Chapter Text
As the sound of gunshots rings out and the familiar voice of the school counselor instructs students to take cover in the nearest classroom or closet and barricade themselves inside, Craig sighs and slips into the nearest janitor's closet.
“Hey, don't close the door on me, asshole!” a scratchy voice of unmistakable origin graces his ears.
Fucking great. Who doesn't want to share their hiding-out-from-a-school-shooter spot with the kid who shrieks and screams at absolutely nothing?
“Sorry. Didn't see you there, Tweek,” he proffers diplomatically, or, more likely, flatly. Not that he can help it— not that he would bother helping it if he could.
He truly hadn’t seen Tweek slip in behind him, but it's not like he has any reason to abandon his comfortable veneer of indifference to convince Tweek of this. They haven’t even hung out since they were little. This is a small town and Tweek is the one who chose to be a freak instead of adapting to the rigorous social order of high school, like anyone else would. He would’ve been fine, anyway, had Craig closed the door on him.
Tweek just scoffs at him, triple checking the lock and dragging a broken chair under the handle, like that’ll fortify the locked door in any way. As if any school shooter is going to think You know who's really had it too good all these years? That goddamn janitor.
Maybe that’s what Tweek would have thought, as a school shooter. Maybe all his paranoia has something to do with his own dark impulses. Craig worries rarely, and only about normal things, so he can’t imagine.
“Nnh, who do you think it is? You think Butters finally snapped?”
“I would've guessed you if you weren’t right here.”
Tweek scowls at him.
“Gah! Fuck you, man! I wouldn’t kill people,” he hisses. “You don’t, hnng—you don’t know me at all!”
“Yeah, you’re so misunderstood. Is that what this shit’s supposed to mean?” Craig deadpans, flicking the big metal O on the choker around Tweek's neck back and forth with his finger. It’s not hot, this thick, grommeted leather band encircling Tweek’s bizarrely long, pale neck. He could definitely stop touching it if he wanted to.
Tweek smacks his hand away, glaring. “This is a bondage collar, assface. Do you know what bondage is, you fucking, ngh, Stan Marsh understudy?”
Craig just snorts. He does not know what bondage is.
“And, mmnh, anyway, I'm going more for ‘I hate my parents and I suck dick good.'”
He looks smug in this declaration of past gay deeds, which is beyond Craig. He keeps his summer camp dalliances a secret, like a good little closet dweller. Tweek doesn’t even seem fully gay—Craig’s seen him kissing that curly-haired brunette girl who’s known for being easy—and yet he doesn’t attempt to hide his homosexuality. Craig would kill to have some, any attraction to women to cover his gay ass.
Craig lets out a little huff of laughter, hoping his cheeks don't look as hot as they suddenly feel.
“Is that right.”
Tweek seems to interpret Craig's reaction as derisive, as a challenge. His eyes narrow and Craig’s stomach lurches.
This is why Craig was glad when Tweek came back from that medical leave in ninth grade a different person—one with other friends from inpatient and group therapy, one with purple fingernails, and weird black mesh hoodies, and a pill case that takes up the entire surface of his desk when he pulls it out to take his mystery pills. Glad he came back a person Craig suddenly had an excuse to avoid.
Glad isn’t the right word for it. He was relieved. Tweek stresses him out. He’s erratic, impulsive, emotionally volatile. Craig likes his routines—he likes things easy, boring, and predictable.
Tweek makes his heart jump up into his throat, which isn’t where hearts belong. He’s not easy, boring, or predictable. He’d ruin everything if Craig let him.
From the look on Tweek’s face and the way he’s coming closer now, Craig is terrified he’s going to let him.
Tweek leans in close and ghosts his fingers over Craig’s belt buckle. Electricity jolts in Craig’s lower abdomen; he bites back a desperate groan for real contact, and his hands go up out of the reflexive desire to keep Tweek from getting any closer. But Tweek continues closing in on him, pushing back against Craig’s hands until he can feel the bony ridges of his ribs, and he grips Tweek’s ribcage in his hands.
“Mmnh, want me to show you?” Tweek rasps low into his ear. His soft blond hair brushes against Craig’s cheek when he leans in.
It’s an objectively ugly sound, Tweek’s voice, but it grates pleasantly on Craig’s ear. He recalls that it’s honeyed when he sings, and Craig wonders if he could get Tweek to sing, buried deep inside him. Has he taken a dick up the ass before? Craig definitely hasn’t, hasn’t fucked anyone either. Just those camp hand jobs and the time Millie gave him a toothy blowjob he couldn’t stay hard through. He desperately wants Tweek to show him but he’ll never say it aloud.
