Sleep was something lost throughout the night into the bright shimmering Monday morning of the new school week, and it seemed that nothing had changed over the agonizingly long weekend. Craig cuddled up to his latest girlfriend in Esther in the common room, taking compliments of his latest musical genius with nods and flashes of smiles; Bebe chattered wildly with the girls on the cheer squad, rolling her eyes at Clyde whom bounced around with Kevin Stolley, making light saber noises with his mouth; and Tweek with Token, barely listening as the boy explained a physics question he had scribbled around on his homework, coming up with every answer but the correct one.

The only thing missing was Christophe's intimidating presence at his side, making it hard to focus.

He had been disappointed when he saw the empty space in the parking lot where Christophe usually parked his truck, his stomach dropping at the missing figure in his life. But it was expected, as much as he wished otherwise; if the Mole really had gone to see his father at Fort Carson, it would likely be days before he came home. Emaurri DeLorne was not a man to be tied down, and never was stationed at one base for long. And as much as Christophe had integrated into his new step-family, he looked up to and idolized the man many called an international monster, and made sure to see his father when he was near.

Life dragged on. After school, Tweek would go to his parent's shoppe and plug away at assignments he barely registered finishing, completed arithmetic problems he normally struggled with, and helped clean up the store the closer it got to closing time. On Wednesday, he sat in the bleachers at school sipping on coffee, lost in thought as the football team ran plays against North Park, Clyde hooting and hollering at his side as Token dodged and danced around the opposing team. He barely registered Craig a row down with an arm thrown loosely around an even looser blonde, barely recognized when Bebe bounced up the steps in her green and white cheer uniform and squeezed herself between him and Clyde, barely noticed anything at all.

It was crazy how empty he felt without the scruffy stubborn presence of his best friend around, completely ridiculous the way it was affecting him. It's not like this was the first instance Christophe had been gone; every few years he took a trip to his native country of France for a few weeks, but this time, he left without any sort of communication, and it hurt. Because, it seemed, Christophe felt he couldn't communicate with Tweek. The blonde had shared his heart and soul with the Mole, had become fast inseparable friends from desperate circumstance, and Christophe felt like he had to hide the apparent emotions he had from Tweek. It made the blonde sad and infuriated at what kind of friend he portrayed himself to be that Christophe couldn't and didn't trust him.

He never wanted to put you in a bind, he respected your choice of Craig, albeit unwillingly. It was good enough to be your friend for him, Bebe's buttery voice often drifted through his mind, making him more miserable. How often had he called Christophe up to complain about his worthlessness in the eyes of Craig, how often had he droned on and on about the raven-haired musician without seeing any hint of the Mole's own hidden emotions? How blind could he have been to be completely oblivious? He wondered how much their friendship had hurt Christophe rather than helped, wondered just how deep he had truly fucked up.

Every time he thought back to the night of Craig's gig, guilt welled up inside, turning his stomach and nauseating him. It was a confusing mix of conflicting emotions; he had had a passionate rendezvous with his boyfriend after a show with a song written exclusively to portray Craig's feelings, and yet, it made him sick to think about. It made him want to plead and beg unreasonably for Christophe's forgiveness, and made his head spin at the implications of just why it felt like he was cheating on a distant memory of his best friend.

It was insane how one kiss, one night, could well up the torrent of emotions that had been capped away and left unrecognized in the faded glory of Craig Tucker. It was crazy how so much of the time spent inside his head was recalling the feel of chapped lips on his, of rough, calloused fingertips. And it was completely irrational how the burning fire that had come to a blaze with Christophe overshadowed his relationship with Craig.

His heart leapt on Thursday morning when he saw the black truck parked in its usual spot, anxiety filtering through his venous system as he searched around for the brunette, behind the school on the bleachers, out by the goth kids usual hang out, by the large oak that grew on the path to the football field. Everywhere he looked disappointment etched on his face as he dragged himself to class with the first bell and zoned out to where Christophe could possibly be.

Until fourth period English literature, where the boy shuffled in just as the bell rang, a frown permanently etched on his scruffy face as he dropped into his seat three desks away without ever meeting his gaze. Tweek's heart bounded in his chest and he felt hot, his gaze constantly travelling to his friend, crazy ideas of hatred running through his head. He had been waiting days to finally see Christophe, and now, now he wished he could sink into the floor and disappear.

