
"That sounds like a good idea. Thanks for coming over Craig," Mr. Tweak smiles at him. Craig stares back at him, wondering if Tweek will look like his father when he's older. He extends a hand to shake and Craig takes it, shaking it only once before letting his hand fall away. Mrs. Tweak gives him a small wave from the kitchen before turning her attention to the dishes.
Tweek kisses both of his parents and thanks them, as if what they just did to him wasn't some brand of torture. Craig holds his breath, silently encouraging Tweek to hurry. He doesn't inhale again until they're on the front porch, door shut behind them.
"Wow," Craig says.
"God dammit! Be silent until we're at least three houses away!" Tweek snaps, zipping his coat up and shoving ungloved hands into his pockets as he walks swiftly towards the sidewalk. Craig films the blonde as he moves away from him, letting Tweek's form shrink into the landscape of a snowy South Park. In the dark, he becomes nothing more than a silhouette. Craig considers telling Tweek to move a few steps to the left and stand beneath the street lamp, but it strikes him that Tweek is probably avoiding it on purpose. He steadies the camera on his shoulder and flips the flashlight on his iPhone so he can watch the sidewalk as he catches up.
"That was brutal," Craig starts, only one house past the Tweak's.
Tweek nods.
"How many times have you had to do that?"
"I've lost count."
"They're a little dramatic, don't you think?"
Tweek turns to look at Craig, and Craig watches his amber eyes flit between the camera and his own.
"I'm a drug addict."
"Yeah, so you're a little fucked up. It's not like they aren't. Your dad told me you can't have any drugs thirty seconds after handing you a cup of caffeine. I'm not particularly inclined to listen to their suggested methods for living life."
Craig stops beneath a street light and Tweek fidgets uncomfortably next to him. "You know," Craig says as he pulls out a half crushed box of cigarettes and offers one to Tweek, "street lights are the safest place to stand at night. No one's going to rape you or anything if you can see their face." Tweek shakes his head no, maybe at the cigarettes, maybe at the attempt to make him feel comfortable.
As he lights up and takes a few hits, Tweek leans against the pole and looks up at Craig's face. "What's your suggested method, then?" Tweek asks. "For living life?"
"There's no point in living at all if you can never feel good," Craig shrugs, raising his eyebrows as he blows a cloud of smoke down at Tweek.
Tweek rolls his eyes and pushes off the pole. "C-come on," he stutters, "Baskin Robbins closes at eight."
"Wait, we're actually getting ice cream? I thought that was your code for getting stoned or something."
"Gah! Please don't make fun of me!"
"I'm not making fun of you!" Craig retorts, looking through the viewfinder at the dim sidewalk while they walk, wondering if any of tonight's footage is even going to be salvageable. "That was an awful fucking experience. I'm dying to get high; I imagine you are too."
Tweek grabs a handful of snow in his bare hands and chucks it at the stop sign on the corner. It hits the sign with a metallic bang and Craig's eyes widen at the brief display of frustration from the shorter man. "Of course I am, Craig! All I'm ever dying to do is to get high. That was the whole fucking point of what my parents were trying to tell you!"
Craig takes the cigarette out of his mouth and puts it in between Tweek's lips. He watches him slowly fill his lungs with smoke and Craig is certain he can see the nicotine already working to loosen Tweek's shoulders. He lights himself a second cigarette and lets Tweek keep the first. If he's going to fix their relationship, he's going to have to be a little more proactive.
"We'll get out of this town," Craig promises, trying to push the idea that he can get Tweek out of the reach of his parents and addictions. "In Chicago there will be no parents to deny their twenty-one year old son a cell phone. In the meantime, let's have a little fun."
"Craig."
"Heroin, right? That's your vice?"
Tweek sighs and gives in, "I'm not picky, but if I have a choice, yeah."
"That's a rough drug, from what I know," Craig tells him. "Maybe that's where your problem lies?"
Tweek is silent.
"Have you considered sticking to softer stuff?" Craig suggests. "Weed?"
"That's not really how recovery works."
"Says who? I've seen you smoke pot. It relaxes you. Maybe you can use weed instead of heroin? Replace the hard drug with an easy one," he explains.
Craig sees Tweek shrug in his peripheral vision.
"If you have any cash on you, I bet we can make it to Kenny's before Baskin Robbin's closes. You have to try rainbow sherbert stoned."
"We don't need to go to Kenny's," Tweek says, his tone, rather than his words, confirming that Craig has won.
Craig films Tweek hooking a hard left at the end of his block instead of the right that would take them to Main Street. Here the sidewalk dissolves into dirt, a few floating chunks of concrete threatening to trip Tweek as he navigates in sandals and socks that must be wet by now. There are a few houses scattered beyond the dirt road, but for the most part, South Park falls dark beyond the last residential street. A neighborhood erodes into abandoned industrial ruins, a few telephone poles and a train track that only sees a locomotive twice a month. Tweek is illuminated by nothing but the moon reflecting off the snow, his skin and hair catching the light in a way that Craig's never would.
