Chapter Text
Tweek was magnetic and Craig couldn't deny it no matter how hard he fought to.
Craig dwelt endlessly on Tweek's confession, on the addiction and the knowledge that Tweek did that in his free time.
The rumours of him doing hard drugs were true, and it bothered Craig greatly. It bothered Craig more than words could stay, and yet he couldn't bring himself to runaway, or to even say anything to Tweek (or the others.)
They constantly caught the eyes of one another across the lunch hall, sneaking their phones under the tables to message.
Their chats had gone from the occasional reel to full conversations — ones that consisted of mostly Tweek yapping and Craig agreeing — and they talked late into the night.
On Friday, Craig had Art again. He was ecstatic when he walked into the classroom and saw Tweek sitting comfortably next to his seat, flashing him a discreet smile before returning to his sketchbook.
God, how Craig wanted to be more bothered. He was, don't get him wrong, he was very much disturbed by the knowledge that he was spending his time with a literal meth-head. He was spending each day with a freak like that. His parents would warn him of people like Tweek and tell him to keep far. He was a druggie and a weirdo. Yet, he couldn't just see him as that alone, as much as he longed to.
He stopped seeing him as the freak and started seeing him as merely Tweek.
Tweek, the man he was dating.
His heart fluttered in his chest at the thought.
Craig fell back onto his bed, phone up above him, Tweek typing.
Tweek: Yes! I swear there's something going on between those two!!!
Craig: they hav always been close
Tweek: No not even just that!! I spoke to Butters the other day and he wouldn't stfu about Kenny.
Tweek: Its a little annoying tbh
Craig: god
Tweek: do you think they've clocked us like we clocked them?
Craig's stomach flipped and he turned his head away from his phone, staring at the wall.
It was something settling into Craig's lungs like a flower being planted, a weed worming its way in.
They could be found out.
Craig wasn't naive, he wasn't unaware of the dangers. He'd thought endlessly about being caught with Tweek and berated, but in every scenario he was a bad guy and a bully. Truthfully, he'd be seen as innocent. He'd be seen as in love.
He'd be seen as Tweek's boyfriend.
That was a terrifying thought.
He looked back to his phone, and Tweek had said something else.
Tweek: I don't think we're as obvious
Tweek: Your friends already know about us and we don't hangout at school like they do
Tweek: I don't even wanna think about what'd happen if you got found dating me!
Tweek: I'm so sorry
Tweek hadn't said anything else after that, but he was still online.
Craig felt something horrible growing up amongst the weed. It felt kindred to guilt but not quite close enough to be the same as his usual pang of regret. No, it was something much more — dare he say — affectionate.
Craig: its fine tho
Tweek: Is it? Everyone already knows I'm gay, it's kind of a good thing for me bcus like
Tweek: I bagged a pretty cool guy despite being the way I am
Tweek: But for you ur dating a freak and you'll be outed
There that word was. Gay.
It tasted sour on Craig's tongue. He sat up and chugged his water, trying to get the bad taste out of his mouth. He almost felt tainted by it, infected.
Craig: its fine
There was a long moment of silence, where Craig stared at his screen and could only imagine Tweek doing the same, waiting for the other to say something, anything.
Tweek: You wanna call?
Craig checked the time. Friday, five in the afternoon.
Craig: sure
The phone buzzed to life within seconds, and soon Tweek's face was on Craig's screen, looking at him worried.
His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, before a smile spread across his face.
"You look cute," he said.
"Huh?" Craig looked at himself in the camera, and he didn't really think he did. His hair was falling out of his face. "Do I?"
"Yeah!" Tweek grinned. He had his own hair tied back and was sat at a desk, leaning on it and looking into his phone. Craig had never seen Tweek's room, this was the first time he'd gotten even a glimpse. Every photo on Tweek's Instagram that included his room didn't actually show much of it, maybe a sliver of wall behind Tweek.
Now, when Tweek sat back a bit, Craig could see his red walls behind him, plastered in sketch's and drawings. It wasn't much, but it intrigued him. What did Tweek's room look like? Why were is walls red when his favourite colour was clearly green.
"Can I see your room?" He blurted out before he could think about it.
