Expo '86

by Vcorrigan

Enter the psyche of society's base, add in numerous illegal substances, and you've got the expo of the century. Because neither can admit their faults, their feelings, the one thing that matters may be lost through their projections onto others. Tweek/Craig

12. 3 1 Deluded

3.1 Deluded Blindness

de-lude-d

1. to mislead the mind or judgment of; deceive
2. to elude, evade

What happens when the ultimate conflict seems to reach the peak? What happens when the confession of the century goes public? Paparazzi? Fierce unrestrained judgment? Let me be clear; happiness is often what we make it. You cannot be happy until you are happy with yourself, and when you are never happy with yourself, your happiness is then a clever ruse for society to play into. There is no happiness in this beginning; there is no happiness in the end. But for now, the waging warriors of the story can retreat...but not for long.

---

Silence often can be more devastating than the sounds of combat and warfare; thick, full of consequence, leaving nothing but fear in its wake. Fear of acceptance, denial, fear of the unknown and the judgment clearly being dealt. And it was in the silence that everything seemed so much louder; he could hear the whirl of the ancient industrial central heater kick on, blowing particles through the slotted vents positioned randomly throughout the tiled ceiling of the classroom. He could hear the whistle of Stan's snuffed up nose as he breathed, and the hot, thick breath of Clyde, the notorious mouth-breather. A small girlish gasp through the balmed lips of Wendy, and a pencil clumsily tinker to the floor thunderously.

Silence was the last thing he remembered on his hasty retreat from the classroom. A silence that suffocated him on the inside, a silence he knew was a turning point, a silence that scared him to death. He tried desperately to remember what his blonde torment had looked like before he had ran out of class, tried like Hell to remember anything that would impart some wisdom into his sickened insides, but nothing came to mind, nothing could quail the internal battle he waged.

The point of solace for Craig had changed and updated over the years. The once olive green walls had been redone a soft, tranquil teal that warmed the atmosphere. Where a once, shoddy particle board desk dominated the space, now was a cherry-lacquered wrap-around desk connected to matching bookshelves overcome with doctoral level guidance texts. In one corner near the front of the room remained an area for the younger kids, with a bookshelf dedicated to picture books and toys in a soft basket, a beanbag chair that had seen better days, and a soft green shag carpet reminiscent of grass. The windows were drawn in a cream, floral-patterned curtains, and on the sill sat a small window box of assorted wild herbs and purple wildflowers. The walls still were covered in an assortment of motivational posters, but now a small corkboard had been included of various cards from kids and families, and pictures students had drawn, all hung in an array with thumbtacks.

It had been hours since his retreat, since he had come barreling into Mr. Mackey's office pale and incoherent, but the wispy thin man had just gotten Craig a juice box from his minifridge, smiled, and left on "office errands" without questioning what the boy looked so worried over. And Craig had been thankful to be given time to consider, even if he was eating himself up on the inside, wracked with nervousness, shame, and guilt of what he had done. It was a confusing cacophony of emotions of all parties involved that he knew he had effected with those simple words; And I won't help but stay, because there is one thing that makes me complete….Tweek.

Red, the girl he had but a few days before taken the virginity of. Red, a girl that had been his feisty friend for years, a girl whom kept up with the boys while holding onto her feminine charm with a sweet smile and forever-glossed lips. Red, his girlfriend….whom now knew of his shameful feelings for someone else….

…For Tweek. Oh, Tweek. His absolute best friend, someone who had no reason to stand behind him for so long, so loyally, but still remained forever at his back. Tweek, the only person that drove him mad, that made him hard with just a look. Tweek, the friend he didn't deserve from all the unfair, terrible things he had done. Tweek, the only person in the world he would gladly give his life for….and the only person that made him, time and time again, want to take his own life.

He still wasn't sure at the point he knew he had fallen for the quirky, twitchy blonde. Had it been third grade, when they had accidentaly kissed, and a bolt of pure chemical electricity had rocked Craig to his core? Had it been earlier, when they met one brisk autumn day on the playground? Or had it been the first time Tweek panted underneath him and moaned his name breathlessly into his freckled shoulder?

"Goddamnit," Craig muttered to himself, laying on his back on the shag carpet rug, feet kicked up on the bookshelf, checkered Vans long forgotten in the corner. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and covered his face with his arms, hiding his burning ears in case anyone came in at that moment.

For years, he had wished a thousand times over for the ability to be "normal", to be straight, to be like everyone else. He had taken a girlfriend in hopes that he would feel the same thing for a girl that he did with Tweek, in hopes that no one would look twice at the way his pulse jumped in the presence of his perfect blonde. No matter how many times he kissed Red, held her hand, stuck a hand under her shirt when no one was looking, nothing made his blood boil in the same way the strung-out coffee-addict did.

So he prayed to a God he was told to believe in, prayed to the Son that he was taught understood . He read the book and went to church and participated in Sunday school in the hopes that his unpure thoughts from the week prior would some how diminish and he would pray the gay away. But as the months trickled on he knew the church could do nothing for him. He tried to bleed the gay away, the shame away. He punished himself at every thought of Tweek, at every fantasy he couldn't seem to shake. He took pills and smoked and hoped, maybe, he could poison his body.

But Tweek, always, remained in the back of his mind. The terrible things he did to Tweek, the guilt of shaming him so. And after a night with Red he could never take back, could never wash from his body and soul, he knew there was no ridding himself of what he felt for the blonde. He was tired, exhausted, of hiding, of being so careful, of the fecade and game they carefully played in front of everyone. When all he wanted was to hold the jittery hand of the blonde under the table, but instead curled Red to his side at lunch. And each day that went by, he made himself emotionally sicker, which finally broke into the physical sickness he felt now.

The door opened slowly and the wispy counselor poked his head in, smiled down at the boy on his floor, and carefully shut the door with a soft click. He pulled up the beanbag and took a seat next to Craig, whom had a slight bit more color than he did two hours prior when he had burst into his office in a fit of wild eyes and forlonging.

"So, you sure are the center of the rumor mill out there, m'kay," the man started, clasping his frail fingers in his lap. "Wanna talk about it, Craig?"

He didn't move, keeping his face hidden under his arms as he shrugged. "Fuck, why not? I'm guaranteed to know by tomorrow, anyway."

Mr. Mackey ignored the curse, a sad smile playing on his lips. He'd known Craig all his life, counseled him on more than one occasion, and knew that his actions now were a façade to appear tough and withstanding. "Well, everyone is talkin' about how you're a queer, Craig. The girls are sayin' it's unfair to Red, Eric is holding a rally…Tweek actually left early with Christophe after having a full-blown panic attack in the hallway. Everyone says you're in love with Tweek."

For once, Crraig laughed, sitting up and shifting his clear green gaze on the older man. His eyes burned with remorse but he'd be damned if he was going to show how much he hurt. "Mr. Mackey, you've known just as long as I have that I love Tweek. Why do you seem surprise?"

"Oh, I'm not, m'kay. Not by that. I'm surprised by your public admittance. What made you, finally, admit it to anyone other than Tweek? Is it Christophe, getting to close to what you think is yours? The inability to keep your lies straight?" On most clients, Mr. Mackey wouldn't back them into a corner. But Craig needed to be pricked at to talk so he could decide the best course to make him returning to class as painless as possible.

The Nommel boy got up and paced, grinding his teeth to keep the emotion from spilling out. His hands wound in his black locks, pulling, tugging, but the pain was nothing comparred to his inner turmoil. Why had he finally given up the charade of pretending not to care? Why had he finally admitted, to more than himself, his undeniable feelings for his best friend? Mere months ago, it'd been nothing to use and abuse the blonde boy. Mere months ago, he could have kissed the blonde, and spat at him at the same token. Things changed, but what? Was it Christophe's gruff appearance to occupy and keep his coffee-addicted counterpart at fingers length? Was it Tweek's sad eyes every time Craig ignored him? Or was it exhaustion from trying to keep himself feeling "straight" and normal?

Mr. Mackey watched the routine with a sad smile on his face. The last time Craig had been in his office willingly was the first day of class when the shell-shock of having Tweek back among his peers had completely undone the Nommel boy to his roots. Just as he was now, Craig had paced, tugged his wavy hair out in stress, created himself physical pain rather than admit to the emotional pain that waged deep. But now, besides the pallor of sickness, Craig's face was lined with his turmoil, his eyes were clouded and jaded, his overall posture was of a wounded man rather than the twelve year old child he was. He worried endlessly about the boy so caught up in the judgment of others and the hate for himself that he had attempted suicide by overdose, cut himself to feel normal, and manipulated those around him.

"Craig?" he asked tentatively. The boy stopped pacing and turned to face his counselor, face hostile at the interruption of his thoughts. But within seconds Craig melted, physically dropping into a chair he was all-too familiar with, hands clasped together to keep the shaking less evident.