Tweek seems to know, and says, “Tell me to stop if you want me to stop.” He looks up at Craig expectantly from a head beneath him and Craig can’t look him in the eyes and breathe at the same time, so he rolls his eyes and jerks his head ambiguously.
In response, Tweek smiles all cat-like, his eyes half-lidded in satisfaction. Craig would resist in protest of how pleased Tweek looks with himself all of a sudden but he hasn’t broken eye contact so Craig still can’t breathe right.
Mercifully—or not—Tweek tears his searing gaze aware to tuck his face in Craig’s neck. He has to go up on tippytoes to reach and it makes Craig feel pretty pitiful that he can’t fend off a guy this small. The thing is, he could, but he doesn’t really want to fight him. What is he going to do, kick Tweek’s ass til he’s unconscious and then wait out the rest of the school shooting on his phone, like some kind of cartoon sociopath?
It's Craig’s valiant desire not to come across as such, surely. His lack of resistance to Tweek sucking on his neck and slipping his fingers into waistband of his pants has nothing to do with half-latent homosexual yearnings or precious childhood memories left behind in the wake of burgeoning teenage hormones. He’s just being a good guy here.
Tweek’s shaky fingers begin unbuttoning his pants and it’s getting hard to breathe. His heart is pounding in his chest; he’s sure Tweek can feel it, can probably even hear it.
He lowers to suckle at Craig’s collarbone and his nimble fingers slip under the waistband of Craig’s briefs, and then he pulls them down along with Craig’s pants. Craig is throbbingly hard already.
He doesn’t know if he should be embarrassed since Tweek’s barely even touched him, but then he breathes out, “Agh—holy shit, man,” as if awed, so Craig isn’t embarrassed.
His fingers encircle it and stroke lightly up and down the shaft, and then Tweek drops to his knees, like he requires a closer look. He starts stroking more firmly with two hands and leans in. Craig barely manages to stifle a moan when he feels hot breath on his cock and makes the mistake of looking down.
Tweek isn’t doing his cat-that-got-the-cream impression anymore. It’s worse than that—he’s looking up at Craig with an expression of pure earnestness. It’s the old Tweek that he remembers in those big watery eyes. Looking at Craig, seeing into the heart of him and wanting his company anyway.
He feels an unwelcome pull in his chest at that thought. He’s feeling and thinking too much as it is. But the latter at least stops the second Tweek starts licking the head of his cock, his mind a total blank by the time he’s begun sucking him into his mouth.
He starts out wet and sloppy, painting Craig’s cock all over in saliva. This is totally new to Craig. It should be disgusting, the way Tweek is slobbering all over him like a dog with his bone, but he’s just so goddamn enthusiastic about the whole thing. He seems to really know what he’s doing.
And soon enough Tweek's sucking him in pumping up and down with hands and mouth, til he sets his hands off to the side, gripping Craig’s thighs as he slides up and down with mouth and throat alone. He's taking him in deeper than Craig would've thought physically possible. He's running the show, and it doesn't occur to Craig that the thought of that would usually repulse and terrify him. Right now it just helps shut his brain off so he can experience this without his usual self-loathing and reproach.
“Mm,” Tweek hums around him before popping off his cock for a moment. “You can fuck my throat if you want.”
Craig groans at that invitation and when Tweek takes him in again. Tired of being absolute putty in his hands, he grabs Tweek by the back of the head and thrusts all the way down his throat. Tweek actually fucking moans around his cock like he wants this and, emboldened, Craig starts fucking his throat in earnest, the edge of his cockhead catching on Tweek’s uvula as he pumps his hips in and out.
The feeling is insane, but more insane somehow is the way Tweek excitedly whines as if his throat is a sexual organ and he’s getting off on this. Craig has so many questions his brain is too gone to ask—does he like this sensation-wise? Or is it that he’s being used? It’s so filthy, he’s so filthy, and Craig wants nothing more than to absolutely wreck him. He wants to tear into his ass and make Tweek scream and shiver all around him but he’ll sate himself with his rubber throat.
Tweek starts touching himself as he swallows around Craig over and over. He can barely keep his head down and his eyes open, but when Tweek tears his jeans open and pulls himself through his boxers to stroke himself up and down, Craig starts leaking pre-cum only for it to be immediately taken in by that eager throat.