Tweek's smile dropped, his eyes scanning over Craig's face for any sort of sign he was kidding, or asking in a malicious way. Tweek twisted and looked at his room for a good few seconds, before turning back to face his phone.
"It's a mess," he said.
"Don't really care.' Craig shrugged. Tweek took in a deep breath and nodded, adjusting his phone for a second before deciding he was just going to give Craig the tour.
The camera flipped around and Craig was met with, like Tweek had said, a mess. There was Lego structures laid about and art supplies scattered. A box of pens, paper with sketches on, a pile of sketchbooks.
"Sorry, I'm really disorganised," Tweek muttered behind the camera. It panned to show his bed, which was also a mess. He had about three blankets thrown across it, his mattress showing, one pillow shoved into the corner against the wall and the other in place. It was crinkled and used. He had a plushy of a clown laid on his bed. His bag was propped up against the frame. He had green plaid bedsheets.
The camera panned to show his desk against the window. There was a laptop, off but open, and another sketchbook, the one Tweek was currently using. There was another Lego sculpture and a couple pens and pencils.
He sat back down.
"Sorry about the mess."
He smiled awkwardly.
"It's very you," Craig replied. Tweek's cheeks went pink and he looked away, scratching his jaw.
"Yeah," he said, failing to fight a smile. He looked back to Craig. "We should go on another date soon."
Craig felt his heart shoot up into his mouth before falling back down to his feet. He thought for a moment too long, and Tweek looked worried. Something protective in him needed to remove that worry from where it was settling into Tweek, whatever it was about.
"Yes, I agree," He said. Tweek smiled again, and nodded.
"What do you wanna do?" Tweek asked, leaning on his hand.
"I'm …not sure." Craig shrugged. Tweek looked as through he was holding something back for a moment, before smiling.
"You wanna get high with me again?" He asked, and, god, Craig did. It had been so weird but also thrilling last time.
"Sure. When?"
"Tomorrow? We can find somewhere to hangout and smoke."
"Oh-" Craig cleared his throat, "I'm busy tomorrow."
"Oh, what you doing?" He said, with enthusiasm. Craig had expected Tweek to be upset he wasn't bending to his will, or feel rejected or embarrassed. No, he was smiling, happy for Craig.
"Just hanging out with my friends," he said.
"Clyde and Tolkien and Jimmy?" He asked, grabbing something off camera — his sketchbook , Craig would come to realise — and beginning to casually doodle something, occasionally flicking his eyes back up to Craig.
"Yes," Craig replied. "I don't hangout much with my other friends. I don't like them." To put it bluntly.
Tweek huffed out a laugh and nodded. "There's some massive asshole's in our school," he muttered.
"Yeah, you'd know," Craig spoke without thinking, eyes widening in horror as Tweek froze.
He let out a soft giggle and looked up at Craig. "Of course I would" he said, smiling.
He went back to sketching and the two sat in silence for a few moments. Craig admired the focus in Tweek's eyes, the way his tongue stuck out in concentration, and he didn't even notice the time passing in silence until Tweek lifted his sketchbook up to the camera.
Craig saw himself in pencil. A beautiful portrait of his features, albeit sketchy and not exact, but still unmistakably him. Tweek's art style was amazing. It was somewhere comfortably between cartoon-y and realistic. It captured Craig's features, the way the light of is room bounced off of him, the texture of his hair, in such a astonishing way, but there was a cartoony aspect to the way the nose and lips were drawn. His lines were scratchy and varied in their pressure, adding the illusion of depth and texture to the work.
"Wow…" Craig breathed out, eyes shining.
"You like it?" Tweek asked, voice slightly wavering.
"…I love it." Craig couldn't take his eyes off the sketch, seeing his own eyes looking back at him. It was different to the mirror, or the camera on his phone, or a photo, because this was the version of him through Tweek's eyes, made by his shaky hands.
"Thank you." Tweek let out a quiet breath of relief, and the shimmer in his eyes — one that Craig thought was gratitude, one that could be mistaken for love — was to die for.
"Yeah."
Clyde's room was much messier than Craig had expected. He had a high tech gaming setup, his bed pushed up to the window. His walls were green and covered in random posters of women and a couple sports ones. Clyde loved pretending he actually cared about sports.