"I fucked Red. Because Tweek was there with Christophe. Because he'd been ignoring me for that French sonuvabitch. Because I knew it would hurt him beyond words. And it felt wrong. It felt gross. It tore me apart and left me empty for days. Because it was the one thing I couldn't take back, the one thing I had only done with Tweek. And even though that stupid bastard forgave me, rationalized it for me, tried to give a good reason that I had done it, I knew he would never believe I loved him after that."

`Mr. Mackey wasn't sure what surprised him more, the admittance that these young kids were having sex, or the fact Craig felt so much. This coy, snotty, arrogant boy with a temper that he had seen cry twice in his short life, now openly admitted to feelings so strong most adults never experienced. "M'kay, Craig, well, have you talked to him at all?"

He shook his head, black locks falling over his green muddled eyes, but he couldn't hide the hitch in his voice. "No. I got sick. And I don't know what to say to him. He wouldn't believe anything, I've done such shitty things before. That's why I did it. Because I've kept it hidden before, didn't want anyone to know. By saying it, in front of all of the class, it made it real. Believeable. Me."

Before either could say anything else, a soft knock at the door sounded. Mr. Mackey raised a brow in question and Craig shrugged, indicating he didn't care who was there. "Come in, m'kay."

The door opened slightly and Red, looking both lost and flustered, poked her head in, blue eyes travelling between the stickly man and Craig, whom only pulled his hood over his head and his hat down further into his eyes. In her delicate hands was a tiny Styrofoam cup with steam whisping off from the top. Her perfectly glosses lips smiled as she choked back the pounding heart in her throat.

"Hi, Craig, I thought you'd be here. I brought you some hot tea."

Craig glanced to her, swallowing back sickness and hate for himself. Slowly he reached out, fingers trembling as he took the cup from her grasp, and muttered a solemn, "Thank you."

Mr. Mackey could see the standstill between the two, the tension and discomfort. He stood up, straightening his pants as he did and offered the girl his chair. "M'kay, now, I'm going to run down the hall and I'll be right back. I feel like you two have some unresolved issues you need to talk about, m'kay. Craig," he caught the smoldering look of the boy, "Play nice."

And with that, the children were left alone. Red took a seat, crossing her grey knock-off Ugg boots at the ankle, tucking a stray lock of crimson hair behind her ear as she watched Craig. He swirled the tea in the cup, thinking only of Tweek and how much he would freak knowing Craig was drinking anything remotely hot and caffeinated. He smiled to himself at the thought as he looked up and met the eyes of the girl in front of him.

"You gonna call me a faggot too?" he asked, voice indifferent. Here was a girl, a few years before, he had thought was cute and quirky. A girl that his friends had ragged on him for having an innocent play yard crush. A girl with a fiery personality that had never backed down from a challenge, much like himself, and in more than one circumstance had punched Cartman for his unneeded taunts. A girl that he considered a great friend, a girl he had taken as more than that, a girl he didn't care for in any emotional sense. A girl that he had used for his own front, a girl he respected, a girl he didn't want to lose in his life….but didn't want in his life as a girlfriend.

Her lip curled disdainfully at the insult, both made to himself and to her. "Really, Craig? You think that little of me?"

This time when he looked at her, he really looked. Yes, he could tell by the furrowed brows and the way she chewed on the inside of her lips that she was angry, but not at him. For him, maybe? He sat up, giving her his full attention as he sniffed back the snot waterfall from being ill, making his voice thicker with a more nasal quality than typical. "You're mad."

A huff as she rolled her eyes like it was obvious. "Well, duh, Craig. Do you know how hard it is to pretend to be hurt when all I want to do is cheer? Do you know how hard it is to not punch everyone saying bad things about you? I've done nothing but tell people to stop being asshats and here you are, asking if I'm going to call you a faggot. What the fuck, Craig."

"You…what…cheer?"

Again, the heavy sigh and the roll of eyes. "Come on, Craig. We both know what happened at the party shouldn't have happened. At first, I wanted to be offended you weren't there that morning, but I was actually super grateful for that small favor. It would have been incredibly awkward."

He raised his brows, question written on his pale face. "I think I'm lost. Can you be less of a girl and explain," at the quick finger she gave him, he added, "please?"

"I kind of had a feeling about you and Tweek. You sister confirmed it for me first, but then, I overheard you with Christophe telling him off, that Tweek was 'yours'. I meant to talk to you after that, to slow things, to end things, but I wasn't exactly sure how, because I wasn't completely sure you knew what you wanted. And then Halloween happened and it's just a big mess and ugh!"

He waved his hands through the air to clean the slate, shaking his head in time as he tried piecing together her words. "Wait….Tracie talked to you?"

She smiled sheepishly. "Well, yes, but don't be mad at her, she just didn't want me to get hurt, y'know? And I was like 'whatever'. She seemed shocked I didn't care or want to smear your face through the mud. But I mean…it's perfect, isn't it?"

"Perfect?" he asked, not following her girlish thoughts.

"You and Tweek! You're best friends. You know each other inside and out. I mean, really, it should have been more obvious from the get-go. I think it was, just maybe not to you, you always have to question yourself and you have this tendency to never let yourself be happy. You really shouldn't punish yourself so, Craig."

He dug the heels of his hands into his forehead as a headache blossomed in his sinuses. God, women were crazy. "I don't punish myself, Red…"

"Don't give me that shit, Craig Louis Nommel. I've seen the scars. You know who cut themselves, Craig? People unwilling to be happy. You've always cared so much what people think that you can never let yourself have what you want. Oh, the guys need money for a Peruvian band even though you had been saving it for the ps4? You let them take it so you weren't a 'dick'. Oh, the baseball team needs a second-base player even though you'd rather play soccer? You'll do it so you aren't some 'soccer pussy'. When is the last time you ever, irrevocably, were 100% Craig?"

He balked at that and really had to think. When was the last time he hadn't let the opinions and judgments of others influence his decisions? "Third grade," he said, slowly, looking up as he did. "Playing space men with Tweek after watching Red Racer while Mom made supper. Stripe was an alien monster in his ball and chased us around the house and drove Dad crazy."

"Point proven," she said with a smile. "You are at your best when Tweek is involved. Without question. And that's okay. It doesn't make you any less you."

He sighed as he knead the cinch in his brows. "Goddamnit, why do you make so much sense? I haven't even been this successful. Now what?"

She laughed as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now we break up and go back to being friends. I want to see you happy again, Craig. That's all I ever wanted for you."

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, placing a hand on hers, sadness in his eyes. "For not being able to be who you wanted me to—"

She shook his hand off and softly, playfully, slapped him in the face, just enough to sting without truly hurting. "Stop. Don't be sappy for me. Don't throw me apologies, because remember, while this is a mutual decision, I'm breaking up with you. I don't want you to hurt for me, because I don't. Don't feel bad, because I'm okay with this 100%. Just promise we'll still be friends, okay? That I can still sit with you at lunch sometimes and we can still joke around without it being weird."

He hugged her then as a feeling of warmth flooded over him. This girl was wise beyond her years, and he didn't deserve to have her as a friend, but knew if he didn't, he may never have felt as okay with himself as he did in that moment. With his nose buried in her hair, all the feelings of disgust and sickness from that night melted away. She seemed baffled by the embrace at first, but returned the hug with her own smile.

"Friends forever, okay?" he muttered into her shoulder.

"It's a deal, Craig."

When Mr. Mackey returned, his office was open and the two were standing outside the door, talking, laughing, no signs of the morning etched on either of them. He smiled seeing Craig laughing, eyes bright, freckles washed in color across his cheeks. He seemed lively, less sick than he had twenty minutes prior, and more childish than he had in years. Even Red seemed carefree.

He knew things would be okay.

...

For Tweek, unfortunately, they weren't. When Craig had ran wordlessly from the room, all eyes had shifted into the corner where Tweek sat. Every pair of eyes made his heart race, his mind go blank, his mouth dry as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He wanted nothing more than to follow Craig's hasty exit, but his knees shook and his legs betrayed him, paralyzed him in his seat. Tears sprung into his eyes as he tried to find an escape through the sea of faces watching him curiously. He felt like he was suffocating under the watchful stares, felt like he was alone in such a crowded room, until a familiar snarl of heated French spilled through the silence and broke the spell they all were under.

Ms. Mendel cleared her throat and continued her lesson, redirecting the attention to the front of the class and the powerpoint of vocabulary words they were to define. But Tweek couldn't focus, and slid, shaking, as far as the seat would allow. He wanted to crawl under the desk and sob, he wanted to run to Christophe and listen to his friend assure him it would be okay. He wanted to slap Craig, wanted to scream and shake him into answering why he would do such a thing.

God, the pressure, the PRESSURE was too much.

