I was just guessing, at numbers and figures
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart

—The Scientist, Coldplay

Tweek's point of view:

I woke up a second time while Craig was still fast asleep. It was much later, roughly two in the afternoon, but Craig had gone to bed after me so I let that be his excuse. He wasn't snoring anymore and he'd moved around to lay on his side facing me. In much the same position, I watched his sleeping features dawdle in whatever dream he might've been having. Reaching out, I combed my fingers through his bangs and pushed them from his face. There were never any tangles in his hair, always so thick and soft. A hint of stubble ran along his jawline and I brushed my fingers over that too.

My stomach twisted delightfully; it was an attractive look—rugged. I traced the supple shape of his lips with my eyes, my thumb carefully following. As the pad slowly eased along the bottom curve of his lip, a seam formed. His breath was gentle and warm when it grazed the palm of my hand. Smiling, I leaned in close and let that same breath touch my mouth. "You're beautiful too," I cooed, hand trailing down his throat. As my path continued down his chest, he inhaled deeply and the press of his skin against my fingers was alluring. His heart pounded against his ribcage, rhythmic and steady, visible thumps that attracted my eye.

It hadn't been noticeable until I began touching him, and I knew that subconsciously his body was reacting to me. This knowledge excited me. My blood ran faster, my pulse spiked, my own body reacted to his reaction in some foreign, sensual domino effect. It was physical and I liked it and I wasn't going to stop. His skin was a tempting temperature, emitting warmth that stuck to the sheets and cocooned my huddled figure. It occurred to me that tonight I'd be in my own bed, and even though I'd only been here but about a week, it was hard to remember what sleeping by myself was like. All I knew laying next to Craig was that it sucked being alone at home. I hadn't even known it could suck until I'd come here.

It was then that I wondered if Craig would ever stay the night in my bed. I highly doubted he'd ever make it back to South Park, but if he did, would that be okay? Staying the night at my house? My parents would put cameras in my room and keep a security guard on watch at all times, so as long as he could get past that... The only boyfriend I've ever had hadn't liked them because of how protective they were. I hadn't even known they were capable of it, that they cared so much, until I'd told them that I was in a relationship. Things had never been safe with him. We'd rarely gotten the chance to be alone, but I hadn't minded. Thomas's peer pressure was the only reason I'd even tried for a relationship and the entire time I'd been stuck on Craig just like I've always been and always would be, a thing of which had been clear since my ex first grew interested.

He hadn't been anything like Craig. No subtle masculinity to his features, no paint splattered hands, no icy eyes or baby chub when he ate a lot. I've never felt comfortable under anyone's scrutinizing gaze except for Craig's. His was never meant to judge, just to analyze and satisfy. My heart never sputtered like it was choking on lungs full of heady smoke, my pulse never reached my fingertips, my body never responded so eagerly—only with Craig. Every day that's passed hasn't been enough, and any days that might come next would never be enough. In a few hours I'd leave and then it would be weeks before I'd get to see him again and I wasn't sure how I had lasted four years without him.

Sucking on my lower lip, I slid my palm down his stomach and wrapped my hand around his hip. He'd liked it last night when I stroked his hipbones, followed the angle of his V lines, and he'd like it now in the middle of sleep. His physical reply amused me: his restless stir, the way he burrowed his face into the pillows. It was cute, so I didn't stop, gingerly passing my fingertips across his hips. I liked the feel of his happy trail and lightly scratched at the thin line of hair. He hunched his shoulders, curling closer. My hand paused, unsure of what it was getting itself into, but when Craig settled back into a sluggish hump, I tentatively continued to rub the lowest parts of his stomach. It took my by surprise, then, when he suddenly shifted much closer and let out a quiet hum.

Eyes widening, I stared at the sheet covering us in the general direction of where my hand was located. The same hand with the fingers that had just barely slipped beneath the hem of his boxer-briefs. It was stupid and small and over exaggerated but my fingertips were in his pants. Would he be upset if I touched him? It seemed only fair after last night. And I'd be leaving today, so if I wanted to do anything, now would have to be the time to do it.