Craig let everyone else find somewhere to sit before he did. Jimmy was on Clyde's gaming chair, Tolkien sitting on the bed, against the window, Clyde on the bed too but against his headboard. Craig scanned for somewhere to sit and quickly found he was out of places, taking a spot on the floor in the middle of the room.
"You're so awkward," Clyde said, now also looking around for somewhere Craig could sit. "Just come cram on the bed with us." He shrugged.
"No," Craig said simply, crossing his legs. Clyde scoffed and relaxed back. He thought for a moment before smirking and jumping up.
"Okay, well all sit on the floor then!" He dumped himself down next to Craig, Tolkien following suit, forming an incomplete circle.
Jimmy stared at them for a moment, considering, before he settled on just schooching the chair over to be closer to the three, almost completing the circle. Good enough!
"What's everyone's plans for college?" Tolkien asked, earning three horrified and disgusted faces.
"Not everyone's as prepared as you are, Tolkien!" Clyde rolled his eyes.
"Gee, sorry." Tolkien sighed.
After a beat of silence, Craig decided he probably should answer, "somewhere far away." Was all he could really say.
"Preferably, yeah." Clyde agreed.
"Wa-wanna get out of this sh-sh-shitty town as f-f-fa-fast as p-possible." Jimmy added, tapping his leg.
"Exactly!" Clyde pointed at Jimmy, "you know what's up man. This town is awful! The people here are weird as fuck!"
"Yeah," Tolkien sighed, "parents moved here because they wanted that nice small-town life, but they picked…." Tolkien gestures around, "whatever the hell this is."
"They try too hard to be amazing then end up being weird," Clyde said, "there's always some sort of disaster here too. Whatever those four, y"know, Cartman and Stan and that, get up to in their free time is not something I wanna know."
"They stole $100 off me once," Craig complained, scowling.
"Weren't you, like, ten?" Tolkien asked.
"I can still be upset," Craig replied.
"Yeah, sure, of course you can."
Craig's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he let his friends continue to complain about their hometown as he pulled it out.
Tweek: You with your friends yet?
Craig smiled, opening the chat to reply.
Craig: yes. We are talking about how we do not like south park
Tweek: REAL!
The two boys began to chat, despite Craig being surrounded by wolves, ready to pounce at the meat in his hand at any moment. It was casual conversation, mostly Tweek talking about his day, asking a couple random questions.
Tweek: Do you wanna plan a date to smoke? I'm free basically all the time since I have no friends
Tweek: Lol!!
Tweek: Got you tho so idc
Craig smiled, moving to reply when suddenly his phone was snatched right out of his hands and held up high.
"Who's so, super important that you're ignoring your best friends ever?" Clyde asked, slowly bringing the phone down, his eyes scanning the screen.
Craig heart dropped to his stomach, the ground beneath him slowly sucking him in and the wooden planks of the floor pushing into his stomach. He could feel a lump in his throat choking him and preventing him from speech, from any sort of defence or confession.
He watched Clyde's face go from curiosity to confusion to amusement within a matter of seconds.
"What the fuck?" He said loudly, laughing. "You got the freaks number?" He twisted the phone around and shoved it up to Jimmy, the other cleaning forward to read the messages, joining in the laughter. Tolkien was handed the phone next, reading the messages much calmer and having no reaction as he handed Craig's belonging back to him.
"I can't believe it!" Clyde continued, "you're really getting into this shit, aren't you?"
The laughter was digging into Craig's ribs. All he could think of was Tweek's little face, the dream he had, Tweek laying, skin red from ropes, Craig's own friends bringing the delicate boy harm.
Then he remembered that video.
Was this how Tweek felt when he tried to date that boy? When his vulnerability was broadcast across the internet, shown to everyone in the town?
Was this how Tweek felt everyday?
No, absolutely not. Tween felt worse.
Craig felt utterly sick, his stomach churning as the laughed and mocking comments began to echo and grow more and more muffled. He did everything in his power to hold back the tears forcing their way into his eyes.
"Smoking? Like …weed?" Clyde asked, no longer laughing but still grinning. Craig had not reaction, just looking at Clyde, looking at the bridge of his nose to avoid his eyes.
Clyde burst out into laughed again, this time falling back.
