Chapter Text
Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when, Our common goal was waiting for the world to end
–
If Tweek still believed in conspiracy theories, he’d be spiraling right about now.
As it is, all he feels is complete numbness and resignation.
Because, honestly, his father would choose to die and have the funeral arrangements the same weekend as his ten year high school reunion.
“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Bebe says beside him. They’re sitting in a parking lot, staring at the hotel venue where their class is supposed to be congregating through her extremely tinted windows.
“It’s fine,” Tweek says. Even his voice sounds off. Less squeaky and scratchy than usual. “I need a distraction.”
“See! This is exactly what I mean. You’re not one to let things distract you from shit like this, Tweek. Or…” She frowns, the fucking perfect Cupid’s bow of hers slanting downwards. “You didn’t used to be.”
Tweek used to be a lot of things. So many of them he can’t remember right now.
One thing he knows for certain, he’s always said he’s the type of person to never attend his high school reunion. And, yet, here he is.
Dressed in a pair of jeans he hasn’t worn since high school that found in the closet of his old bedroom and a cardigan that hangs off his shoulders, about to walk in.
He doesn’t even know why, really. Other than that he couldn't stand another minute of being in the house anymore, deciding whether or not he wants to keep it as his, like the will states, or sell it to someone else. He’s so tired of making decisions lately. What his father should wear in his casket. Where he should be buried. What fucking words should be on the tombstone. Whether or not he should speak at the funeral, which is tomorrow.
Fuck. Shit.
He just needs to not think for a few hours. Which is why it doesn’t make sense that he came here. Where a shit ton of memories are probably about to be dug up.
“It’ll be fine,” Tweek says, not sure if he believes it himself. Doesn’t even know if he remembers what fine really feels like.
Whatever it is, it’s got to be better than what’s waiting for him at home.
Endless casserole dishes in an empty house.
There must be some unspoken rule about death and casserole dishes. Like people are too nervous about the concept of a person being put into the ground, they have to make up for it by feeding someone whose appetite is basically nonexistent.
Tweek hates food that is essentially mashed into other food.
He gets out of the car before Bebe fully cuts it off, listening to her concerned little huffing sound.
He hadn’t been planning on attending the reunion before his dad died. Hadn’t even planned on returning to South Park. But he needs something to do. He can’t even work on his Dad’s old PC because he’s apparently inherited his fathers old Facebook account when he died.
Everytime he signs on, it explodes with notifications from people who claim to be missing him. Most Tweek doesn’t even know.
He doesn’t need to be working anyway. His job understands and has granted him time off, but he’s looking for something to preoccupy his mind.
If work won’t do, his shitty ten year reunion is going to be next up.
He probably should be feeling something while walking through the venue doors. Maybe oddness over walking in with Bebe the way he used to when they attended high school together, and she looked at him one day and said there, I want that introverted gay boy to be my best friend.
He found it impossible to slink into the background after that.
As it is, the only thing he feels walking into this place is the same numbness he’s felt for a while now. Even before his dad died.
The venue is set up to look like a high school party in someone’s basement. That’s what Wendy decided the theme would be. Stereotypical high school party. Part of the reason Tweek decided to actually attend tonight is because Wendy is in charge of this party, and if anyone can get Bebe to leave him alone right now, it’s Wendy.
Bebe has been hanging around him, insisting that he shouldn’t be alone. Like she’s expecting Tweek to break down, and actually show his emotions at any moment. Which, honestly, would be typical of him years ago when their friendship started.
He’s gotten better at keeping them contained. More compact. It makes him feel the same way. Like a smaller version of himself, which in turn makes him feel more in control.
He doesn’t want whatever is in his head right now to seep out, least of all for Bebe to see.
He gets his wish the minute they walk further into the room, Carly Rae Jepsen’s Call Me Maybe blaring in the background, and Wendy standing in the middle of the room like Tweek really did plan this.
Bebe takes one look at her and stops.
Tweek sighs. “Just go.”
“No. What — no, I can’t!” Bebe sounds like she means it, but she also sounds torn. “You shouldn’t be left alone right now.”
“I’m not alone. I’m in a room full of people.”
“Tweek,” Bebe says, frowning. “That’s not mutually exclusive, and you know it.”
God. She sounds like his therapist.
“Please, I just want things to be back to normal. And you not going to Wendy while looking like that isn’t normal.”
Tweek gestures to where Bebe is wearing a little black dress that fits her like skin. It dips in the front and the back. Bebe may have intended to still stay by Tweek’s side all night, but she wants Wendy to look at her.
