Chapter Text
Tweek was never known for his subtlety.
“So, my family is having a picnic at Stark’s Pond this—gah!—Saturday.” Tweek’s voice wavered, soft but insistent. Despite it all, he almost felt proud, even as his hands shook.
It took him twenty minutes to get the sentence out, as customers popped in and out of his parents’ coffee shop. The air felt stuffier today—from the moment Tweek clocked in he could feel it—though that could’ve just been his nerves. He tried to seem casual—cool and collected—where he was leaning on the cabinet near the register next to his coworker, Kenny. (But that was hard on a normal day. Now, with his heart going a mile a minute, it was nearly impossible.)
The coffee shop hummed with life around them. A low murmur of conversation swirled, punctuated by the occasional clatter of cups being set on tables. It wasn’t a particularly busy morning, but the shop held onto its usual charms: mismatched cups and chairs that kind of drove Tweek crazy, sunlight filtering through the wide windows to dance across the weathered wooden floors, and the quirky chalkboard menu that listed drinks with overly complex names in the swirling letters of his mom’s handwriting. Tweek wasn’t even sure how long ago she had written it—it never changed.
There was a stain on the countertop beside them. Tweek hunched over as he pretended to wipe it off with his shirt sleeve—just to look productive.
Kenny glanced at him. “That’s… nice?” His gaze shifted to the stubborn stain, then back to Tweek, who was still scraping at it like his life depended on it. The mark was old. Probably outdated both of their time here—and Tweek’s dad claimed that Tweek was born in the back room! It was basically grandfathered in at this point.
“My mom told me I should, uh, bring a friend,” Tweek continued, “th–they’re renting out a pavilion down there. It’s gonna be like a potluck-type… Thing.” Tweek paused, somehow more embarrassed. “Ngh!—I think.”
Kenny took out his phone. His signature laid-back grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, but his eyes held a flicker of curiosity. Tweek hated himself for bringing this up. He should have just bit back his shame and gone alone, avoiding the awkwardness of asking anyone. “A friend? Sounds fun. Who’re you gonna bring?”
The question hung in the air between them, weighing down the already-stuffy air. Tweek’s breath hitched, almost choking. He tried to compose himself with the reminder that this wasn’t just small talk. He needed to get a grip.
Tweek’s fingers danced over each other, his nails catching on frayed edges he didn’t remember chewing. He stuffed his hands into his apron pockets, willing them to stay still. It was always hard for him not to pick at his cuticles, even when the tiny clicking noise always set his teeth on edge—like his anxiety feeding on itself.
“That’s the—ngh—that’s the thing…” Fanning himself with his hand, he realized his face was burning. The stain still stuck to the countertop. “I was wondering if you’d want to come?”
“Oh.” Kenny looked up from his phone, setting it on the counter. He had his calendar pulled up, Tweek noticed, feeling an ounce of hope. “Are we friends?”
Then the question hit him, and any confidence he had jumped ship. “I—uh… Well—”
“I’d say we are,” Kenny corrected easily, like making Tweek’s stomach do back flips was a hobby of his. It kind of was, in a way. Tweek wasn’t sure why he even liked the guy. Kenny was known for making him anxious, which he usually hated, but there was something else there. An almost understanding. “I didn’t think you would, though. I mean, we’ve worked together for over a year, and it took you, like, five months to start talking to me.”
“I’m sorry!” Tweek squeaked.
Kenny laughed, putting a hand on Tweek’s shaking shoulder. Comforting. Solid. “Dude, I would totally go, but I’ve got Karen’s art show on Saturday.”
“Shit!” Tweek exclaimed. “I knew I was forgetting something. You were talking about that all—all week! How could I—ugh—forget?”
Kenny laughed again, putting his other hand on Tweek’s shoulder, shaking lightly before letting go. “Chill, dude. You don’t have to remember everything I tell you. I know you’ve got a lot going on up there.”
Tweek grunted, pulling at his hair to refocus.