"You're doing too much," Tolkien said, and even Jimmy was looking at Clyde funny. Craig looked down at his lap, burying his embarrassment, guilt and fear as deep as he could, his heart hammering.
"Weeds not a big deal," Tolkien said. Craig wasn't sure if he was talking to him or to Clyde. "It's a gateway drug, sure, but if you're only doing it once, you'll be fine!" Tolkien was trying to be kind and reassuring, but when your sense of self and everything you'd come to accept was crumbling down around you, not much is comforting.
"He's getting high with the boy everyone knows as the druggy and the freak," Clyde yelled, gesturing towards Craig, still grinning. "He's got him added on Instagram. It's almost like they're actually friends." He chuckled, "Or boyfriends."
He turned to Craig, fully expecting his face to look pissed off, but was met with an expression no-one had ever seen on Craig's face. His eyes were wide, and you could almost see the lump of his heart in his throat. Clyde's smile dropped, scanning Craig's face, staring at him.
"What?" He asked, the worry forming in his eyes turning to confusing as he raised an eyebrow. "I'm just messing about. It's funny but it's not like you do actually like him."
Craig stayed silent, just staring at him, at the bridge of his nose. He couldn't look him in the eyes.
"Well, he's go-gonna sound like his fr-fr-friend, we're f-fo-forcing them to be fr-fr-friends!" Jimmy said, eyes flicking from Clyde to Craig with a sense of concern.
"We're forcing them to be boyfriends," Clyde corrected, speaking in a sing-song tone and smirking.
Oh, what was Craig supposed to do. Clyde wasn't serious, but now they knew he was playing along much more than he'd ever intended to. His lungs were tight in his chest, squeezing. He had to say something, but the words only continued to choke him.
He didn't want his hands to shake, or his lip to quiver, or his eyes to sting, or his head to pound, but no matter how hard he tried to settle himself, his body knew his fear.
"C'mon, Craig," Clyde's voice rang through Craig's head in a successful attempt to make his headache stronger, "tell us then. Is he your boyfriend?" The smirk on his face was wicked, sickening. He was the Leviathan, Lucifer, Satan, taking joy, taking pleasure in the fear he was milking from Craig's heart, lungs, stomach and eyes.
Breathing was growing harder than it ever should have been, growing stronger and stiffer, growing shaky. What does one say to such a line? What should Craig say to Clyde? Digging deep into his ribs and playing with his organs. Clyde's playful eyes were enough to kill him.
"No," he choked out, setting his composure back into place and holding it down, ignoring the roaring wind trying to drag him away.
"Damn," Clyde scoffed a laugh, "Playing the long game? You know… you don't have to do all this, right?"
"Yeah, we just wanted you t-t-to flirt, you don't need to actually become his f-friend," Jimmy added.
Craig's breath was shaking. He was taking it too far. Shit, he was even getting attached. Tweek was a great artist, he was funny, he was cute. Craig's heart was hammering , hammering for so many reasons. He was sick, sick and dying, sick and wrong.
"It's…" He needed to defend himself, more than anything he needed to defend himself. He needed to throw them off his scent, so to say. What if they thought he was enjoying this? What if they knew he was enjoying this? "It'll hurt more if he thinks he can trust me."
His voice was small, almost cracking, almost a whisper. He didn't mean it, he didn't want to say it, yet he knew he had to. At least, felt he had to.
"Damn, you're right," Clyde chuckled, "Evil, but right."
He'd started comments.
Clyde had said the first thing, really. Craig tried to drown it out the second he'd gotten that sickening grin on his face, the insult leaving his lips.
"Don't you agree?" He asked.
"Yeah," Craig replied, not really knowing what Clyde had said.
"Fucking nasty, miserable freak. I can't wait to see him ge crushed!"
Craig's heart sank.
"Keep him a-away from your little s-s-si-si-sister, Craig." Jimmy added, laughing along, finally getting back into the flow of jokes and laughter now that Craig wasn't the target.
"Yeah, dude, he might sell her something!" His laughter was akin to that of a hyena, something threatening and grating, digging into your ears, trying to get to your brain, making you bleed.
"Drag her into his fucked up lifestyle," Craig said it blankly, it was forced past his lips, out of his throat, and was now floating in the air. He hadn't laughed behind it, it almost sounded genuine and serious. His heart sank father.