Throughout the lecture on A Rose by Emily, the Mole kept his eyes downcast, scrawling across a piece of paper nonchalantly as the teacher's voice droned on. The anxiety had settled in the bottom of the blonde's stomach as frustration set in at how well Christophe was ignoring him. Sure, he might have basically told the Mole that he didn't care about Tweek at all, but he couldn't really be mad, could he? It was the heat of the moment, he was afraid, and confused, and hadn't meant it.

In reality, these last few days of absence had proved how much Tweek suffocatingly needed Christophe around. In reality, he'd come to realize he might care more than he was willing to admit.

In reality, he might be something of the sort in love.

So without a thought he scribbled on a piece of paper, Where were you? Why are you ignoring me? I'm sorry, you know, and chucked it at the French boy's head. And despite the lack of attention Christophe sent his way, he reached out and caught the paper easily in his gloved hands without looking, scanned the messy scrawl of the blonde carefully, and sent him a scathing look in return.

Well, so much for that.

Or, at least, that's what a sane person would have thought when staring down the deadly gaze of Christophe DeLorne, but Tweek was far from sane. Before the bell had time to ring, Christophe was on his feet and out the door, quick pace giving him a head start over the clamoring, awkward blonde that followed in his path urgently.

"Chris! Christophe, damnit, stop running away!"

"What do you want?" his friend spit, an underlying thread of anger pulsating in his accented voice. Tweek stopped dead, fists curled at his side, stopping in pause, having never been under the wrath of the Mole before. It made his heart stop, his breath catch in his throat.

"I want to talk," he finally said, swallowing back the dread and letting himself be angry to hide how much it hurt that he was being treated like this by Christophe. "You're being stupid."

The Mole turned to level his dead grey eyes on him, a flash of fire ignited in those cool, mercury orbs. "You said everyzing you 'ad to already. You made your point vairy clear wiz me. And you do not need to remind me 'ow stupid I was. Now leave me alone."

"Christophe I—"

"I don't want to 'ear et. Just stop."

When Christophe turned and stomped away, Tweek wanted to die, and in a daze he skipped his final two classes and went home. He should have known—Christophe was known for his sharp tongue and scathing attitude, for his dismissal of people and his undying memory, and his lack of forgiveness, but he had hoped it would be different for him. He should have known that one moment of anger with a spitfire tongue would likely cost him a friendship he didn't want to live without. Until the moment of dismissal he had imagined everything being okay in his head, of them laughing off the heated moment, of falling into the easy routine of best friends.

As day turned to night his imagination got the best of him. He imagined Christophe playing petty and announcing to everyone his relationship with Craig, causing the Tucker boy in turn to hate him for ruining his reputation, and losing both of them at once. He imagined Christophe leaving the country to never return, hiring a hit man to take Craig out so Tweek would have lost the two most important people in his life. He imagined the Mole casually ignoring his existence as life continued on, befriending someone else and falling in love with them. This last delusion of his mind hurt the worst as he watched the days go by with the Mole protectively guarding someone else and sharing incredibly intimate moments while he watched on, the forgotten.

He paced as his mind played out the twisted fantasy. He went to college with Craig, but stayed second best to new girls that wandered the campus and smiled sweetly at the musician, as Christophe moved in with his new boyfriend. Craig, ultimately, knocked up a sorority girl and dumped Tweek to be "Uncle Spazz" as he watched on as his two favourite friends made families for themselves and were happy without him. He died alone in a car accident where only Clyde and his family attended the funeral.

"No, no, no,": he muttered to himself at five in the morning, shaking his head back and forth. There was no way he was going to let that happen, he decided, as he threw on his shoes and ran out of the house, one destination in mind.

…

The predawn morning air was brisk, cutting through his loose longsleeve shirt as Christophe perched on the railing of his front porch, the lit end of a cigarette glowing duly, his grey eyes behind black frames staring thoughtfully into the low-hanging fog on the horizon. He couldn't sleep, his mind replaying the frightened, angry way Tweek had snapped on him that Saturday morning; he couldn't sleep, knowing how his dismissiveness of the blonde hurt his friend. He had never been in a situation where he didn't know what to do, didn't know how to handle it, and it made him angry that he let himself be put in such a situation. He had never expected to even let his feelings for the blonde ever scratch the surface, because these consequences were worse than suffering in silence.