“Why don’t you bring someone else?” Kenny offered.
“There is no one else!” Tweek pulled harder, squeezing his eyes shut. It was the best he could do to avoid looking at Kenny. He didn’t want to see his reaction. “I don’t have any—guh—friends. And—and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to–to introduce anyone to my parents!”
Kenny laughed again and Tweek’s heart sank for a second before he said, “That’s fair, man. Your parents kinda creep me out.” Tweek opened his eyes. Looking down at Kenny, Tweek saw he had a relaxed look on his face. No judgment or pity like Tweek had feared. “I get why you turned to me.”
The back door slammed shut behind them, but both parties ignored it for the most part—other than Tweek’s heart jumping out of the pit in his chest a little bit at the sound. Whistling from that direction indicated that it was just Tweek’s dad coming back from his mid-morning errands. Tweek let out a sigh of barely-there relief, loosening his grip on his hair. Since they’d hired Kenny, his parents left the shop more. It was the only thing that made working here worth it still. Other than the passive income he got as he took his online courses.
That and his innate fear of abandonment; he genuinely wasn’t sure his parents would keep him around if he didn’t help with Tweak Bros.
He twitched, checking the clock above them. It read 12:30. They didn’t usually get customers after about noon on Tuesdays—South Park was too small a town for big business between about 11 and 4 on a weekday. Tweek would wonder how his parents stayed open if he didn’t rent the apartment above the shop. Over half his paycheck went right back into their pockets. And while it was a rough system, it kept him off the streets, out of their house, and able to work essentially on command. Strangely, that—not being their son—was what discounted his rent. Not that he was going to complain, he’d take cheap rent any day over living with his parents again.
“Can you just go alone?” Kenny asked, snapping Tweek out of his spiraling thoughts.
Tweek shrugged, though the idea made his stomach twist. He could already hear his mom’s polite but pointed comments about his posture, his dad’s oversharing about the shop, and the inevitable, dreaded questions: Why aren’t you married yet?
“I don’t want to go at all,” He admitted, “My mom just asked me to help her bring things out. And it’d be dumb to—to go all the way out to Stark’s Pond to help her and—ngh—leave. I kinda thought having someone with me would make it—gah—bearable.”
“Look, man, I get it. Last Christmas, I tried to fake food poisoning to get out of my family dinner. My mom didn’t buy it, so I had to sit there for three hours listening to my dad complain about the job market.” He shook his head, smirking. “Sometimes you just gotta suffer through it. But it helps to have someone there.”
Tweek groaned.
“You’re overthinking it,” Kenny said, leaning on the register like it wasn’t a big deal at all.
Tweek turned back to his stain, armed with a cloth from nearby, scrubbing the counter harder. He did his best to focus on the familiar motion. Back and forth. Kenny made everything look so easy—like walking up to someone and starting a conversation wasn’t a Herculean task. Meanwhile, Tweek could barely think about it without his brain screaming all of the things that could go wrong. The counter squeaked under his hand, a small comfort amid the chaos.
Kenny continued, watching Tweek work with unnecessary force. “Just tell her you brought the best barista in South Park. That’ll impress her.”
“Guh!” Tweek twitched, clutching the cloth like a lifeline. “You’re insane.”
“Nope. Just confident,” Kenny shot back with a wink, leaving Tweek to wonder how the guy could say something like that with a straight face. “You give yourself too much shit, dude. You’re the only reason this place doesn’t fall apart. You’ve got more strength than you think…”
The door swung open with a theatrical flourish. “Special delivery for Kenny McCormick!” One of their regular customers, Clyde Donovan, announced as he stepped inside like he owned the place.
Tweek didn’t know many regulars’ whole names, but Kenny had gone to school with him. Most people their age had known each other since preschool. Tweek, himself, had been home-schooled—which mostly meant he worked in his parents’ shop through his childhood instead of going to classes. He was just happy not to make small talk with old acquaintances like Kenny had to every day. That was a brand of torture he had never been exposed to before Kenny started at Tweek Bros.