It's all too much. If this keeps up, he's going to come way too soon and he'd rather it go on forever.
“Can I fingerfuck you?” somebody asks, and oh great. It was Craig. Craig said that.
He groans when Tweek pulls up off of him again. “You—you want to?”
“Uh,” Craig says, voice cracking humiliatingly.
“I, augh, don’t have lube.”
“Oh, okay,” Craig replies.
“What about just one finger and spit?” Shit. That was Craig again. He needs to be stopped.
“Um,” Tweek’s voice comes out higher pitched and breathy. He chews his lip for a second, thinking. “Okay, but be careful.”
He gives Craig a wary look, and then relents and pushes his pants and boxers down together. Craig bites his lip but still makes a weird sound, halfway between a groan and a whimper of longing.
Tweek is just pretty; there’s no two ways about it. He has slim hips and oddly milky, pale skin. His cock is pretty and pink and Craig wants to laze around in bed with him on a Sunday afternoon sucking on him until he cries out in sweet bliss.
He seems sensitive. With those sounds he makes just jittering around in his everyday life, Craig imagines he’s probably a screamer. He wants his shirt off so he can play with his chest. Unthinking, Craig squats down and pushes his shirt up to do just that. Tweek tries to muffle his sounds by biting the heel of his hand when Craig looks up at him and sucks one of his perky pink nipples into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it and then sucks harder until Tweek makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
Craig tentatively runs his fingers down Tweek’s abdomen and he flinches but keeps his body as steady as he can, eyes trained on Craig, pearly white incisor digging into his bottom lip. He wraps his fingers around Tweek’s cock. It feels so nice in his hand—it’s the perfect size and shape, the ideal average-sized cock—and he strokes it slowly, up and down, delighting in Tweek’s needy groan. He switches his mouth over to the other nipple and sucks it into his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth. With his free hand he begins tweaking the wet abandoned nipple roughly until Tweek mouth drops open and moans spill out like honey.
When his thumb grazes over the head of Tweek’s cock and he finds him leaking pre, he’s struck with the sudden urge to take Tweek in his mouth. That wasn’t what they agreed to, though, and Craig already feels strangely like he’s become the vulnerable one here, even though Tweek is the one who’s so stimulated his head has tipped back and he whines and cries as if in some state of exquisite pain.
He pulls off Tweek’s nipple and suppresses a groan when Tweek looks down at him pleadingly.
“Back to work,” he says, grabbing Tweek by the hair and yanking his head back down to his dick.
Tweek complies. They’re both on their knees now, but Tweek’s on his hands and knees so Craig is still technically above him.
He starts off slow again, trying to catch his breath. Craig can feel Tweek’s hot breath on him again and feels an odd pang in his chest. Probably pride at having winded a champ cocksucker like that. Craig does not stop to question if pride has ever made him ache before.
Before he can get too into it, Craig presses his index and middle fingers to Tweek’s mouth and orders, “Suck.”
“Augh, you said one finger,” Tweek murmurs nervously. There’s something endearing about how he can’t or won’t make eye contact with Craig, keeping his eyes low like he’s bashful about his sexuality all of a sudden.
“Just one finger,” Craig promises. He just wants to jam them both down his throat.
Tweek hesitates a few moments but then takes them in obediently, looking up at Craig like a supplicant. That gesture of obedience goes straight to his dick, which pulses in Tweek’s firm grip. Tweek swallows around his fingers, his expression entreating, and Craig knows Tweek can feel the effect he has on him from how hard he’s throbbing in Tweek’s hands.
He pulls out of the depths of Tweek’s soft, pliant throat; it doesn’t want to give his fingers back. Craig has to pull so hard for Tweek to let him go with a gasp. In the whole of his being, in his physiology too, Tweek is the undertow pulling him under.
Tweek is so obedient right now; it’s like he’s entered a weird trance. He looks up at Craig as though lust drunk, as though waiting for Craig to lead, and he knows exactly what he wants right now. He wants to take control.
He wants to stop feeling moments away from being entirely undone by Tweek. He wants to use him, to manhandle him, to wreck him.
He takes himself in hand and presses himself to Tweek’s slightly parted lips, and pushes in as Tweek swallows him down dutifully. Craig moans as he looks into Tweek’s lust-blown pupils. His eyes are so black, like a demon who lives to please Craig. Like he loves sucking cock and has always wanted to suck Craig’s in particular. That’s just because he’s a good little slut, probably. It’s not about Craig specifically.