She sinks her perfect teeth into her lower lip. Tweek knows he’s winning. “It’ll just be for a moment.”
“Right. Super quick.”
“We should probably catch up. That’s what reunions are for, right? And we haven’t seen each other since…”
Since whatever the last social event the former South Park kids had that caused them to be in the same room, and they ended up fucking in some closet. That’s all it takes for Bebe and Wendy. They’re like catnip to each other.
“Right.”
“How do they look?” she asks.
Tweek quirks an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”
“My tits,” Bebe whisper-yells. She gestures towards them. “Are they, you know, on display? Noticeable?”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
“They’re fine,” Tweek says, rolling his eyes.
“Fine? Just fine?”
“What do you want me to say? They’re breasts! I’m a gay man. Clearly, you’re not…” He gestures wildly. “Lacking in that department. Wendy is definitely going to notice them.”
Bebe seems to accept this answer, because she rolls her shoulders back.
“Wish me luck,” Bebe says, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye. Two of them are missing nail polish.
She’s gone before Tweek can actually utter the words good luck, but it’s just as well. Bebe doesn’t need it.
He sighs, realizing he’s alone. Well and truly alone since everything happened. Or alone as he can be in the middle of a crowded reunion. Either way, Bebe is no longer watching him like she’s expecting him to off himself at any moment.
Maybe that’s why panic starts to seize him. Because when he’s alone, it can grab him easily.
It’s almost surprising, feeling something through the shield of numbness. He knows it’s not the full extent of terror. He hasn’t felt that in a long time, but he’s still familiar with it. The way it makes him tremble. The way it makes him shake.
This isn’t that. Not by a long shot.
It’s faint, but it’s there. Tweek wants to squish it down before it spreads because it’s so much easier feeling numb.
The venue has an open bar, thankfully. Tweek doesn’t drink much. Ever since college, he’s made sure to be extra aware of whatever he’s putting into his body.
Tonight he needs something to get through. To stop the first leaks of reality from seeping in before he’s ready. His heart stutters, not enough to give him a detailed beating to track, it hasn’t done that in a while. But like it’s working its way up his throat, making it difficult to swallow.
Alcohol probably isn’t the best thing for his tightening throat right now, but it’ll soothe his nerves. Make them nonexistent.
The bartender gives him a drink. And then another after Tweek downs it.
He stops after that, just to prove to himself that he can. That he’s still in control over this whole shitty situation. Even if he’s not sure if he’s talking about his life or him in general.
He wanders through the venue, having to wade through people. He doesn’t remember going to high school with this many people, but then again, his memories of that specific time aren’t the best. They’re shoddy and a bit blurry. He remembers conspiracy theories and the way he saw things out of the corner of his eye that others didn’t. But he doesn’t remember this many people.
A couple of them give him odd looks like they’re trying to place him. Or maybe figure out why he’s here, considering his dad just died and his funeral is tomorrow. He’s probably expected to be hiding in the house in mourning or what the fuck ever.
None of these fucking people know what went on in that house. How his parents built up a web of lies and abuse in it. How his mother eventually left, leaving Tweek alone with his father. Tweek owns it now. All those years of abuse, wrapped up in the deed he’s been given.
Like he’s allowed to take possession of all the ways he’s been fucked over. But his dad never had to take accountability.
He just gets to die, and be put in the fucking ground.
He’s considering adding that to the speech he’s supposed to give tomorrow when he feels a hand clasp his shoulder. He eyes the symbols tattooed on the knuckles before he spins fully to look at Kenny McCormick.
He hasn’t seen him since graduation, but Kenny looks good. The same, but more filled out. Like he knows who he is.
Everyone is starting to look like that to Tweek lately, and he wonders if they can tell he hasn’t the faintest clue who he’s supposed to be. Someone more than what he currently is, that much he knows.
As it goes now, he feels like someone who has simply been discarded.
“Hey, man,” Kenny greets easily, grinning wide. He’s got a lip piercing now in addition to the tattoos. It moves as he smiles. Tweek wonders if that feels odd.
“Hey,” Tweek greets. His brain lags for anything else. Conversation has been hard for him lately. People are always looking like they’re expecting him to say something. Or shout something, maybe, is more accurate, since that used to be how he was.
Kenny’s face falls a second later, and Tweek notices his smile never reached his amethyst eyes. “Listen, I’m sorry about your pops. I heard what happened.”
“Yeah. He hanged himself. The whole thing is pretty fucked up.”
Sometimes it still takes Tweek by surprise. The way the truth can slip out now from his lips, and it sounds eerily calm.
Especially this.