Clyde was a bit of an exception, though, since he worked in the strip mall a few blocks down—a manager at his dad’s shoe store, Tweek remembered Kenny saying. One of Kenny’s roommates worked a few doors down from him, at his dad’s law practice. Tweek had never met the guy, but Kenny talked pretty highly of him, so Tweek figured he was probably cool.
“What’s up, Clyde?” Kenny shooed Tweek over to the espresso machine—their current arrangement. Tweek wasn’t actually sure how Kenny got hired, the guy kinda sucked at making coffee. His dad said the McCormicks were close family friends, or something, even though Tweek hadn’t met Kenny until last year. (He wasn’t entirely sure how family friends worked since his parents never really had them, but he figured they would introduce their kids at least once before adulthood.)
Not that Tweek would complain about Kenny now.
His customer service skills far surpassed Tweek’s own (which were essentially nonexistent), so they agreed to have Kenny deal with the talking while Tweek cranked out beverages. Over the past year it had been a good system, since Kenny seemed to only ever be scheduled to work with Tweek.
Tweek was still working on teaching Kenny to make drinks, though, because they probably wouldn’t always work together (and Tweek wasn’t sure he could handle life without the other blonde again, though he refused to admit it. Kenny had a big enough ego as it was.)
“Not much,” Clyde said with a grin. “You forgot your lunch today, so Kyle sent me over with it.”
“Oh shit,” Kenny groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose dramatically. “I told him he didn’t have to.”
Clyde shrugged, holding out a familiar, orange lunchbox for Kenny. “You know how Kyle is.”
Kenny took it with an endearing eye roll. “Hey, Clyde, could you give this to him for me?” He lifted his middle finger, though there didn’t seem to be any ill-will behind it, since Clyde snorted. Another thing about public school kids, insults meant nothing to them. It was hard for Tweek to understand, really. (He wasn’t sure he wanted to.)
Kenny slid his hands into his apron pockets, grinning at his joke with crooked teeth. “Seriously, though. Can we get you anything?”
“Oh!” Clyde twisted around, searching his pockets until he pulled out a list. “I need a few things.” He held the paper out to Tweek, who fumbled for a second before he realized the guy was trying to give it to him. “Kyle said it would be easier to give you the whole order.”
“Gah!” Tweek twitched.
“Dude,” Kenny laughed, taking the list. “At least let me ring them in so Tweek doesn’t have to fuck with you.”
Tweek flushed at Kenny’s bluntness, but Clyde didn’t seem to mind, moving on easily. “Tweak, like the name of the place?”
Tweek grunted, grinding his teeth together. “That’s my last name. My first name’s the same but spelled with two E’s. Because my parents—guh!—hate me.”
Kenny snorted as he rang in drinks, but didn’t correct him. “His parents own the place. I think they were gonna use him as, like, a walking advertisement.”
“Wild,” Clyde said.
“Yeah,” Kenny agreed, “Probably would’ve worked better if they ever let him leave.”
Tweek twitched. Clyde’s eyes glanced from Kenny to Tweek, who shifted on his feet. Waiting for Kenny to finish his part was becoming torture, and Tweek was sure the other blonde knew it, taking his time punching in orders. When he finally gave Clyde the total, Tweek yanked the receipt from the till and started working.
Kenny sent him an amused smirk. “Don’t worry, though,” he said to Clyde, “The kid can make coffee like no one you’ve ever seen.”
“Well, hopefully, they’ll start sending me here for the coffee run, then,” Clyde said, putting his hands behind his head. “The Harbucks is farther away and I hate the stupid employees. They made Kevin Stoley a manager, dude. At least here I get to see you, Kenny.”
Tweek could hear Kenny roll his eyes. “I don’t get why they even send you out that way. Seems like a waste of time.”
Clyde shrugged. “I don’t know, man. It’s a good break, I guess.”