Because he had no idea how to cope with the situation he found himself tumbling into, he had left. Escaping to the one place he felt at home at, the one place no one would ever find him. His father was a man wanted by several embassy's for suspected hits on high-standing diplomats, and his father knew how to hide and lay low, and one of his shelters was a small cabin built in the valley, hidden by lush forests and a steep climb. It was a place his father had shown him once before, had given him a set of keys to, and instructed that it was his when he needed an escape from a world that didn't understand the DeLorne men.

It was a simple shelter with a wood-burning stove, gas lanterns, and a low roof where a ladder lead to a small loft area for slumber. It included all of the necessities of life with an ice box built into the floor, a pantry dug into the hard ground to keep critters from busting in, and a set of beat up military edition cast iron pots and pans. The lack of civility was comforting to Christophe, whom often found the small mountain town suffocating. In the wild, with the sounds of nature all around and grazing doe for companions, the itching under his skin subsided, the clamoring thoughts that threatened to drown him eased, and he felt at ease.

But in the silence of the mountain valley, save for the hatchet thudding into the kindling he was splitting, flashes of hazel eyes invaded his mind, the dizzying scent of eucalyptus shampoo filling his head. Laying alone in the cozy loft bubbling with warmth from the wood stove, the soft pleading groans of his best friend echoed in the cabin, setting his blood afire. Even here in his own world, Tweek haunted him so.

So despite the grounding he received from his furious mother, he took satisfaction when he returned to school and saw how sleepless and haunted Tweek had looked himself as he dodged the blonde in the halls and quietly watched him chase shadows. It had made him consider that maybe his friend felt something akin to regret with how he acted—until he saw the blonde pushed up against a wall behind the building during lunch with Craig's tongue forced none-too-gently down his throat.

Christophe couldn't explain why he thought things could be different; inside, he knew better than to even hope, but the sight had made his blood boil in anger, at how easily manipulated Tweek could be with his emotions to take the scum of the Earth back into his fidgety arms. Yes, Tweek had secretly loved the Tucker boy for years in hidden, regret-filled silence, but the Mole had briefly thought that maybe, being treated better than the Tucker boy could ever hope to treat him would make a difference. Clearly he had been mistaken there, he thought with a snort as he took a long drag on his cigarette. He never should have given into those frightened, pained hazel eyes when fumbling blue lips had landed on his, should have never allowed himself to be caught up in his own emotional gratification at Tweek's shaking hands on his skin.

But, damnit, he had. And now he didn't know what to do with it.

Hearing an odd sound his eyes focused in on the fog and a figure stumbling through the surreal glow of the streetlights, and his brows raised into his hair line. There was his personal Hell, jogging awkwardly in the darkness toward his house, huffing and puffing as he came to a stand still a few feet away, blonde hair a wild mess from the brisk breeze that filtered through the mountain town.

"I didn't know you wore glasses," he said finally, a quizzical look on his flushed face.

He cracked a small smile at that. "I'm blind as ze animal I get my name from."

"Where were you? I was worried," Tweek admitted as he slowly approached the covered porch, eyes downcast like a frightened animal. "You could have called. You could have told me."

He shrugged, never willing to admit that he ran away. "I'm eighteen, we're almost done wiz school, I was considering my future possibilities. Zinking maybe making a military man out of myself."

The blonde shook his head in disbelief as he faltered a step. "No, I thought you always wanted to be a government agent? Master in criminal law and go to Norfolk?"

Another nonchalant shrug as he stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, grey eyes staring off past the blonde, his answer to a completely different situation. "Zings change. Zis ez more attanable for me, I zink."

"No!" the blonde said, voice cutting through the incredible silence of the morning. "Why are you thinking like that? Why are you giving up on what you've always wanted for as long as I've known you, Christophe? What changed?"

Finally he looked down at the blonde, the dazed, confused look written on his pale face as he answered, "Sometimes, you 'ave to admit defeat."

