Warning: Angst, schizophrenia (seeing things, hearing voices),
"Why does it matter, Tweek?" Tweek doesn't know. He most definitely does not know why Craig is asking him why it matters when he doesn't know if he matters or not. He thinks loving Craig matters a lot, but does he, Tweek, matter? Does that cancel his love out?
"Does it matter, Tweek?" Craig asks again, but his voice is indifferent, his face and body composed, frozen, but not tense. Like a picture, but wripped in half. Something's wrong, something's different. This wasn't the Craig he fell in love with. Who was? Did he fall in love with anyone?
"Does it matter?" Tweek looks down, uncurling his palms, then looks back. Craig's gone. Disappeared. No chullo hat, no peeping strands of black hair, no grey eyes, no-one. Was there ever anyone there? Was he even there?
It doesn't matter
Tweek smiles, then. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter he loves Craig, because he doesn't matter. Fags don't matter. Freaks don't matter. Nothing matters.
"It doesn't matter." Tweek repeats, and a single tear falls into the upturned crevice of his mouth.