He can’t take those eyes on him, or the thought that he’s just another cock to Tweek, so he thrusts all the way into him, roughly. Tweek doesn’t even choke; he just sucks and swallows and swallows and swallows, over and over. Craig bends forward over him and spreads his cheeks.
He notices Tweek is shaking a little, so he kneads the flesh of his ass with his left hand as he runs a spit-slick finger up and down his hole. He prods at his entrance and groans when Tweek’s insatiable suction is interrupted by the reverberations of a desperate cry in the back of his throat.
He’s hot and velvety soft inside, the clench around his finger matching that around his cock. Leaning over Tweek like this has him shoved even further down his throat and Tweek endeavors to suck his balls into his mouth too, pushed all the way down as he is. He’s moaning and whining from the fingering. Craig should feel very in charge, but he feels less in control of the situation than ever before.
The act of fingerfucking Tweek is turning him on in itself, even before the dual stimulation comes into play. He’s so tight and spastic and from the way he reacts sucking Craig’s dick, moaning and sucking harder when Craig strokes him just right inside, it’s easy to imagine what it would be like to fuck his ass. At the same time, he can’t imagine and it’s driving him nuts thinking about it. It would be a totally new sensation, for him at least.
As he keeps fucking Tweek on his middle finger, part of him wants to ask if Tweek’s done it before, but he doesn’t really want to know, not now when he’s able to imagine that this is for him and only him. Imagining that pressure and squeeze around his cock, pulling those pretty sounds from him, only he’d be able cry them out loud, no longer inhibited by a cock shoved down his trachea.
He thinks about pounding into him hard and punishingly from behind, over and over, making him come untouched. Or missionary, with Tweek’s arms pinned overhead and his cock pressed between their stomachs, the friction on it between their bodies and the cock shoved up his ass overwhelming his senses. Craig wants to watch his face while he’s inside him, wants to hang on every gasping breath. Pressure builds low in Craig’s guts and he realizes he’s not going to be able to hold out much longer if this keeps up.
The fingering is making it worse honestly. He pulls his finger out and Tweek whines at the loss, his muscles clamping harder as Craig withdraws. He knows if he were to sit back up straight that Tweek would look at him with eyes beseeching, and he can’t take that right now.
It’s nothing he’s ever done before or even really thought about doing when seeing it in porn, but Tweek’s asshole looks so inviting, so delectable. Craig leans down further, eliciting a “Mmph!” from Tweek whose nose is now pressing hard into Craig’s pubic bone.
“Oh—oh, God!” Tweek whines, muffled around the base of his cock, because Craig abruptly starts licking up and down the crack of his ass.
He figures out pretty fast that if he flattens his tongue he can get his entrance wetter, touch more nerve endings at once. The cacophony of moans around his dick should be distracting but Tweek is not sucking him as hard. Craig’s finally found something that can distract him enough to tear him from his dutiful deepthroating. His cock remains wedged inside him all the way to the hilt, and he moans and gurgles around Craig’s cock, but he’s too stimulated to maintain any consistent degree of suction.
Tweek has a talent, there’s no denying that, and it’s not like Craig really knows what he’s doing here. But that comforts him, because he is nonetheless bringing Tweek a type of pleasure that seems wholly unfamiliar to him. Enough pleasure to throw him off his game and it’s evident Tweek has had a lot of experience sucking dick.
Tweek jerks against his face, then away, then back again, hips shifting seemingly out of his volition. Craig grips them still and feels the twitching of his hips through his fingertips and the whining around his cock by way of answer. When he starts stabbing the tip of his tongue into that tight little hole, Tweek actually pulls off his cock with a gasp.
“Craig! Hah, fuck!” he whimpers, attempting to pull away. “Doesn’t it—oh, God! You, uh, you shouldn’t, hrngh, please—”
He could say something comforting like, “Don’t worry, you taste good.”
He truly does. Intoxicatingly salty and heady. His locker’s been next to Tweek’s for years due to the proximity of their surnames in the alphabet, even in gym. Craig’s always thought there was something wrong with him for loving the scent of him.
“Shut up,” Craig mumbles instead. “Suck my dick.”
Tweek whines, high pitched and needy, as Craig starts probing him with his tongue. No more teasing little stabs. He alternates licking around the rim and pressing inside in earnest. Tweek suckles at the head of Craig’s cock as best he can, but he’s preoccupied, groaning and crying in turn as he pushes back and forward on Craig’s tongue, fucking himself on it and wailing out periodically at the stretch and the stimulation. Is this what it’d be like? Taking his ass? Tweek pressing back into him over and over, meeting him on every thrust even as he moans in pain?