“Speaking of breaks, you got any plans this weekend?” Kenny asked casually, starting to prep cups for Tweek, writing shorthand for the orders on the side and pumping syrups like Tweek had taught him. It was a big help, especially for giant orders like this.
That used to be Tweek’s job, he remembered, before he could reach the counter. They had a stool set up for him back then, so he could stand at the till and take orders. It was nostalgic, almost, when he didn’t remember the crippling panic attacks he would have at the end of the day, after talking to so many strangers that his parents insisted were different from the stories they told him to keep him ‘safe.’
Tweek shook the memory away, nodding toward Kenny. A silent thank-you. Kenny sent him a worried look, and Tweek wondered how long he’d been lost in his thoughts for a minute before Kenny nodded back. Tweek let out a silent sigh of relief. He supposed Kenny was handy to have around, sometimes. Even if he was an asshole.
“Ugh,” Clyde groaned, “Don’t remind me. I had to cancel date night on Saturday to cover a double. And Bebe is still insisting we go out on Sunday, so I don’t even get to sleep it off.”
“Ooh,” Kenny winced, “That’s rough.”
“I love her, but she drives me crazy sometimes,” Clyde said, “Might bring her back a new pair of shoes and see if she’s cool staying in, though. What about you? Dragging Kyle out to an art show, I hear?”
“It’s not really dragging,” Kenny said, “My sister’s got a section in a showcase out in Denver, so we’re spending the weekend out there. Kyle kindly agreed to join us.”
“You sound like Bebe,” Clyde teased. Kenny threw his cleaning cloth in Clyde’s direction, snorting when Clyde gasped in offense. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”
“You’ll be back,” Kenny said, unfazed. “Stan is your weed supplier, and he barely likes you.”
Clyde rolled his eyes, his gaze falling back onto Tweek, who tried to stay focused on his drinks. “Nope. It’s too late. We’re not friends anymore. I’m replacing you with Tweek here.”
“Ngh—uh—what?”
“You can’t just replace me with any other blonde, Clyde,” Kenny said.
Clyde ignored him, staring at Tweek with wide, brown eyes. “Got any plans this weekend, Tweek?”
Tweek shifted on his feet, avoiding eye contact. “Uhhh…”
“He’s got a family thing,” Kenny said for him, not too invasive but more than Tweek would have said to a customer. Tweek sent him a look, but Kenny was back to work pumping syrups, so he didn’t notice.
“Ooh!” Clyde’s full focus was on him now, even though Kenny answered for him, and Tweek wished he could disappear. “A gathering of Tweaks!”
“Ngh—Yeah.”
“Why don’t you sound excited?” Clyde asked. “Oh, shit! You said your parents hate you, right? That sucks, dude. Do you have a buddy, at least? To make it easier?”
“I wish,” Tweek said before he could stop himself, face reddening.
Another thing Tweek had learned in his time with Kenny, was that he had absolutely no filter. Apparently, that was something they were taught in public school, too. He quickly turned back to the espresso machine, doing his best to hide behind it. It was harder than he thought, since he’d outgrown the machine years ago, but Clyde was shorter, which helped a little.
“Wait, so…” Clyde peeked as best as he could, an unsettling grin on his face. “You need a friend by this weekend?”
“Yep,” Kenny answered for him, an almost knowing look on his face.
Tweek shot him a dirty look. “It’s—ugh—not that big of a deal, I can probably just go…” The devilish look in Clyde’s eyes was starting to scare him. “Gah!—Alone.”
“Uno memento, por favor,” Clyde said, abruptly turning from the register.
Tweek shifted, keeping his eyes on the brunette as he pulled out his phone, determinedly texting while he paced in the lobby. That almost-evil smile he wore forced Tweek to look away. Oh, no. What had he gotten himself into? He shouldn’t be allowed to say anything to anyone. Now more than ever, he wished he could turn off his stupid brain and swallow his feelings, even if they burned a hole in his stomach.