He understood, now, why Craig never wanted to be seen with him. The snickering under his classmate's breaths, the eyes he could feel on the back of his head, the unknowingly plot of the twisted Eric Cartman scared him. He felt judged, and worthless. He felt like a freak, moreso than the usual talking behind his back. Now he wasn't just the twitching, caffeinated, counseled, mental freak, he was also the gay boy too. He sure had a lot to live up to now.

As the lunch bell rang, again the eyes made their way to him as everyone clamored up and out of their seats. Christophe was at his side wordlessly as he stood up and, quivering, followed the masses blindly. He barely noticed the people staring at him as the story spread like wildfire between the classes, barely noticed Christophe pull him to a stop with indecision written on the French boy's face outside of the bathroom, barely heard his friend command him to stay put if he wasn't going to come in with him, barely noticed anything at all.

And that was when the beady stare of Cartman focused on the blonde boy in the hall that continued walking down the hall, having not retained the command of the French guard. Tweek, seeing nothing in his blind walk, had no time to react as Eric stuffed his foot in the way. "S-s-shit!" Tweek exclaimed, waving his arms wildly as he fell to the tile. He hissed in pain as he jarred his knee on the floor, tears springing into his eyes.

"Oh, ho, ho. Looky here, Tweek's already on his knees for us," Eric said with a chortle as he grabbed a handful of the blonde's hair and yanked upward. "Do you tell Craig it's pretty when he sticks his dick down your throat?"

"Dude, stop it!" Kyle said, punching Cartman in the shoulder. "That's not right, knock it off fatass!"

"Oh, come on, you know Craig's done the same thing," Eric said with glee in his eyes as he pulled harder on Tweek's hair, causing him to yelp in pain. "Or did you even know about Craig's gay little crush when you two have sleep overs?"

"Stop it Eric!" Kenny yelled this time as he tried to pull Cartman off of Tweek, only to be suckerpunched in the gut for the attempt.

"Goddamnit Kenny, that's a bad Kenny. Come on, Tweekers, what's it like to think Craig had wet dreams about you while you slept in his room at night? Huh? Or did you know? Did you like it Tweeky? When he sucked on your dick?"

"You stupid sonuvabeetch!"

Cartman looked up in time to see the smoldering gaze of the trained French missionary, a tic in his jaw, over the heads of the other students. He pushed Tweek away and took a fumbling step backwards, tripping on one of Tweek's fallen books and tumbled straight onto his backside. Christophe was on him with a howl of rage, slamming his head back into the floor, pinning him with his knees on Eric's elbows digging into the soft nerve bundles, giving no way for the heavier boy to buck him off without causing serious injury to himself.

"D-d-d-on't I was just kidding hahaha!" Cartman tried, face deadly white as all blood drained out of him with the taller boy straddling his chest, snarling curses under his breath.

"You do not deserve my mercy, you stinking piece of sheet," he growled with deadly calm as he sptit in Eric's face. "You deserve nozing."

No body tried to pull Christophe away as he dug his fist into Eric's teeth; no body searched for teachers to break up the one-way fight as Eric screeched and cried and pleaded. No body, except Tweek, whom wrapped his arms around Christophe's waist and tugged backwards with everything in him.

"Stop it Christophe! P-p-please stop it!"

If a pin dropped, it would be heard through the silence that filled the hallway over Eric's pathetic sniffling. Everyone held their breaths as Christophe, quivering from undaunted rage, withdrew his bloodied knuckles and looked down at the boy before him, covered in tears, blood, snot, and spit.

"It's not worth it, Chris."

He pushed himself into a standing position just as principle Victoria came around the corner with her hands clasped to her mouth in horror.

"What is going on here? Christophe! To my office, now! Oh, god, someone help Eric to the nurses office. Lets go children!"

Tweek felt shaken at the blank look on Christophe's face, even more so by the blood splatter across his cheeks. The deadly calm that washed over him, the unfeeling look in his grey, wolfish eyes scared him to the core, reminded Tweek exactly what Christophe was and what he was capable of, and being secretly glad the French boy was on his side. He remained on the floor as Conner and Kenny pulled Eric to his feet and escorted him to the nurses station. The crowd dispersed as Christophe trudged off after the principle, leaving a second remorse to fill the heads of the many.

Kyle outstretched a hand to the crumbled blonde, auburn curls swinging in front of concerned hazel eyes. "Come on, dude, lets get some food in you to calm your nerves."

Tweek followed wordlessly into the cafeteria buzzing with rumors. He kept hearing keywords repeated as he followed Kyle into the lunch line; Tweek, Craig, Christophe, blood, fight, love, gay, faggots, threesome, over and over from various sources. Inside he burned, the anxiety causing him to quiver and shake on the outside, twitching characteristically as Kyle placed a grilled cheese and a fruitcup on his tray. He was embarrassed, ashamed, afraid. What did his friends think? What did Red think? How could things go back to normal after this?

He barely noticed Kyle push him into a seat, barely tasted the sandwich he forced himself to eat, barely recognized the faces of Clyde and Token nestle in at the table with them to keep a watchful eye on the fretful blonde. Red was a blur as she exited the cafeteria with a cup of steaming tea in hand, the bell was muted in his whirlwind of thoughts and emotion.

And he realized, stumbling blindly back to class, he couldn't do it anymore. He barely heard his friends call after him as he, shaking, the tears finally exploding passed the dam of confusion he'd built himself, burst through the front doors of the school and ran into the biting autumn wind.

That had been two hours ago. Now Tweek was nestled under his brown down comforter, a fort of pillows built around him to keep the raining thoughts from hurting him. He had ran into town, going to the one person that could soothe his hurt; his mother. Eavan had wordlessly hugged her son, needing no explanation as to why he was out of school so early, just knowing by his trembling clutch that he needed her. Richard had shook his head questioningly as he went about serving the mid-afternoon customers, mumbling about how his wife enabled Tweek as she gathered her coat and walked him home.

She had made him a latte and a bowl of soup, tucked him into bed, and went about her business around the house, knowing he would talk to her when he had made sense of his thoughts. Now the bowl sat empty, the mug with foamy residue, and his mind as clear as it could possibly be.

Face a mottled mess from crying, Tweek slid out of his comfort zone and grabbed his dishes on his way downstairs. Carefully he went down the stair, one foot, step, the other foot. One foot, step, the other foot, all the way down. The smell of orange zest and cinnamon filled the entryway from the candle lit on the table, and the smell of roast and potatoes wafted from the kitchen. He followed the gentle singing of his mother and the clamor of pans.

"When Irish hearts are happy, all the world seems bright and gay/And when Irish eyes are smiling, sure, they steal your heart away."

He smiled as he snuck into the kitchen, finding comfort in the accent that wound its way into all the traditional Irish songs she sang. She turned with a smile of her own at the sound of his shuffling, and placed a piece of sweet tart down in front of him at the high-top table that dominated the nook.

"Well, hi, honey. Are you feeling any better?"

He shrugged as he forked a piece of the pastry into his mouth. "I g-g-guess. I'm just confused. And lost. And I don't know what to do."

"Well, I heard about what happened today. Principle Victoria called about Christophe and the fight, as well as what had escalated his temper."

His face flamed a deep scarlet at the thought of his mother knowing, but the thought was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing behind him in the doorway. He finally noticed the other set of dishes abandoned on the table as he turned and saw Craig staring sheepishly at him from under his bangs, his hat presumably forgotten in the living room where he had emerged. Tweek's mouth went dry as he stared at his friend, and turned slowly to his mother for explanation.

She crossed her arms over her chest, a stern look on her face, indicating his behavior was rude. "Lydia is in Denver shopping with her sister, and Thomas is at the office until five. His mother called asking if I could pick Craig up because he was sick. Both of you need to work out your silly issues, is that understood?"

They both nodded wordlessly and slipped out of the kitchen and back up the stairs into Tweek's room. The blonde, per habit, leaped into bed to avoid any possibilities of monsters under the bed grabbing at his ankles. He glanced around his room, the soft green walls decorated in pictures he had drawn over the years, posters of bands that he shared a mutual liking of with Christophe, the desk against the far wall a clutter of art supplies, books for enjoyment, and text books for class. Above his desk he'd added a mantle in recent years showing off a portrait of his cousin, Thomas, a framed picture of himself and the Mole, the only trophy he had ever aquiared for a math competition, and a small potted succulent garden. On his dresser was a small battery-powered zen fountain, his collection of various scarves, and the worn mole stuffed toy Christophe had sent him as a present one year.

Craig made himself at home in his usual position on the window seat, leaning back into the overly large cushions that dominated the seat, resting his head against the cool glass and watched the grey clouds outside drift wistlessly high above the troubles of one boy's bedroom.

"I see no mention of me in this room anymore," Craig started, sniffling, his cold still very much active.