Out of no where the blonde spit, "I fucked Craig while you were gone."

Christophe held his breath for an instant as his heart sank in his chest, but outwardly, he shrugged, a bored expression lighting up his face as he crossed his arms over his chest, a small shiver wracking his body in the morning chill. "And? You two are supposedly dating. Why do you think I care about what illicit activities happens behind closed doors?"

By the involuntary step back and the ashen look on Tweek's face, he could tell that wasn't the answer he was expecting. The blonde clacked his knuckles together as he turned his eyes downward, face hidden by the mop of blonde fringe that stuck out wildly. "I figured with what happened between us, you might care," he said dejectedly.

"You said it yourself, what 'appened was a mistake. I never should 'ave crossed zat line wiz you, knowing where you stood. " He hated himself, the sickening churn in his stomach as he watched the blonde dig fingernails hard into his palms as he balled his fists and shook his head angrily.

"No, Christophe, the only mistake was how I treated you. The only mistake was what happened with Craig. Damnit, man, you have no idea how guilty I've felt."

That peaked his curiousity. "Guilty? Why would you feel guilty?"

Those stormy hazel eyes turned up to him, glassy behind unshed tears that threatened as he pulled roughly as his blonde locks to numb the pain deep inside. "Because, I guess I get off on torturing myself in sick, twisted ways. Because I guess I've been keeping some reservoir of hidden emotions I didn't even know about until you kissed me. Because, I guess, I love you."

Christophe stopped dead as he stared downwards, his heart thudding dangerously in his chest, ears ringing from the rush of blood that was sent dizzingly to his head at those simple words. "Wait, what?"

Throwing his hands in the air, Tweek paced in small circles, hands gesturing wildly as he spouted off in spitfire. "You don't seem to understand how much more crazy I've been with you done. I mean, I'm already a lunatic freak, add in your sudden disappearance and I'm losing my goddamn shit. And on top of that, your absence made my insides empty. Like I was missing part of myself. And then all by my lonesome, the freakin' surges of emotions because my mind is stuck on that one night, won't give it up for god-knows-why. I've never felt like this before, and it's driving me nuts."

"I…I don't zink I get et," he said honestly as Tweek rambled on.

"How about this then?" the blonde said with his brows furrowed before walking up, wrapping his shaking fingers roughly in his mousey brunette hair, and pulling him into a suffocating kiss that burned the cold from his body and sent electric fire shooting along his nerves. He felt like he was spinning out of control upside down as Tweek breathed in the nicotine on his lips. He pulled away with a deep, shuddering breath, his own rough fingers laced through the golden locks of his friend.

"What…what to you want from me?" he finally asked.

"A chance," Tweek breathed, a determined look written on his flushed face. "A date."

"A date?" he mused. "You're zat easy?"

The blonde's look turned indignant as his fist connected solidly with Christophe's shoulder, sending a shock of pain and the promise of a bruise along the muscle. "Don't be an asshole, Chris. And yes, a date. Tonight. And you owe me something good for making me worry about you."

"You aren't even a bit demanding, are you?" he asked with a small smile as he felt daggers being drilled into him. By now the sky had lightened to a dreary pinkish grey as the sun poked its weary head out from the torrents of the mountain tops, a new dawning to a new day. "Come on, Spazz, we've got school to attend still."

…

Bonfires on a Friday night where nothing unusual in a small town with nothing to keep the spry minds of the young occupied, especially as the nights became longer and the days got chillier. It was where no social statuses stood in the way, no adult-driven rules where forced, where everyone got along despite bitter feuds in the light of the day. Here was home away from home, deep in the woods where the fire licked at the sky and the kids sat around in the glow of the flames talking aimlessly about everything and nothing all at once on the tailgates of beaten, worn trucks handed down to the boys from their fathers.

Craig had decided to join the fun on Friday night with Kenny as his limitation, the blonde passing off drinks that were offered to the musician, diverting all but a beer or two with a wicked smile. As always, Tweek was missing from the town festivities, the wry boy finding no pleasure in the social gatherings, in the alcoholic tendencies, at the loud boisterousness of the kids he knew all his life, but that was okay.

Or, at least, he thought so, until Red and Bebe walked by talking about his secret blonde amour.