He really does taste good. If he doesn’t know that, he’s probably never had this done to him before. He seems sheepish about it, new to the situation. Craig could be his first. Craig could be a lot of firsts. What’s he been waiting for?
Craig takes hold of Tweek’s cock and he yelps in response. It’s a good thing everyone’s preoccupied with what’s going on around them. There no one’s around to hear his mellifluous cries. They’re all for Craig, all because of Craig, and no one else. No one else makes him sing like this.
It's a fevered delusion at the same time that it feels like the truth. How could he cry like this for anyone else, without being wholly undone all the time? Maybe Craig’s just pathetic and needs to believe that.
Tweek makes him feel pathetic and strong at the same time. It’s destabilizing. It makes him want to be better. As long as he’s left wanting and resists it, though, it makes him so much worse. He itches to possess Tweek; in this moment, he can acknowledge it makes him resentful of Tweek’s newfound free spirit.
He has to deny it, has to deny him, and yet here he is in the janitor’s closet during a school shooting, his tongue buried up Tweek’s ass, wriggling within him. Beneath Tweek’s sharp cries Craig breathes raggedly, slurping and sucking shamelessly. This is heaven and it shouldn’t be, licking another guy’s ass, gripping his cock firm in hand.
Tweek is quivering on his tongue at this point, clenching and unclenching rhythmically like he’s on the verge, and he takes the opportunity, between pitiful whimpering and squeaking, to suck Craig all the way down again. The suckling comes in bursts—mostly he is moaning around the length of him, which reverberates into Craig’s body pleasantly.
Craig’s hips stutter forward and he’s not going to make it much longer either, but he’s so singularly focused on Tweek’s ass, it’s like an out-of-body experience. He’s able to channel his own arousal elsewhere as he concentrates on the now erratic squeeze and release of Tweek’s muscles around his tongue. Craig starts pumping his cock and fucking his ass with his tongue in earnest.
It's harder to work his way in and out of Tweek’s spasming ass the closer he gets. He can feel Tweek’s legs tensing uncontrollable with the arm wrapped around him, jacking him off. Craig pumps faster and faster and presses in hard, as deep as he can, before sucking and licking his way out again, does this over and over again.
Tweek lets out a sharp whine, and the jerking of his body becomes desperate, mirroring his cries, as he tries to pull away from Craig’s unforgiving mouth. Craig wants to pull off of him and flip him over, suck his dick and press two fingers inside to milk all the cum out of him. To swallow him down, carry some of this fever dream of an afternoon with him. He can’t though, or won’t. As it is, if Tweek were to ask why he start licking his asshole, Craig would have no response. It was just supposed to be Tweek sucking his dick. Tweek won’t ask though. Craig knows he won’t.
To make sure of it, Craig speeds up, jamming his tongue inside over and over and jerking him off like he does himself when he needs to finally fucking come. It’s too much for Tweek. The squeeze around Craig’s tongue becomes painful and Tweek screams around his cock. Craig feels wet on his hand and keeps licking and stroking til Tweek pulls up off of Craig’s dick with a choked gasp, jerking his hips minutely back and forth, unable to escape the stimulation in either direction.
“Please,” he whines softly.
Too soft, too sweet. Craig lets go, retracts his tongue, and pulls himself upright on his knes, looking down at Tweek as if disgusted. He doesn’t know what he is anymore but it’s not that. When he catches sight of Tweek’s face and sees the way he struggles to gulp down enough oxygen, sees the pink flush of his skin and his own spend staining his belly, he’s struck with that same weird chest pang from earlier. Like he’s lost something even as it sits before him.
He's painfully hard but wouldn’t think to command Tweek to "get back to it" like he did before. Something has changed since then. Tweek does it on his own, though, still catching his breath, eyes wet and glassy. He sucks Craig down, not using his hands, just his mouth. He’s not teasing either anymore and kneads Craig’s balls as he throats him, massages his perineum, in a fucked-up way reminding Craig of the way kittens knead and clutch at their mothers’ teats for milk.
He wants to provide what Tweek seeks. He wants to be the one to take care of him, even as Tweek is the one gulping around the base of his cock like a professional. Craig reaches down to grab him by the hair again, but doesn't yank or lead, just pets at it.