Tweek shrugged. "I was mad at you for ignoring me, for lying about going to end things with Red. I packed away all my Red Racer cars. I cut up all of the pictures of us, and the notes he shared, and everything else that remind me of you," he said, catching the tight-jawed look of Craig at the admittance. Sighing, Tweek reached under his pillow and pulled out a battered Polaroid of Craig smiling mischievously with an arm thrown over Tweek's shoulders at the height of winter at Stark's Pond, a middle finger poking out from behind the blonde's spiked locks, an obvious momento of good times as young kids. "Well, except this."

Darting his gaze in Tweek's direction, the Nommel boy cracked a smile at the picture. "Man, I was an asshole. All you wanted was a good picture and I still had to flip the camera off just to be me. You almost cried when you saw what I had done since it was the last picture you had on the camera."

"Yeah, I don't think you'll ever outgrow being an asshole," Tweek blurted out, feeling bad a moment later. When he looked up, Craig had his knees to his chest and a hand in his hair, those molten green eyes cast downward.

"It doesn't mean much, but I'm sorry for that. I've been a terrible friend. Manipulative. I've told you what you wanted to hear to get what I want, and then didn't hold up my end of the bargain," he said, reminiscent of the last time he had been in this room.

Tweek only shrugged as he leaned back into his pillows, unsure of his ability to trust this boy again. "I've heard that before, Craig. We've had this conversation before, the last time. And you know where that got us? You fucking Red, that's where," he said bitterly. "You claim to love me, to need me, and that's what happens."

"I can't change what I did. Nor can you change getting hot and bothered with Christophe," he replied angrily.

"Don't you dare make this about me, Craig, goddamnit. At least he treats me better as a friend than you ever have as a supposed lover."

Lips curling in disgust Craig shook his head, throwing a pillow carelessly on the floor. "And you said you felt nothing kissing him. Or did you lie to save face? Maybe I am wearing off on you after all, there, Tweekers."

Sniffing back the overwhelming need to both punch him and cry, Tweek settled with glaring. "Maybe I did," he replied bravely, looking Craig straight in the face, hoping the lie was unnoticed.

The raven haired boy pointed numbly at Tweek's shaking hands and laughed. "Bullshit. You can't lie to save your life."

"Maybe I j-just want you to think that since you claim to know me sooo well."

Without a word Craig crossed the room and pushed the blonde back into his soft pillow fort. His heart hammered, face flushed, as Craig knelt over him and stared him down. Tweek licked his chapped lips, a small whimper escaping as Craig leaned closer to him. He could smell the sweet scent of Craig's shampoo in his wavy locks, the brief hint of lemon hand sanitizer, and mocha from his breath as he whispered into Tweek's ear, "The way you react to me says otherwise, Twitch."

He shut his eyes tightly, fighting back the burning of tears as he clamped his hands together to avoid letting himself fall into this trap again. "S-s-stop it, Craig. I c-c-can't do this with you again. I can't keep being hurt."

And with that, the weight over him disappeared. When he opened his watery eyes, Craig was standing by the bed, looking forlorn at the dropped Polaroid with a sad smile on his face. "I talked to Red today, after this morning. I thought you'd be more appreciative of a public admittance, thought you'd figure I finally learned how to be unashamed in the public eye, but I guess not. If it's any consolation, we broke up and she supports my need to be happy."

An intake of breath was the only response by the blonde. "W-what? Why?"

Craig glanced up to him with a shrug as he handed his friend back the picture. He was taller now, his hair had lightened, his freckles had darkened, and his ivy green eyes had hardened over the years, but standing in the middle of his room with his head cocked, Tweek could see the boy he had grown up with and called his best friend.

"She made me realize the last time I was happy was when we were kids and did nothing but goof off and not have to worry about the conventions of society. When we were best friends doing what best friends do. And I miss that more than anything else about us," he admitted. "When I told you I needed you to need me, I wasn't kidding. When I said I was in too deep to ever get out, I was being serious about that." He glanced down, avoiding Tweek's gaze and the judgment he saw there. "I never lied when I told you I needed you to know I love you."

Tweek shook his head in surprise and disbelief. "Why? Why did you look so sad this morning?"

Craig laughed softly, ending in a coughing fit to prove his illness. "Do you know how badly I hurt after what I did, Tweek? I went to bed and didn't want to wake up, I prayed to not wake up so I wouldn't have to worry about seeing the visible hurt I left with you. I was sick thinking about it. I couldn't get the feeling of Halloween off of me. It still fucking hurts me inside, but I dealt with part of that hurt today with Red. There was no damn way you were going to forgive me after that, as much as you tried to be on my side. And Christophe said it best, that stupid French bastard, that I don't make the sacrifices I need to make for you.

"Part of that hurdle was doing what I said and telling Red. Talking it out with her. Part of it was not being ashamed in public."

"But you still ran," Tweek commented, glaring at him accusingly. "You still ran and left me behind to deal with it. To be questioned. To be accused and judged. How do you think that felt for me? Do you even know what Cartman did to me?"

Alarm shone in Craig's eyes as his face turned dark at the idea. "What did fatass do to you?"

Tweek didn't want to remember, he felt molested at the thought of Eric's gleaming piglike eyes staring down at him, his crotch uncomfortably close to Tweek's cheek as he talked nastily of them. Thinking of it turned his stomach in knots and brought tears into his eyes. Within seconds Craig was at his side, pulling him gingerly into a loose embrace.

"I'll kill him. It doesn't matter what he did, I will kill him."

"Christophe almost did," Tweek replied with a sudden, remembering the deadly look the Mole had given him as he was hauled away to Principle Victoria's.

"Guess that's something else I owe him, then," Craig said sadly, imagining the worst, knowing it had to have been something disgusting for Christophe to jump in to that extreme. "I'm sorry, I should have stayed, but I felt like you didn't give a damn, the way you tried to get me not to finish the stupid poem. You connected the dots, you knew….so why didn't you want me to?"

"You can't take it back, now, Craig, and I know how much you wanted to stay out of the public with it," Tweek said slowly into Craig's shoulder, and felt his friend wince back as if those words hurt him. "I didn't want you to regret anything."

The boy shrugged as he pulled away and lay back into the pillows, arms under his head for support. It was hard to look at Craig lounging so comfortably on his bed, looking right at home among the shades of brown and crème that made up his bed, and try to be mad, try to be anything but relieved that he was here with him. "Yeah, well, surprise, I regret nothing. I can take anyone who says anything. I've still got a pretty good right hook."

Tweek could only laugh at this visage of perfect. "Yeah, well, me too if I remember correctly," he joked, popping Craig playfully in the mouth. The Nommel boy smiled the first sincerely happy smile Tweek had seen from him in ages. Tweek smiled in return and plopped down at his side in the pillow, throwing an arm across the sick boys chest, nestling into his side contently.

Quarter til'five, Eavan snuck upstairs to tell Craig it was time to get ready before his dad showed up, to find the two boys snoring softly, Craig with a protective arm slung over her son's sleeping waist. Carefully she place a throw blanket over the boys, closed the door, and went downstairs to call Thomas and tell him Craig had fallen asleep, a smile on her face, knowing things would be okay.

...

School can be a strange place for young boys coming into their own, transitioning between "children" and "teens". Inner circles often declare war upon themselves, hormones rage, friendships mollify in an instant. The biggest thing to happen since Craig's attempted overdose was the rapid-fire news that the boy in question may be gay, with none other than Tweek Tweak. How could the cool, crass Craig Nommel profess his love for another boy, outside of sickness induced haze? It seemed unreal, untrue.

The boys had expected their friends to shame them, ignore them; their classmates to laugh, throw things, exile them. But in the town of South Park, things often are not as they glean in the real world. There was no rift, no ridicule, no one seemed the wiser of Craig's poetic confession. Cartman had tried to poke and pry, but with the attitudes of both Craig and Christophe, had backed down from his plans of sabotage.

Instead, things seemed to meld into the way they had been "before" as simple best friends in grade school. But, then, neither commented on Craig's poem, neither answered questions related to a relationship, and both had agreed any amourous activities should be conducted away from the school grounds. Now, rather than tense silence and a strained friendship, they had returned to the place they had been, full circle to best friends.

The only tension that remained was between Christophe and Craig, whom often broodingly glared at each other over the lunch table. The Mole grated on Craig's nerves, as he felt he wasn't needed in his blonde's life anymore. He couldn't stamp down the instant jealousy he felt when the taller, foreign boy held Tweek's rapture. The French boy felt snuffed and held an unrelented mistrust of the raven-haired boy that had left Tweek on his own for two years. He could not understand how his friend could yield to Craig's sweet nothings and sly, bold-faced tales, how he could give him chance after chance.