"Yeah, they were holding hands and everything walking through the park while I was on my way out here, it was totally bizarre and kind of cute and sooo makes sense, now that I think about it," Red ambled on excitedly, flipping her scarlet locks across her shoulders wickedly. "Who ever would have guessed?"

"Not a lot of people, I'm sure," Bebe answered with a crimson-lipped smile as she sipped on hot chocolate she brought along with her. "But who are we to judge their happiness?"

"Oh, come on, Bebe! You know I'm not even judging," Red said, rolling her eyes. "Tweek so deserves it, but damnit, why are all the hot, dreamy boys playing for the opposite team?" she asked with a dramatic sigh.

Bebe flipped her multicolored curls back from her face. "Oh come on, now. You know Christophe doesn't meddle with the girls here, anyway. You never had a chance."

"Oh, boooo, Bebe, you're always stomping on my miniscule dreams," she said with a laugh, stopping dead as Craig walked into the girls' path. She raised her pierced brow delicately in a question. "Uh, is there something I can do for you, Craig?"

"I couldn't help but overhear you two chatterboxes. What were you discussing, exactly?" he asked with a bored expression on his face, taking a sip of his beer, his green eyes staring dangerously passed the redhead to Bebe.

A devilish look passed over Red's face as she shrugged. "Oh, would you have ever guessed your best friend was gay? He made a good case against himself, walking hand in hand with Christophe, you know. Sure seemed like they were on a date or something."

Staring down Bebe he asked, "Did you know about this?"

A delicate shrug as she met his angry stare. "It's not my place to question what he does, nor is it yours, Craig." As she walked by, she leaned up and whispered, "I'd drop the defensiveness before someone questions your precious reputation, Tucker."

And like that, the two girls drifted into the crowd and disappeared, leaving his blood boiling on the ring. Fist clenched, teeth grinding, he knew he had no reason to be angry – they had come to an unspoken agreement that there was nothing exclusive about them anymore, but it still pissed him off to think Christophe was using his foreign charm on the boy that was supposed to be his. If there was nothing else that everyone knew about Craig, it was that there was no such thing as defeat in the Tucker boy's world, and he wouldn't accept that the French motherfucker had an upper hand in the situation.

All is fair in love and war, right? Spotting Kenny lingering by the fire he walked over, a plan already building in the depths of his deranged mind, pieces falling into place at each step he took that drew him near the blonde. Blue eyes met his questioningly as he placed a hand on the tattooed boy's shoulder, a wicked smile flitting across his lips. "I have a favor, Kenny."

…

Christophe had never been on a date – he was not one for idle romance, knew just how destructive the DeLorne's sense of freedom could be on a relationship, as he watched his parent's marriage crumble early on. He had always assumed he would live his life loveless, which met his needs just fine. He found no interest in the girls of the town he became easy friends with, no desire to ruin the precarious relationships he had with the kids he grew up with. He had never taken a girlfriend, had never had a desire to as he watched his step-brother fumble over his relationship with Clyde. It was enough to watch the awkward brunette attempt to make reservations for nice dinners, buy terrible flower arrangements that looked like a toddler had thrown together, linger hours over a jewelry case to know the relationship scene was not for him.

He had also never considered that the paranoid heart of a caffeine-addicted blonde may nestle under his skin like a parasite and drive him mad; he had never considered that maybe, there was a reason the girls never appealed to him.

He had fumbled over his words when he cornered Bebe by her locker, asking what a date entailed, only to be told "A date is whatever you make it, Rissy. As long as you both enjoy each other's company. Trust me. There's only so much Taco Bell a girl can eat in one week, but it makes Clyde happy, and I like being with him, even if he's a disgusting freak sometimes."

It was vague, and unhelpful, but as he pondered on her buttery words the perfect evening came to mind. They started their evening on the backporch of his home eating a French dish that made Tweek squeal in delight. Despite his unique pickiness to most foods, the blonde delighted in the rare French cuisine Christophe was an expert at preparing, and secretly, enamored by how at ease the Mole was in the kitchen. As he flicked his wrist and whisked the roué sauce, humming under his breath, he caught the warm look of admiration in his peripherals sent from the blonde, causing a gush of fluttery feelings to tinge his cheeks pink.