"Yeah! Don't let him drag you in, too," Clyde nudged him. Now his grin was also grating, horrid on the eyes.
This was painful. Striking.
The comments about Tweek, the comments Craig wasn't even attempting to deter, were floating around in the air. A new one was added every minuet, clogging up the clean air, choking Craig out. He cleared his throat as he felt it tightening. That did nothing. He tried to wave away the thoughts tugging at his mind. He couldn't.
He felt sick, sicker than he'd ever felt before. The voices of his friends muffled and being drowned by the comments they were making, the comments clogging up Craig's airways as they forced their way down his throat. He wasn't even really focused on what they were saying, nor did he want to, nor was he going to try to. The more he could tune them out the better. He heard keywords, and he could feel the burn coming from them, it he still ignored them.
The laughter was echoing, the laughter was beckoning, the laughter was painful. Every no and then he'd be force to agree with something he hadn't even heard but knew he didn't agree with. Swimming thoughts, hammering hearts, chest tightening.
Laughter, laughter, laughter. Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!
"And he's a damn fag!"
Everything, finally, fell silent.
Clyde had said it, and now the eyes of three were on him.
"That's too far," Tolkien said, and Craig had realised that was the first ting he'd really said since the making-fun had begun.
"Yeah dude, not c-c-c-cool."
Clyde could feel the pressure and anxiety now, could feel the daunting, the eyes pinning him down, the words choking him and clogging uo his throat.
"Yeah…" he inhaled deeply, shaking it off and grinning again. "Yeah, whatever, we've all said it before! It doesn't mean anything!" Clyde shrugged and instantly moved on.
Why the fuck did the other two move on with him?
Did they not care about what he'd just said about Tweek? What he'd just said at all.
He couldn't say that, he shouldn't have said that. Not ever, and especially not about Tweek.
He can't call Tweek that. He can't treat Tweek like he's lesser-than because he's gay and use that to insult him. He can't call him a fag.
Craig swallowed the words building behind his lips, begging and pleading to be let out, to be let at him, at all of them, because why did they let him move on? He didn't even apologise?
Is this what they think of gay people? An afterthought? Not that serious?
Is Craig…
No, this was about morality, and Tweek… this was not about Craig. Craig was not like that, Craig was normal, he was just also not homophobic. Yeah. That's all.
The day had dragged like feet in the desert sand. Craig's bed had called out to him the second he entered the proximity of his house. He buried himself in it, face in his pillow as he hugged it to his face, tangled in his duvet.
He didn't know when he started crying, just that it was so, so out of character for him. Craig Tucker doesn't cry because Craig Tucker doesn't care about bullshit, or about anything, not enough to cry over it. His emotions weren't strong enough for that. At leats, they weren't before Tweek.
His shoulders shook as he sobbed, hiccuped, wailed into is pillow.
What was he? Who was he? He was horrible! He'd let them call Tweek a freak, a nasty specimen, the leviathan, the devil, a creature, a monster, and a fag. He'd let them call him all kinds of nasty names and he'd not just not said anything, but he'd agreed.
He was the monster here.
And part of him feared that he may also be the other thing. It was all Tweek's fault.
The word hid dug into his ribs, his lungs, his heart, like a sharpened blade settling in, making itself at home in what was keeping him alive. It had punched him in the stomach and had him on his knees.
To out it simply, it hurt like nothing ever before.
Craig had been punched, called an autistic freak, and he'd been called slurs before. The R one would come to mind, and some others that didn't even apply to him.
Hell, he'd even been called that one before! Then, it hadn't quite hit like it hit today.
Everything was hitting him closer to home.
He was weak. He was weak, and sick, and tired, and weak, weak, weak. Pathetic.
He was growing to care about someone he shouldn't then letting the people he should care about speak unfathomable, disgusting things on him. He was letting them disgrace his name, and he shouldn't care. He should be happy to let them speak ill of him. That was the issue, he wasn't. He wasn't happy at all. His friends were weights on his shoulders, his friends were negativity, the shadows of the day.
Tweek opposed that. He gave him a sense of warmth that he couldn't run away from no matter how he tried.
And that? That was wrong.