Thanksgiving break began when the bell had rung ominously hours before with the knowledge that the Tweak's and Nommel's had planned a brief holiday trip to a ski resort in the mountains. Which had found Christophe on the bank of Stark's pond, swinging his scuffed combat boots to a beat only he could hear in the whistling cattails, the bobbing waters. Here he found solace like no other as dragonflies skipped across the water, wings glistening in the soft evening light, dancing with the brown, dried leaves that floated from wispy, almost-bare branches of the edging trees. Even with the autumn wind brisk and penetrating, his forearms remained bare, green sweater pushed passed his rough, scraped elbows.

Here on the rickety dock that almost seemed to sway with the rocking waters, Christophe was lost to thoughts of old on the Renne river in his homeland, thoughts of a father he lost too soon, of a land he was constantly pulled away from. Here, amiss the dingy mountain air, perfumed with the musky smell of churned earth as creatures prepared for winter, Christophe felt trapped.

Trapped between doing what he knew was right, between the harsh need to protect the blonde he called "friend", between the growing desire to let go and let happen what will.

Christophe could hear him the moment he left the pavement and trampled through the rocky, dirt footpath toward the pond littered with foliage debris. If it weren't the stumbling uneven footsteps that marked the blonde's troubles with gravity, the squeaks and paranoid chatter would have given him away. Tweek wouldn't know "stealth" if it bit him in the ass.

"C-Christophe? You know I don't like the dock," Tweek's voice echoed through the brisk air, uncertainty written in the response.

"And 'ave I ever let you fall before? You're lack of faith ez somezing unflattering."

The guilty look written on the wind-chapped face f the blonde was answer enough. Caramel eyes darted back and forth as if looking for an escape before, resigned, Tweek timidly put one foot out on the worn wood of the dock. At each plank he tested his weight before continuing down the short dock, and Christophe expected no less form his paranoid friend.

"W-what did you want? We could have talked somewhere warmer, or enclosed, and less deadly and rickety and rotting," Tweek whining, clacking his knuckles together in a motion akin to Butters.

Christophe scoffed, a small smirk etched in his hard face. "And you are your most….Tweek someplace you are not very comfortable."

A glare was the answer as Tweek, finally, made his way to Christophe's side and carefully lowered his weight to the boards beneath, tucking his beat-up Vans under his bottom like a chicken. He clutched as his striped scarf and pulled it tight like a noose. "W-what did you want?"

With the embers of a lit cigarette burning between chapped lips, Christophe leveled his stare at the horizon melting into purples and blues with the coming night. "Why are you so obsessed wiz Craig? Et's un'ealthy. Et's weird."

Christophe could feel the look of anger scalding into the side of his head, of rejecting, or hurt, but he refused to look at his friend. "I'm not obsessed with Craig, Mole, Jesus Christ! He's my friend!"

"Friend? Friend! Was 'e you friend when you 'it your absolute worst? Was 'e your friend when 'e abandoned you because you were too 'crazy' for 'im? Was 'e your friend when 'e fucked Red?" the Mole steamed, face mottling red as anger crept upward.

"Why do you have to make me feel bad about Craig?" Tweek yelled back, fist curling in on themselves. "Why can't you just accept that he loves me?"

At this, Christophe laughed, a harsh angry sound akin to knives being sharpened. Finally he turned to Tweek and glared, normally blue eyes stormy grey and hard as stone. He trembled with unlet rage, hand holding his cigarette shaking ever so slightly. "Does 'e now? I was unaware lovers treated each ozer so sheetily. Does 'e love you, or the manipulation and control 'e's mustered over you?"

Looking down Tweek stumbled. "Y-you just never knew him before."

"Before doesn't matter, Tweek, 'ow 'e treats you now does. Et's ze idea 'e loves."

"Y-you don't know him, Christophe, and I do," Tweek said, pleading. "Just let it go."

Breathe in, breathe out, breath in, inhale, blow, calm down….breathe in, breathe out…Christophe kept telling himself, letting his heart rate plummet and his vision clear of the anger boiling beneath the surface. Stamping the cigarette out into the mist planks beneath them, the Mole turned to his friend with a sad smile. "Yeah? And what ef I do? Zen what? You'll learn yourself what a coward 'e ez? You'll 'andle ze problem yourself? Non, you will only be 'urt beyond belief. Beyond what you were before."

I'm sorry, really, but fuck you Tweek. I can't be friends with you anymore. Who else do you have? I think what you're missing, Tweeky, is I don't want to be your fucking friend. I didn't mean any of it. Sorry, Tweeky, but I'm not a fucking fag.

I'm terrible for you. I'm terrible to you. Tweek….I need you. I want you t drown in this with me, I want you to know how I feel, and I don't want you to hurt because of me. I need you to know I need you. I wish I wasn't. I lied to protect you, I lied to protect us. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I didn't mean any of it.

Tweek's head lowered, unruly bangs covering his eyes that had welled up at the jumbled words pounding inside his head, words spoken by Craig over so many years, words that broke his heart over and over when spoken by the nasally voice of his favorite freckled Nommel. Words of anger, of promise, of guilt, words that continued to ensnare the blonde and drag him into the depths of Craig.

"Just stop it, Christophe, please. I know, better than anyone ever, what Craig is capable of. I know that he's bad for me. I know he's toxic. But I can't help it. I can't help who my heart loves. I can't help the butterflies when he looks at me like we're best friends. I can't help melting at the attention. I can't help that he kept me safe years ago, destroyed me, and has built me back up. I just can't help it."

By now the storm had receded out of those blue eyes, the violet specks that made Christophe seem so otherworldly lighting up his features. He smiled sadly and shook his head as he laughed inwardly at a joke only he seemed to understand. "Et's funny to imagine you as ze boy zat punched me in ze jaw wizin minutes of meeting me for suggesting Craig's disdain of differentness, when 'ere you sit, longing for 'im so. I never 'ad to protect you from anyzing or anyone over ze years, but Craig, Craig ez ze only one I cannot protect you from. Ze irony."

That cracked a small smile from the blonde. "In all fairness, you threw a fucking dart at my face. You scared me."

"Not enough, I would suggest, considering you still punched me."

"I was stupid," Tweek said, meeting his gaze. "But you still scare me. Seeing you over Cartman wailing on him-ugh! It still gives me chills. You're my friend, so sometimes I forget that you're still a mercenary with deadly intent."

Christophe nodded; maybe that was the answer. If Tweek could be blinded so easily to what the other kids saw in him—a deadly, unruly French mercenary—maybe that's why he was so easily blinded by the charming manipulation of Craig Nommel. And, knowing Tweek, nothing could clear his vision until the raven-haired boy showed his true colors.

He stood up lithely, making hardly a sound other than the rustle of heavy sweater material and canvas pants, and stretched his arms over his head. "I cannot and will not like et. But I cannot do anyzing to change your mind, eizer, save for making you forget 'im. So be careful, and wary, and trust not too deeply," he compromised, extending a hand to the smaller boy in a gesture more than it seemed. Questioningly, Tweek grasped onto the callused pads of Christophe's hand and let himself be pulled roughly up with a smile and slight flush of heat.

Christophe smirked at that. He may never love Tweek romantically, but he was his one true friend, and could read the thoughts behind those carefully obscure caramel eyes. If only it was a different time, maybe the Mole would have tried to whisk Tweek away from the demon known as Craig Nommel. Instead, he had to choke back the growing desire to hide Tweek away, and instead trust the paranoid, if not spunky boy, to not be torn apart at the seams.

"Thank you, Christophe. I know how it has to be killing you to do this. But I can take care of myself, and I won't let myself get hurt. I'm too far in to escape it, though."

"Yes, I do know zat. C'est la vie. Just be careful."

With that, brows furrowed and he could see his friend swallow hard as gears turned in his head. "I-is this goodbye again? The finality is..I don't like it."

Christophe gingerly places his hand on Tweek's cheek and brushed a thumb across his reddened skin with a soft smile. "Yes and non. I will be in Denver wiz muzza when you get back from gallivanting in the wilderness, but I will be back after winter break."

"Oh."

In an attempt to calm the nerves of his friend—whom now had begun to tremble at the thought of, once again, losing the Mole—he leaned down to run a light kiss across his forehead. Instead, though, Tweek – with a panicked, indecisive look in his face – leaned up at the last moment and met lips with lips. Like the night of the party, Christophe tried to remain objective and not withdraw, knowing that rejection wasn't something he could afford at the moment. But unlike the party, Tweek wasn't drunk, and wasn't abashed in his action as he smooshed his mouth again the brunette, hands awkwardly coming up to wrap into Christophe's messy locks. He felt trapped, but played the game and gingerly placed his own rough hands on the blonde's hips and leaned into the kiss, trying to staunch the million reasons this was a bad idea floating dangerously through his head.