It's not a long walk, but the lack of conversation makes it just uncomfortable enough for Craig to hide behind his camera, walking several paces behind Tweek and filming as they go. Tweek walks a familiar path weaving through graffitied corrugated steel and sagging chain link fences until they emerge on the train tracks. Craig and his friends never spent time here as kids, but he knew kids that did. Tweek lives so close to the tracks, it makes sense to Craig that he was one of them, but he can't shake the thought that this doesn't seem like Tweek's style: scrap metal, stray dogs, "No Trespassing" signs.
Tweek leads him to a small conductor's booth that sits to the side of the tracks. Craig recalls the year that Leroy and Dog Poo got suspended from school for a week for locking Patty Nelson in it for twenty-four hours and Craig wishes he lived in a town where he didn't have memories from middle school constantly interrupting his twenties. Tweek prys the door open and slides into the one of the two seats inside the small structure. Craig joins him, pulling the door shut behind them. He positions the camera on small ledge under the window, grateful to shove his frozen fingers into his pockets for a few moments.
"I'm going to throw up if you don't start talking soon," Tweek blurts out.
"Um, okay?" Craig answers, leaning away from Tweek but turning to face him, watching the blond boy pull a metal lunchbox out from a drawer beneath the control table. Inside are various ziploc bags and a few orange bottles, as well as a small leather pouch that Craig realizes with dull shock probably contains Tweek's heroin needles. "What do you want to talk about?
"Gah!" Tweek jumps. He drops his joint and has to reach down to the floor to fetch it. Craig watches his pants tighten around his ass as the other boy bends over his chair. He lets out a sigh and pulls out his phone.
"Put your phone away," Tweek says in horror when he stands up. "Do you want people to know what we're up to in here?"
"Is this the best place to keep your drugs anyway?" Craig asks, shoving his phone back into his pocket as ordered.
"Where do you keep yours?" Tweek asks bitterly, finally taking a seat again as he lights the joint and takes a shaky hit.
"Under my bed."
Tweek laughs with lungs full of smoke and it makes him cough. He hands the joint to Craig, who takes several hits on his turn, watching the paper ignite and peel away as the small glass conductor's booth slowly fills with smoke with every exhale he gifts it.
"I've managed to hang on to this stash for over a year now. This has been my best hiding spot so far. My parents would never guess something like this... I don't think."
Craig hands the joint back to Tweek, studying his companion while he smokes. This is how he likes to see the boy: relaxing, head occasionally rolling back on his neck while he lets the drug unwind him. Craig reaches a leg out and lays the toe of his boot on Tweek's foot. Tweek lays a hand on Craig's thigh and Craig reaches forward to take the joint from him.
"Please say something," Tweek pleads.
"Like what!" Craig laughs in frustration. "What are you freaking out about?"
"Dinner, I guess!" Tweek bites. "You just sat with my parents for an hour and a half while they talked about what a problem I am! All you wanted to do afterwards was get high. Don't you have anything to say about it? About me?"
"About you?"
The booth continues to fill with smoke and Craig can feel his face heat up with the effects of the drug already. This is a good place to smoke.
"Yes," Tweek answers. "How do you feel about me? Not knowing makes me anxious."
Images run through Craig's mind like a movie on rewind. He sees Tweek smiling and flirting with him at parties. He hears Tweek gossiping with him about their peers. He sees Tweek sitting across from at the hospital, blank and lifeless eyes staring out the window. He hears Thomas talking about Tweek's delusionals, Tweek's anxiety, Tweek's instability. He sees Tweek sandwich betweened his parents at dinner, staring at his wringing hands while his parents give Craig boundaries and rules he's supposed to obey. Craig sees Tweek stroking his cock in the back of his car and Craig can see Tweek through the smoke in the hot box of an abandoned conductor's booth they're currently sharing.
"I like you. I like to see you happy. I'd like to see you get away from your parents and anyone else in Colorado that thinks you need help."
"I do need help."
"I don't think so."
Tweek stands up and takes a step towards Craig. He isn't sure if he's just high or he actually sees the smoke part and open a path for Tweek to move closer towards him. His feet are numb in his shoes, so he stays seated, knowing he'll fall if he tries to stand right now. This is good weed.
"Can I kiss you?"
"Yeah," Craig answers, pulling the joint away from his mouth and letting his eyes fall shut as it's replaced by Tweek's lips. The kiss is warm, despite the cold.
"Will you be my boyfriend?" he asks. Tweek's face is closer to Craig's than he would have opted to frame this scene.
"Okay," Craig nods.
Tweek grins and Craig grabs his oversized coat in his hands, tugging the smaller boy into his body and kissing him again. Hands slowly meander through layer and layer of clothing, until Craig has his hands on Tweek's ribcage and Tweek's fingers draw quick circles on Craig's hipbones.
"Do you still want to go get ice cream?" Craig asks quietly into the kiss.
"No," Tweek answers him, pulling away from his mouth. "I'm going to have you for dessert instead."
He wants to say something about cheesy porn dialogue but Tweek is sinking to his knees and Craig's mouth can do nothing but fall open. Quickly, he reaches for the camera and props it on his shoulder to watch.