After the meal, they took off through the back gate, a rupsack over one shoulder, his gloved palm laced with Tweek's delicate fingers. Tweek had at first resisted, clamoring on and on about people seeing them, about not wanting anyone to know, about keeping it secret for Christophe, but he had just shrugged and said with a smile, "Let zem see. I am not ashamed of you, Spazz."

It was amazing the change in Tweek at those words, how he seemed to stand straighter as if a weight was lifted, how he melted into the side of the Mole, how his fingers grasped tighter with a little squeeze of appreciation. As they crossed through the park, over a small foot bridge over the creek, he caught the shocked babyblues of Red Allan, and wondered to himself how soon it would be before Craig knew of their outing tonight.

But he didn't let that ruin their night, not just yet, as they followed the trail around the bank of Stark's pond, through the underbrush of a small footpath, and out into a wide clearing with a large rock formation on the edge from boulders that had fallen from the tall peaks years before, now nestled into the ivy and sawgrass that grew here. Here, Christophe helped the blonde up onto the boulders and exhumed a telescope from his knapsack, a grin the answer to Tweek's questioning look.

"You've always said you wanted to learn astronomy, so, I'm going to teach you," he had said, finding a sense of accomplishment at the wide smile Tweek sent his way as he excitedly bobbed up and down. It was amazing how still the blonde was when focused on the lesson as Christophe moved the telescope around the night sky, focusing on small clusters of stars, pointing out names and backstories to each. His heart fluttered as he rested his chin on Tweek's shoulder, his hand resting over the blonde's as he adjusted the focus on the telescope and pointed out Cassiopeia.

The night was going perfect, it seemed, too perfect as Tweek sat close to his side, their fingers laced together as they talked about silly things and watched the heaven's overhead shift as the night droned on. Until the blonde's phone lit up, and without thinking, he checked the message, only to see a dim selfie of Craig biting the glimmering hoop on Kenny's lip piercing with the message I mean were not exclusive, right?.

Christophe swallowed back the angry curse that threatened to spill from his lips as Tweek stiffened against him, knew this was nothing but a bitter ploy to upset the blonde, to make a point that some part of him still belonged to Craig, knew that the Fucker boy was doing nothing but successfully manipulating Tweek into ruining his perfect night.

So he was surprised when Tweek set his phone down and nestled back into his side with an angry sigh. "Man, he's such an asshole, but he's right, we're not exclusive. You know what the difference is, though, Chris?"

"And what is zat, Spazz?" he asked carefully.

"He's being spiteful with his little act of being with someone else, whereas I, I'm actually doing it because I want to be here with you." Tweek looked up with a genuine smile, all warm and bubbly, and caught Christophe's lips with his own. The Mole knew the blonde hurt, had seen the instant flash of pain as he gazed over the picture message Craig had sent him, but this show of strength and attitude was something that drew the French boy into the whirlwind that was Tweek.

The blonde plopped down straddling his lap with a wicked grin, sending a wave of heat throughout his body as Tweek leaned forward, one hand on his chest, the other wrapped into his hair at the nape of his neck, sending involuntary shivers through his body. He ached as Tweek leaned in, breath tickling the delicate skin of his neck as he said, "And I can play dirty too. But right now, I just want to be dirty with you."

…

They camped out in the bed of the truck under the stars, falling into a peaceful sleep side by side, their warmth fighting off the brisk night cold. It was four in the morning when one sat up, staring down at the serene face of his counterpart, soft noises of sleep causing a smile to break over the boys face. A boy always on guard, always paranoid, always on the brink of awareness in what sleep he found for himself, it was heartwarming to see him so soundfully asleep wrapped in the flannel blankets that covered them both. Slowly he pushed himself out of the down mess, quietly hopped over the edge of the truck, and walked a few yards away silently, his phone lighting up in brilliance as he dialed in a number that rang thrice before an agitated, sleepy voice answered.

"What can I do for you on this godawful early morning, bitch?"

"I need a favor, Cartman."

A/N: Shit just got seriousssss. Who's calling Cartman, and why? Who's going to win the bid for Tweek's heart? I don't even know! Tune in next time for the clusterfuck that is Clear Skies! xoxox Corrie