Finally the blonde, face aflame in color, pulled away and danced back out of reach, body remaining in constant motion as the anxiety took over. "Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod, ohgod—"

"Shh, Twitchy, calm down, I'm sure you've done a lot worse," he gaffawed, trying to keep the calm in his voice and the embarrassment off his face. "Why are you kissing me now?"

"I, just, I needed to know, man, I needed to know!"

"Know, what?"

Those eyes met his for a brief moment as the blonde's face turned bright red again and he pulled at his hair in distress. "If I felt anything like that other time! If I feel it only with Craig or—or if it's anyone or you too and just—gyah!"

"And?"

"W-well I mean it's not the same like with Craig b-but," he pointed at his stomach and dug a fist into it. "It feels fuzzy here."

Christophe couldn't, and wouldn't, let his friend go crazy with the thought, and as much as he wished he could pull Tweek away from Craig's grasps, this wasn't hw he wanted to do it. If he did, he would be manipulating Tweek's emotions, and would be no better than the flipper, because Christophe knew without a doubt his emotions didn't run into romantic grounds, and beyond that, knew he was straight. "Nerves and anxiety, Twitchy, I am sure zat ez et. But your attempt to sway your own conscious makes me zink you yourself understand ze territories of Craig Nommel, and you are already wary. So keep zat close to 'eart on your little ski trip and don't fall so 'ard."

Tweek gave a nod as stars glittered in the clear autumn skies above, casting a celestial glow off the dead, barren land belw. Stark's Pond seemed caught in time in the silverlight of the moon, a body of water that had seen conflicts and resolutions for millinia. As they turned and made their way down the footpath wordlessly, the alcove seemed the echo:

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.

...

The two families left early on Wednesday to have time to pick up essentials on the way to Brackenridge resorts and ski lodging. Because Tracie had felt that Craig having a friend was unfair to her, Thomas and Lydia had agreed to allow her to have a friend join them. Judith, being a priest's daughter, was required to attend Thanksgiving mass, so instead Kizzie joined them. Tweek was pleasantly surprised by the change the young girl had gone through in the last few years. Whereas she had been a short, plump girl in first grade, now her weight distributed more evenly, her hair was more tamed rather than a frizzy, red mass, and she shined with feminine beauty. He was glad she had joined them – that was until, grinning evilly, she told him they would have to play a good game of Bloody Mary for old time's sake.

The flat that the adults had rented for the week was a double story condo consisting of two master suites, a small guest room with two twin beds that the girls claimed in a fit of Nommel sibling rivalry, and a den area with French doors and a pull out couch that the boys took. On the way to the resort they had stopped at the grocer to stalk up during their stay and get the necessities to have the trimmings for Thanksgiving supper the next day. But today, everyone had agreed to go to the shoppes located on the mountain, nestled at the bottom of the ski lifts. Thomas and Richard were intent on getting in with the casual hockey team of other husbands and dads that refused to shop with their women; Lydia, Eavan, and the girls were on a mission to shop, and the boys just wanted away. So with instructions for everyone to meet at Seltzer's Steakhouse at 5pm, Eavan handed Tweek her phone "just in case" and they all went their separate ways.

Tweek found it strange at first at how blasé Craig was as he took the blonde by the elbow and casually wound him in and out of people as they walked along the indoor halls of the boutiques. He seemed himself as they paid for honey-ice and nibbled the shards of cold, watching over balcony at the amateur ice skaters. Hiss hair falling gently across crisp green eyes, Craig seemed….at ease. The lines that had formed at the corners of his eyes were gone, the permanent glower across his brows softened.

And it made Tweek giddy inside as his friend casually pointed a long finger down at a young, teenage couple, the girl clasped to the back of her boyfriend's jacket as he shuffled uneasily across the ice, dragging her with a grin. "Wanna try that?" Craig asked wickedly as he licked at his ice cone.

"Wh-what? Skating? Craig! You k-know I can't skate. Plus there's tons of people around to laugh when I fall! And what's so safe about gliding around with blades attached to your feet? Nothing! Not a damn thing, haven't you ever watched CSI? Bad things happen on ice, Craig."

Craig snorted. "So, you won't go skiing with me because of hypothermia and the way the thin air makes you feel, you won't go to the top of the mountain because the lift is bound to get stuck just because eyou're on it, you don't want to snow board for the same reasons, so clearly sledding is out….what, exactly, do you want to do, then, Twitch?"

He took a bite of his ice cone while he considered, letting the honey taste melt in his mouth. "Well, we could shop. Or we could do the snow labyrinth. Or play in the snow. There's lots we could do."

A brow raised delicately into the glossy black bangs. "Tweek, we came to a ski resort on a mountain. There will be skiing or some sort of snow activity that isn't gay. Got it?"

Tweek looked again to the couple on the ice, the girl squeaking in joy as her boyfriend pulled her along with a stunning grin. They made it look not so hard, not so scary, as they clumsily glided across the slick ice slowly, being outskated by little old ladies a-plenty. Taking a deep breath before he could change his mind he said, "Let's skate."

Craig raised his brow in astonishment as he stared at the fidgety little blonde that rose to his feet and pointed down towards the ice. "Come on Craig, before reason and rational change my mind on this."

Clambering down the short flight of stairs (Tweek checking each step for security measures), Craig handed over the money to rent skates at a qoisk with Tweek's wrist clasped in his hand to keep his friend from bolting. He placed his blonde friend on a concrete bench as he sat in front and tied Tweek's skates, tucking the ends of the laces into the sides.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Tweek finally asked, clacking his knuckles together as his caramel eyes darted around as if looking for an escape route.

"You'll be fine, Tweekers, you're with me. I won't let you fall," was the automatic response as Craig tugged on his own skates, tucking his jeans inside and pulling the laces tight. Instinctively he grabbed Tweek's shaking hands and squeezed, offering his typical cocky smile. "Come on, man, worst that'll happen is you bust your ass and I pick you back up."

A nod was the response as Tweek let himself be pulled to a stand and shuffled behind Craig to the edge of the rink. His head spun and his vision tunneled as Craig stepped out onto the ice and turned to him, a hand outstretched. Despite the jittering and his pounding heart in his throat, the tears pricking at his eyes from panic, Tweek gingerly stepped out onto the ice and grabbed his best friend's hand for dear sweet life.

"D-don't let me fall," he whispered in terror, clutching to Craig's arm.

For once, Craig felt at ease with the blonde clutching to him, the anonymity of strangers a comfort to him as he skated slowly around the rink, dragging an effortless Tweek with him. Here, no one could judge, here, no one would hate him for having another boy on his arm. Here, he was nothing but himself as he spun to skate backwards, grabbing Tweek's hands in his own and laughing. As snow glistened in the thin mountain air, sparkling in Tweek's blonde locks, here Craig felt at home.

"Tweek, open your eyes! You're missin' it, man."

A small caramel slit appeared, that turned into round saucers. "OHMYGOD why are you skating backwards, Craig?! You're gonna get us killed oh my GOD stop it Craig STOP!"

"I won't kill us, I'm perfectly awesome at this."

"CRAIG!"

Mischief shone in his eyes. "Well, you'll have to let go then, I suppose, just for a minute."

"But-but-but-" A sigh. Slowly he loosened his grip, letting Craig's nimble fingers slip through his. Instead of turning to face the correct direction, the Nommel boy skirted out of reach, waving at him with a grin. "Gyah! Craig, help me!"

"Just move your feet, you weirdo. Skate. I won't go too far, but I know you can do this, so do it, Tweek," Craig encouraged, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets to prove his point.

Flailing his arms around, Tweek did as he was instructed, trusting Craig. Using the momentum from being dragged along, Tweek shuffled his feet and found himself with a giant smile on his face as he glided across the ice. The childlike excitement from such a simple task made Craig's heart swell, reminding him of the old days as kids – until he missed his step and went tumbling on his ass, cartwheeling his arms in surprise. Stunned he looked up at the worried expression on Tweek's face…that slid passed him slowly, unsure how to stop.

"Save me Craig, save me!"

"You'll hit the wall, it'll be fine, just calm down," he said as he pushed himself to a stand and brushed his sore rear off, watching as – painstakingly – Tweek slid to a remarkably slow stop into the wall.

"Oh my god are you okay?" Tweek asked, grabbing at his hands worriedly, concern written on his features.

Craig raised a brow. "Dude, I fell on my ass, worst that could happen, I told you. But," that look of mischief again, "Wanna kiss it better?"

The fierce Tweek that had become from hanging with the likes of Christophe reared his head as the blonde smacked Craig in the shoulder with a look of disgusted. "Sick, dude!"

Smiling, Craig pulled Tweek back into the sitting area as they returned the skates and pulled on their boots. "Hey, how about you get us some hot chocolate? I wanna go browse that store for a second."