He groans, “Fuck,” when Tweek sighs out a genuinely pleased sound at the gentle touch. When Craig looks down again, he finds Tweek looking up at him with that sincere expression from earlier, and he can’t take it, the thought that Tweek might want him even after all this time apart, even though Craig never took the time to find out what he had been going through leading up to his hospitalization or gotten to know who he had become when he came out. It's too much to bear, the thought that nothing about Tweek has fundamentally changed in the time Craig's spent feeling too normal to be around a freak like him.
He might know Craig is a secret homo, a tryhard, an image-conscious coward, but he still likes whoever Craig is beneath those ugly flaws. The warmth in his low belly builds again as Tweek swallows continuously, pressed all the way down, and hums happily at being able to service somebody—being able to service Craig. At this point he can acknowledge Tweek might be doing this for him specifically—not to taunt him but because he wants to make Craig feel good.
"Mmm, Craig," Tweek moans around his cock, "hrngh, please fuck me...!"
He clearly means his throat, so Craig grips Tweek's hair harder and obliges him, thrusting down his throat arrhythmically as his orgasm begins to descend upon him. But he can't stop thinking about Tweek begging him to bury himself to the hilt in his ass. Maybe Tweek wants to fuck him. He'd probably be gentle and sweet with Craig in a way he doesn't deserve. That ache sets in again and Craig gets rougher with Tweek's mouth to try to stuff it down inside him. It doesn't work.
He wouldn't be gentle with Tweek. He doesn't know if he's even capable of it. He doesn't want to hurt him. He just wants to fill him up with cock, pump him full of cum, make it so he can never leave, too irreparably imprinted with Craig's essence to belong to anyone else. He wants that and yet he knows Tweek can't be possessed. That's why he's so frustrating, too frustrating to be around in any friendly capacity. This taste is too much, he thinks, as that heat and pressure that have been building in him burst forth, and he comes straight down Tweek's throat with a shaky groan and trembling thighs. Tweek drinks it down, moaning delightedly, and Craig clutches at his hair as his arms shake from the intensity of the release.
As soon as he's done coming, Craig draws his hips back to pull his cock away from Tweek, to protect his vulnerability as it softens and they're just two guys again hiding out together during a school shooting. He can't look Tweek in the eye but his attention is probably very obviously fixed on his movements in his peripheral vision, watching as Tweek swipes some paper towels from the storage closet and wipes off his cum-coated stomach. He pulls his plaid boxers up over his pale ass and soft cock, still too pretty for Craig to bear. He pulls on his jeans and gathers up his backpack. He might turn to look at Craig or start trying to talk to him so Craig sets about pulling his briefs and pants back on too, unsure of when they'd become fully separated from his body. His stuff's still in his locker.
He can't believe he's going to have to wait here awkwardly with Tweek after everything they just did, but then Tweek goes to move the chair out from under the door knob, and Craig reaches around him from behind to hold his arms still, keep him from continuing to break down the barrier he hadn't thought was necessary in the first place.
"Jesus, Tweek, don't fucking go out there," he hisses.
Tweek attempts to wheel around but Craig's gripping his forearms too tightly, so he just turns his head. Big confused dinner plate eyes blink up at Craig in confusion.
"Augh, what, dude? Mackey said it was over like fifteen minutes ago!"
Craig releases his hold on Tweek, feeling stupid all of a sudden. Tweek wouldn't lie about a thing like that. He sounds too sincere to be lying. Craig must have been too immersed in fucking ass-eating to have registered an announcement that the goddamn school shooting had ended. And now he's gone and made that perfectly clear, as well as his concern for Tweek's life. When he looks at him again, Tweek flashes a brief, shy smile. Then he leans in to hug Craig, resting his cheek on Craig's chest. He can probably feel his heart pounding. Craig feels so undone, but not remotely judged, is the odd thing. Still, he's rigid as Tweek embraces him, as he rubs his face against his chest like an attention-starved cat.
Then Tweek pulls away and looks directly into Craig's face. Craig looks back. His impulse is the snap, "What?" He just lets Tweek look instead. He feels more vulnerable than he's ever felt in his life. When Tweek tears his gaze away and gets back to breaking down his shitty barrier, Craig's relieved but also left floundering inside.
"See you around, man," Tweek murmurs, looking back at him for a second before exiting the closet.
Craig waits a bit after Tweek leaves, telling himself he doesn't want to be seen leaving right behind Tweek. He knows, though, once he leaves, this will all become real. He'll have to go home and face who he really is. He gives it a minute, maybe. Then Craig's coming out of the closet too.