But I've wanted to for eight years and I've waited just as long. I remembered being little and naive, thinking that a kiss was all it would take. It was a time when the only thing I had wanted from Craig was just a kiss and I'd be set. That was all everyone ever did because that was all my parents did and the movies did it too. After I'd grown up and matured just as much, I'd learned that there was more to receive from someone else aside from their kiss. Thomas had always been more curious sexually—not in sexuality, but the physical aspect of the act—and during our mutual crushing over Craig, had given me other things to think about. Better things.

It had then become a time where a kiss wasn't the only thing I wanted. Up until he moved, I'd wanted everything. Any encounter I happened to have with him: passing back homework to his desk from the teacher, the small distance between his locker and mine that we'd go to at relatively the same time, those afternoons I would spend with Kenny where Craig and his friends showed up for a short moment—all I had ever thought about was what if he just pushed me against the wall and did whatever the hell he wanted to do to me?

I'd been selfish then—had gotten used to him always being there—because when he left, the only thing I ever wanted all over again was just a kiss. So I didn't want to be selfish again. Not when Craig would be gone just as quickly as the last time.

Before I could even accept this, Craig's groggy voice reached my ears. It was like a bomb siren. "Are you trying to cop a feel?"

Mortified, I snatched my hand back and spun around to face the other direction. The bed wobbled at my speedy turn. "Sorry... How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to feel you try to grope me," he grumbled.

He might've stretched or rolled around. All I heard was a lion's groan and then waves erupted in the mattress. It was another minute until his arm came around me and I felt the heat of his skin douse my back. "It's okay. I wouldn't have minded waking up with a boner." His voice rumbled against my ear, his chuckle settling far down into the pit of my stomach.

"You're so full of shit." Laughter tumbled from my lips. "I wasn't going to give you a boner."

"Oh, okay." He nodded into my hair. "So what were you doing?"

When my mouth opened, I thought something high-pitched and embarrassed sound would come out. I was expecting this lame stutter of an excuse. What came out instead was: "Kenny and I are going home today."

Craig didn't respond right away. It took him so long that I thought he might've fallen back asleep. His breath was even against my back, weight steady where his arm laid across my side. "Okay," he finally said. He pulled himself away from me and laid down on his back.

Uncertain, I peeked at him from over my shoulder. His blue eyes were staring up at the ceiling, impassive. "Craig?"

"Are you going to be okay sleeping by yourself?" I was baffled by his question.

"Y-Yeah. I do it all the time. It's just new places. They always s-scare me..." My explanation drifted off into an incomplete silence. "Why?"

There was a small lift to his lips. "It was fun taking care of you."

Yeah, I wished I could've said. I liked you taking care of me, too. It was a care that he'd given that hadn't tried to bare down on me. A subtle care that provided gentle pushes and I believed that Craig was leading me in the right direction.

He was where I wanted to go.

And so leaving, it wasn't as hard the second time.

"You'll write me, right?" I just had to make sure.

Craig nodded. We were standing at the mouth of his room. He had one hand on the doorknob and I was leaning against his dresser. It was almost as tall as me. "Take a look out your window sometime. Maybe I'll send you a message with a blimp."

I bit the inside of my lip and smiled. "Find an ocean sometime," I echoed. "Maybe I'll send you a message in a bottle."

"Maybe I'll get a jet and jet stream you my number."

"Contrails," I quickly mumbled. He hummed in confusion. "Condensation trails. That's what a j-jet stream is."

His chuckle was light, distracted. Both of us were, I think. He looked away, took a breath, and then turned the handle. Before he could get very far, I tapped my knuckles in a soft succession against his dresser to add to our forms of communication. It was goodbye in morse code.

Craig paused, listening, but I wasn't sure if he understood. I did it one more time just to emphasize that it was morse code, that it was alright if he couldn't pick up on the meaning.

"Morse code?" When I nodded, he took me by surprise and leaned into me. Our lips brushed and my next breath echoed back against my mouth, pushed away by his own. "Bye, Tweek Tweak."