His blonde nodded and hopped off to retrieve what he knew Craig liked – extra marshmallows and chocolate sugar on top. Eyeing his friend, Craig slithered out of sight into a typical tourist trap of a store, run by a burly, bearded redneck that was common in these parts. He hardly paid the guy any attention as he wove between racks of "Rocky Mountain, Colorado" shirts, keychain army knives with names engraved, gimmicky license plates and other touristy gifts. He had decided the moment Tweek had agreed to step onto the ice, that his jittery, nervous friend needed a token of appreciation for stepping out of his comfort zone and appeasing Craig's sense of adventure.

In the back he paroosed the shelves, finding the most perfect, ugly, argyle scarf he had ever seen with little moose stitched into the border, wearing tiny hipster black-framed glasses. Clutching it he walked up to the cashier and placed it on the counter, nonchalantly pulling out a 20-dollar bill to pay.

"You're a little funny, aren't ya, kid," the man said with an odd look on his scruffy face as he folded the scarf up in tissue wrapper. Immediately Craig's eyes shot up and narrowed on the man, teeth grating silently.

"Excuse me, sir?" he asked, voice a seething calm.

"Funny, y'know, with that spazzy kid you were holding hands with."

"I'm twelve," he said again, voice slicing as he pulled the scarf from the man's hands before he could place it inside a gift bag.

An audible sound of disgust escaped the man's throat as he tendered over the change to Craig. "Yep, that's the state of this Obamacratic world, turning you kids into little homosexuals before you can even get a good look at some titties."

"Fuck you."

"Excuse me, son?"

At this, Craig raised two middle fingers at the man, mouth turned down in a deadly snarl. "This more clear to you, you hillbilly piece of shit?"

The man's face burned bright red and muddy, a guttural noise emitting from his throat. "How dare you talk to me like that."

At this Craig laughed, something cutting and maddening. "Yeah, how dare I call it like it is after you tell a kid he's gay. Harassing a kid. Maybe I'll just own your filthy existence and this store."

Redder and redder the man became as he pointed a shaking fat finger toward the door and almost bellowed, "OUT FAGGOT!"

Shrugging Craig took his scarf, fired another middle finger at the store clerk, and walked out, ignoring the questioning eyes of milling adults, the snickers of preteen girls pointing, the shrill voice inside his head telling him to turn around and make the man sorry. He narrowed in on the oblivious face of his blonde sipping on cocoa, a ring of foam around his mouth.

He was determined not to let some adult ruin their day, and he'd be damned if he did.

...

Night fell lovely in a blanket across the mountain landscape, the stars clear and bright, a twinkling starscape all of their own. The adults were turned down by the fire inside, playing a game of rummy; the girls were upstairs laughing uproarisly as they danced around to the latest pop sensation. Craig had stoked his own fire in the small firepit on the back patio, tediously worked the wood to spark, catching the fascination of Tweek. Now as he sat on his heels with a stick poked over the fire topped with marshmallows, he watched the blonde. His blonde. The way his breath glistened in a cloud on the icy wind, the way the fire jumped in his eyes, making the caramel turn to liquid gold, the way his cheeks flushed in the cold, adding a rose sheen to his creamy complexion.

But in his mind played the nasty scene from today. A grown adult, slandering a child. A grown adult, filled with such hate and loathing that made Craig question everything he was about. The opinion of one, filling him with such shame and anger that made him want to run, ride, and pretend he didn't feel for Tweek. But feel he did – as he watched the blonde staring longingly into the fire, he couldn't help the bubbly warmth that filled him from the inside to the tips of his numb toes, knowing that Tweek would love him unconditionally forever, as horrid and terrible as he was, and he could call his.

"Something on your mind?" he heard the soft voice of Tweek ask, drawing his attention. "Cuz, well, you're kinda burning the marshmallows. Not that I don't like eating charred sugar, but, yeah."

Instinctively he raised his arm and pulled the gooey mallows from the flame, finding that they were indeed a matte black mess. With a sigh he stood up and whipped them off the end of the stick into the snowy landscape below and tried again with two fresh marshmallows.

"Nah, nothing important, Tweekers. Just admiring you, is all," he said blandly, casting a look to the blonde to catch a new flush creep up his cheeks. "You're the one that seems pensive, staring into the fire like that."

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, I mean, it's unusual but I kinda like the fire. It's like…I can pretend that, instead of burning wood and marshmallows, it's our very own star burning here on Earth for us. So, instead of waiting and watching the sky for a shooting star, I can pretend this star is just for me."

Craig pulled the stick from the fire and went about the task of smooshing them with little squares of chocolate and graham crackers. He handed over a smore to his friend and took a seat in a lounge chair under a flannel blanket with Tweek, and stared up at the sky. The sky…..where his childhood dreams of being an atronaut had started, the sky, his solace when the living realm seemed too hard to comprehend. When he had no way to cope as a child, or comprehend his emotions, he could always look to the sky and place spacemen and pretend that everything was menial in his life. And as he grew, it made him sad that his coping mechanisms had turned self destructive rather than self creative.

"Yeah? Well, what would you wish for with a shooting star?" he asked his friend as he watched the glittering wash of constellations in the night sky.

Without missing a beat Tweek said, "For you to be okay with yourself."

"What?"

The blonde turned sad eyes to him as he licked his fingers away of sticky residue. "You are so uptight sometimes, Craig. It hurts me to know that you aren't comfortable with yourself. That the part that makes you hurt yourself, the part that makes you so destructive, is what you feel for me. If I could erase that, even if it meant we couldn't be….us, I would. Because I like Red Racer obsessive, imaginative, carefree spaceman Craig way more than self-loathing, ashamed Craig."

As he pulled his hat low over his eyes he felt resistance, and looked up to see Tweek pull his hat away with a lopsided grin. "And I also wish you'd not wear this nasty thing all the time. I kinda like your hair."

Craig smiled – of course, Tweek of the ever-positive would make the subject lighter with such a simple statement that made him feel like a million bucks. He had always hated his dark tresses, made him question his family as the only one with inky black hair, made him feel like an outsider among his friends. Of course, he had caught his mother with a bottle of blonde hair dye one day he was home sick, but still.

"Yeah? Well, Thanks, Tweekster, I kinda like your messy blonde spikes too."

Lopsided grin in place Tweek ran his fingers through his hair and fluffed the blonde locks, like gold in the lapping firelight, making for maximum fluffy spikage. They laughed together, until Tweek asked, "What would you wish for, Craig?"

He tucked his mismatched socked feet under the blanket as he turned his attention once more upward to the heavens. "Funny you should ask, because I'd wish we could be forever and infinite without the negativity of the world holding us back, or the negativity in myself."

"Craig—"

"Oh my god! Are you boys making smores without us?! Craig you butthole!" came the screeching voice of his little sister over the balcony upstairs. Craig flicked his gaze to the fuming face of the copper-haired girl and lifted a solitary finger at Tracie with his own coy smile making steam rise from her head.

"You didn't ask, so shove it," he called upwards, receiving a middle finger in return.

"Well we're coming down to make smores too! So nyaehh," she said, sticking his tongue out before disappearing into the shadows with her friend at her side.

Craig caught Tweek's grinning as he tried hiding in behind his hands and asked, "What, Tweek? What's so funny?"

He pointed between where the Nommel girl had been and his friend. "You two are ridiculous. The bantering. The bickering. But you can tell you two really love each other."

Craig snorted back a laugh. "Yeah? How could you tell, her calling me a butthole or me flipping her off?"

There was no time for replies as the strong-headed girl barreled through the door with Kizzie at her side, typical copper pigtails flying in the chilled wind. Her green-eyed gaze settled on the weak-willed Tweek and narrowed.

"You, you're supposed to be the nice one. Why didn't you tell us you were making smores? God, Tweeky! I thought you were my friend."

"I—well-I—"

"Leave him alone, Tracie. My bad we're dudes and wanted time to ourselves without your shrill girly singing and shit bothering us."

"Tweek likes the same music we do!" Tracie said stamping her foot as Kizzie rolled his eyes and went about poking marshmallows on a stick and prodding them in the glowing fire.

Craig rolled his eyes. "Because he's totally into Katy Perry and Miley Slutrus and Demi Laveto and whoever else sings crappy pop these days."

Her brows furrowed together she stared at Tweek as she belted out, "I wish I knew then, what I know now, wouldn't dive in…"

The blonde looked trapped as her looked between the glowering eyes of the little girl and the amused face of Craig with a brow raised, questioning the next act. "Wouldn't bow down, gravity hurts, you made it so sweet 'til I woke up on the concrete."

"Yeah Tweek!" the girls cheered as Craig shook his head.

"What the fuck, Tweek."

Tweek clacked his knuckles together as his face turned red and trained his eyes straight on the ground. Tracie stuck her tongue out at her brother and flipped him off, feeling like champion for proving a point. "Leave him alone, Craig, just cuz he has good taste in music."