Distantly, he could hear his father’s whistling fade, and the back door’s bell rang again. His departure lifted a barely-there weight on his shoulders that Tweek hadn’t noticed. He took this momentary freedom to glance at Kenny, the reason he was here in the first place. The other blonde’s eyes were locked on Clyde, thinking. There was a tilt to his brow that somehow made his whole expression ten times more serious, nothing like the casual Kenny that Tweek had gotten to know the past year. Something Tweek noticed about Kenny that always threw him off was how hyper-vigilant he was. One second, he’d be making inappropriate jokes to bother Tweek, and the next he’d be locked in, with a focus that was almost out of character.
Almost.
When he felt Tweek’s gaze, he loosened up a bit. Something deliberate. He turned to look at Tweek, a forced casualness to his whole demeanor. Tweek didn’t say anything, freezing. Kenny must’ve taken pity on him, giving him a soft smile. “Want help with some of those?”
It wasn’t the first time Kenny had surprised him like this, with his strange, effortless way of reading people. It was almost unsettling, but not unwelcome. Taking a second to think it over, Tweek eventually nodded, not sure what else to do. They made a little over half the order in silence before Clyde came back, phone in hand.
“I’ve just solved your problem, Tweekers,” He announced.
Tweek burnt his hand on the milk he was steaming, but he barely noticed over the wave of anxiety that punched him right in the gut. “W-What?”
“Clyde…” Kenny started, clearly trying not to laugh, but Clyde was still texting someone. Not even ten seconds after the message was sent, his phone started ringing.
“Craig,” Clyde answered without looking at the screen, and Kenny let out an almost strangled snort. “No, no. Hear me out.”
Whoever this Craig was, was loud enough for Tweek to hear his protests through Clyde’s speaker. Or maybe his voice was just deep, Tweek thought, because he didn’t seem to be yelling. Just adamantly against anything Clyde said, which Tweek honestly understood. He wouldn’t want to be dragged into something like this, either.
He couldn’t make out most of the words the other guy was saying, but somewhere near the end, he heard his name.
“Craig, no, listen to me,” Clyde said, starting to pace. “It’s not a big deal. He’s just a guy who needs a friend to help him out. He’s cool!” He looked up at Tweek for a moment before adding: “A little twitchy, but cool.”
There was a muffled response on the other end. Clyde’s face dropped, he switched his phone to the other side, further away from the counter. “Um…”
Tweek still caught the words “not my problem” from Craig and immediately regretted everything.
Clyde, for what it was worth, kept a positive attitude, smiling and even giving Tweek a thumbs up as he moved his phone a good inch from his face. “Give me a minute.” And with that, he speed-walked out the front door.
Tweek wondered if they should keep working on the drinks that Clyde had forgotten. With a heavy sigh, Kenny started loading what he could into drink carriers, so Tweek went back to work, too. On the sidewalk, Tweek could make out the figure of Clyde pacing back and forth. Tweek noted that he talked with his hands, even on the phone, gesturing widely as he spoke. Tweek wondered what he was saying—if there was anything he could say to get a positive reaction now.
Kenny let out another short laugh. “I don’t know why he’s doing this.”
“Huh?” Tweek looked away from Clyde, turning back to the bar. Beside him, he could hear Kenny fighting with the stack of drink carriers. Tweek knew the struggle, none of them came apart cleanly for him either.
“Clyde,” Kenny said like it clarified anything. “He keeps trying to set Craig up with more friends. He’s a cool dude and all, but he’s kind of a loner unless Clyde drags him out. They’ve known each other since they were in diapers or something. They were pretty close in school, too.”
Tweek raised an eyebrow, almost surprised at the thoughtfulness of Kenny’s words. He knew the guy was smarter than he looked, but it, again, threw Tweek off when he showed it. At first, Tweek had taken Kenny at face value: a goofy guy who helped pass the hours at work. He never came off as intuitive. Calculated. It was like he let his guard down, almost. Like this was who he really was, underneath it all. The more time they spent together, the more open he was about it. Maybe he was right to ask Kenny initially, maybe they were closer than either of them thought.