Craig rolled his eyes as he got up and tapped out. "Uh huh. Well I've got to piss so keep it down you girls," he said before walking inside and straight up the stairs. His hands jammed in his pocket, he fingered a small plastic bag for comfort as the voices started in his head int eh silence up the upstairs loft.

Faggot. You're a little funny, aren't cha, kid? Gayfer. Homosexual. Faggot.

The scene of the adult with inexplicable hate streamed through his mind as he stepped into the girls' room, ignoring the sounds of the radio as he stepped out onto the balcony, but not far enough to be seen from the ruckus below.

You will never find acceptance in the world as a boy-loving faggot. Your parents will hate you. Your friends. No one will understand the swell and tide of the emotions you feel about loving a twitching little freak like you do.

Craig ground his teeth together as he wrapped a hand in his hair and tugged, the pain it elicited a small comfort that drowned the voice for a moment. "I need him."

You need him like an addict needs their next high. It will kill you. It is bad for you. Which is why you have the scars on your wrists. Why you turn to terrible behaviours. Why you're so cold and unattached.

"I can't help what I feel," he muttered to himself as he slid down to sit, back to the balcony edge, and pulled the small sense of comfort from his pocket. In it was a small dissolvable blotter with a hit of acid laced through it that he popped on his tongue, knuckles turning white as he dug his nails hard into his palms, hating that this was what he did to fell less.

The voice in his head dissipated through the feedback and buzzing of numbness the drugs caused for him, wrapped in a delusion of blindness. He felt no sense of shame, no sense of longing, no sense of hurt, anxiety, or anticipation. He felt nothing but a great swell of happiness that made him warm, the kind of warmth that only Tweek seemed to bring him.

Tweek. His savior, his curse, his friend and lover, the only thing he breathed or needed in life, and the only thing that hurt him beyond words by the sick sense of shame he felt needing another boy so much. The boy with more than just golden hair, the boy with a golden spirit despite it all.

The boy that walked into the room with a halo around his head, and concern on his face. "Are you okay, Craig? You've been gone a while. And you seemed distracted."

He pushed himself up with a smile on his face. This boy had no idea the extent of what he was to Craig. "Yeah, I'm fine Tweekers. Just got caught up with the stars, again."

His blonde angel nodded as he shuffled over to stand by Craig and look up at the twinkling skyscape. "You always loved the stars."

"Mmhmm. It's crazy. Of all the stars and planets in this great wide expanse, or all the people cluttering this world, of everything that could be given to me, I got a twitchy, spazzy, paranoid blonde kid with mental issues," he started, paying careful attention to the pained look on Tweek's face, the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed back emotion. "And you know what? The blonde kid is perfect. In every way possible. From his lunacies and meticulous habits to his bitten fingernails and love for coffee." At this he gently turned his blonde to face him and smiled. "I wouldn't have you any other way."

In the background the music changed from the pop of the girls to something dreamlike, something familiar. In the background sang, "If only you could see the stranger next to me, you promise you promise that you're done, but I can't tell you from the drugs."

What were tears of terror turned to tears of happiness as Tweek flung his arms around the Nommel boy and smooshed his lips to his. Craig placed his hands on the lithe boy's waist as a different sort of warmth filled him, tingling from where he tasted chocolate on Tweek's lips to his toes. Here was a boy that had seemed hesitant mere days before to ever trust Craig again, melting into his embrace without qualms. Here was a boy Craig knew he couldn't lose.

"Craig—"

He shushed the blonde with another kiss as he pulled his favorite hat off and tucked it gingerly over Tweek's sassy locks. He pulled back with a wide-eyed look as the hat pushed his hair into his eyes and fell a little large, covering his ears cozily and making him swim in the scent of Craig.

"But this is your favorite thing ever!"

He shook his head, black hair falling over his glittering green eyes. "Nope, you definitely are. And you in my hat? No one will question who you belong to."

"You're so blind! You can't save me this time. Hope comes from inside, and I feel so low tonight…"

"But Craig—"

"Just kiss me, Tweek. Just be mine, even if it's only for tonight," he said with a sad smile, not letting the subtle sense of rejection slip under his high.

Tweek clacked his knuckles together as he fidgeted, his cheeks a flaming shade of red by now. "You know I love you. And only you….but, Craig, our families…"

"Let them find out!" he said with his hands in the air. "I'm not worried."

"Are you sure?" Tweek asked , not liking this side of Craig, knowing something was…off about his best friend, but unable to place it.

Craig laughed as he grabbed Tweek's hand and place it firmly over the bulge straining in his jeans. The blonde flushed dangerously, making Craig grin at how prudish he could be, even after everything. "Sure as shit, Tweek. But do you want to be mine?"

"(take me) I need your help, (so far away) to pull me up take the wheel, (take me) out of me (so far) out from me."

Tweek slid out from around Craig and siddled toward the door, casting a nervous, anxious look back at Craig, his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip out of habit. Craig raised a brow, ignoring the edge of rejection that chipped at his nerves, an followed his angel from the girls' room and through the French doors into their den area that they called home for the weekend. He glanced around the room questioningly, not seeing his blonde anywhere, knowing Tweek wouldn't hide in an unfamiliar room where monsters could be lurking in the small closet area or under the pull-out couch-bed. So it took him by surprise when the doors shut and Tweek emerged from behind them and roughly pushed Craig backwards to stumble over his feet and fall onto the bed in a heap of pillows and blankets.

He raised a brow as Tweek locked the doors and in a fluid motion was straddling his hips, pushing Craig back into the bed and pinning his hands above his head. Those caramel eyes seemed unsure, and Craig could feel the shaking of the boy's body on his own, but there was no hesitation as Tweek caught Craig's lips with his own and kissed him until his toes tingled.

Tweek's grip loosened just enough as he pulled out of the kiss with a drunk look to his eyes long enough for Craig to pull loose and grab the lapels on the side of his hat and pull Tweek lower into another kiss, tongue running across his chocolate flavored lips, teeth nibbling Tweek's tender bottom lip, making them both shaky by the time they pulled away.

"God, Craig, I'm going to catch on fire if you keep doing that."

He smiled lazily as his fingers wound under Tweek's sweater and across the flat expanse of the boy's stomach. "But you aren't telling me 'no'."

Craig could feel the heat emanate from him as he flushed a deep steady scarlet. "Maybe because I-I don't want to."

He nibbled on his collar, finding pleasure in the small moan as he rolled and pushed Tweek into the bed, grinding his lower half into his, proving just how much he didn't want to stop either. He kissed down his stomach, loving the squeeks and sounds that he elicited from his blonde as he painstakingy undid the ties on Tweek's flannel pajama bottoms. In a fluid motion he pulled the bottoms off Tweek's raised hips and leaned up to catch his lips in a chaste, needy kiss.

As Craig kissed down his graceful neck, biting and nibbling a trail in his pale skin, Tweek breathlessly muttered, "God, Craig, make me yours." The response was stifled moans, breathless groans of ecstasy, and tangled bodies sharing more than just need.

...

It was 2:20 am when Tweek woke, staring at the darkened ceiling, Craig's nasally snores deafening the howling winds that blew through the mountains. Before falling to slumber Craig had merely thrown on a pair of pajama bottoms, leaving his pale, freckled skin exposed to the cold, leaving a mess of clothing littering the floor from their previous maddened festivities.

Despite what they had shared, Tweek was sure something was…off. In every instance they had ever messed around, Craig had always been reserved in what he did, restrained, as if expecting someone, anyone, to walk in and find them entwined. Last night, he had been relaxed, giving, with no reserve to be seen. So unlike Craig.

Glancing at his sleeping lover, Tweek slid from the bed, guilty as he picked up Craig's jacket and searched the pockets, as he picked up Craig's jeans and watched a small plastic bag fall from them. Picking it up he inspected it, his stomach dropping, having seen examples of these in various "drugs are bad, m'kay" classes. As he sunk to the floor he dropped the paraphernalia, falling gracefully in the moonlight like a beacon of what was to come. Tweek covered his face as tears burned at his eyes and his shoulders shook as his world was brought to ruins in one small instance.

And somewhere far away sang, "Keep my heart somewhere drugs don't go, where sunshine slows, always keep…me…close…"

---

A/N: First off, the songs! For those wondering, "Expo '86" by Death Cab for Cutie is the loose basis of this story. Tweek's theme (featured at the end of the chapter) is "Drugs of Me" by Jimmy Eat World - Craig's theme is "Disintegration" by Jimmy Eat World. Can you believe there's only three more chapters after this?! I can't. It's been a long time coming - and, life has turned down some. I graduated, received my license, and will be returning to school back in August, so let's get this shiz done before then! Whoo! Major thanks to the followers that remain to finish this out with me :) -Corrie