“Maybe he needs it,” Kenny said, the seriousness he held before falling. “Clyde knows him pretty well. He’ll probably just roll his eyes and go along with it. Clyde has that effect on him.”
“Oh…” Tweek mumbled.
“Craig’s kind of… Blunt,” Kenny added with a small grin. “But, hey, maybe that’ll balance out your… Uh, energy.”
“My what?”
“Nothing, dude,” Kenny said with a grin. “Craig’s chill. A little too chill, sometimes. One time, Clyde got into a screaming match at a basketball game, and Craig just sat there eating nachos. Didn’t even blink.” Kenny sounded like he was trying to reassure Tweek, though it did next to nothing for his quickly racing thoughts. “Honestly, Craig’s not a bad choice for you. He might even survive.”
“What?” Tweek squeaked.
Kenny snorted, loading up the last of the drinks into their carriers. “Look, I think Craig might be your best case scenario. Given the circumstances…”
“That’s not comforting!” Tweek hissed, taking a step back from the whole situation.
“I’m kidding,” Kenny said, more softly this time. “Don’t stress. You’ve got this, Tweek. And if it crashes and burns… Well, I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Tweek blinked at him. “You get free coffee!”
Kenny laughed. “Exactly. No pressure! Look, it could be good for you. If nothing else, you’d have someone to deflect your parents’ attention. Trust me, Craig’s a pro at keeping a straight face no matter what’s going on.”
Tweek wasn’t sure if he found that comforting or terrifying. Craig sounded unshakable—nice in theory, but what if his calmness only highlighted how much of a mess Tweek was? What if Craig bailed halfway through? What if he didn’t show up at all and Tweek wound up looking like an idiot? What if he did show up?
Tweek already regretted saying anything to Clyde.
The door swung open again, and Clyde sauntered in, phone still in hand, looking triumphant. “All right, Tweek! Craig’s in.”
Tweek froze, blinking rapidly. “Ngh—What?!” He grabbed onto the edge of the counter for support. “You didn’t—gah!—tell him everything, did you?!”
Clyde gave him a sly grin. “Relax, man. I just told him you needed a buddy for a family thing, and he was cool with it.”
“Really?” Kenny asked, sounding genuinely surprised. Tweek wondered how much of his own spiel he believed. One second, the guy was saying Clyde would be able to convince him, the next he was struggling to believe it had worked.
Clyde shrugged. “He said he’d go.”
“That’s not a good thing!” Tweek didn’t even try to compose himself. Clyde didn’t seem to mind, still proud of his own accomplishment.
“Relax, man,” Kenny tried.
Tweek groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t even know him! What if it’s—gah!—weird? What if he—ugh—hates me?”
Kenny leaned on the counter beside him. “Tweek, Craig’s probably the least judgmental guy in South Park. He’s pretty chill once you get past the deadpan thing. And if it’s weird, you’ll probably never have to see him again, so… No big deal, right?”
That didn’t feel as reassuring as Kenny probably intended. Tweek’s brain was already racing through worst-case scenarios faster than he could stop it. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t like he had to have Craig come. As long as he didn’t give any more information, he was solid. He would go with his mom, pretend to be normal for a few hours, and hopefully leave with his dignity.
Clyde started gathering his drinks, balancing carriers in ways Tweek didn’t think were possible. “I’ll send his info your way, and you can set things up?”
Tweek tried his best not to look worried, swallowing dryly. Kenny saw right through it, patting his back again. Clyde didn’t seem to notice, carefully starting toward the door. He laughed at himself as he struggled with it. Tweek almost offered help when he got it.
As Clyde started to leave, he turned back to the counter, almost gritting his teeth in a grin. “Don’t worry too much,” He said, staring right into Tweek’s soul. “Craig’s bark is worse than his bite—most of the time.”