Kenny flinches, searching Tweek’s face like he’s trying to find cracks. People have always looked at him like that.
“That’s what I heard,” Kenny says tentatively. “That has to be hard to deal with.”
Tweek snorts. “Hard? You wanna talk about hard. I have to decide if I wanna be a homeowner or just… burn the fucking thing down. That’s hard.”
He never thought he’d have the option to be a homeowner. Let alone this fucking house.
Honestly, burning it down is starting to sound like the more sane option. Tweek can’t even sit in a chair inside his house without thinking of the fact that it’s his now. On top of all the trauma his dad gave him, he passed down the place it happened in.
Fuck.
He hates that house.
“Yeah. That’s gotta be – you good, dude?” Kenny asks, frowning.
Tweek looks at him, confused. Realizes he’s swaying and humming some song. Some Weezer song, he’s pretty sure.
“Yeah, I hated him anyway.” He points to Kenny’s drink. “You gonna finish that?”
He grabs it from Kenny’s hand before he can answer him. He downs it in one quick motion, tasting something fruity and then something bitter. It surprises him, the fact that Kenny would drink something with any sort of flavoring other than the straight piss bitter of alcohol.
He moves past Kenny, leaving him standing there with his mouth hanging open.
He stumbles further into the room, placing Kenny’s now empty glass on some table. He’s suddenly ravenous. He has a thousand fucking casseroles at home, but he doesn’t want them. He wants whatever finger food is spread out on the table he runs into. Literally. It jostles with the collision, some glass at the end of it falling and shattering. He picks up a piggy in a blanket and devours it. Picks up three more and does the same. He normally hates anything hotdog related. Unless he’s drunk. Which is weird, because he’s definitely not.
“Tweek?”
He spins, half a pig in a blanket hanging out of his mouth. Kyle and Stan are standing there, looking at him with the same look Bebe’s been wearing for a while now. Concern. Confusion. Like they don’t recognize him.
They’re wearing matching rings on their left fingers. Tweek hated them in school. He hates them even more right now, looking at what his future was supposed to be.
It’s Kyle who addressed him and Kyle who frowns at him now. “Do you need some help?”
Fucking prick. Always trying to seem like he’s so put together. The voice of reason.
“Why would I need help?”
“Because…” Stan pauses. Eyes wide and darting. “You look like you’re… having a hard time.”
Kyle’s eyes shift to his husband like he’s terrified he just said something that could possibly set Tweek off. Does he look crazed? He’s still got a small hotdog dangling from his mouth, so probably.
He uses his tongue to push it into his mouth. “I’m fine,” he says, mouth full as he chews. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No, of course you are,” Kyle says quickly. “Stan only means that… we want to offer our condolences. For your father.”
Tweek snorts. Wipes at his mouth where there’s a few crumbs. “Does everyone know?”
“It’s South Park, dude,” Stan says, like that sums everything up. And, really, it does. Word travels fast through South Park. The whole town probably knew about his father’s passing before it reached Tweek in California.
“I don’t need your condolences,” Tweek snaps. He doesn’t even know why he’s getting angry at this point. Just that it’s easier to push through the numbness of everything for some reason. “I didn’t have them when he was drugging me. Why should I have them now?”
Both Stan and Kyle blanch.
Tweek knows he’ll feel guilty for this later. Stan and Kyle don’t deserve his misplaced anger. It’s likely they didn’t even know about the drugging. Word has to escape to get out and spread. That had been a tight lipped secret. One Tweek didn’t even know about himself until later.
But as sorry as he’ll feel later, right now all he feels is hot pulsing anger.
Stan and Kyle have some fucking nerve to stand here and tell him they’re sorry for him.
“There’s no need to be a dick, man,” Stan says. “We just wanted to make sure you’re handing shit okay. I know that when my dad –”
“It’s not the same thing,” Tweek snaps. Randy died from poisoning his liver and Stan hated him anyway. Tweek’s dad took the selfish way out because he lost everything.
And Tweek isn’t even included in that everything.
“It’s not the same, but it’s similar enough,” Stan argues. “I know what you’re going through. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you want someone to talk to.” He shrugs. “When you sober up.”
“I’m not drunk. And I don’t want to talk.”
They look like they don’t believe him, and he stomps past them to make a point.
He isn’t watching where he’s going and somehow manages to wander into the kitchen of this place. He pushes past the swinging door, frowning at the way it reminds him of being in the coffee shop. All stainless steel and faint bleach undertones.
The panic that he felt before starts to burst through the cracks again, lodging itself in Tweek’s throat.
He turns, ready to bolt, and runs directly into someone’s chest.
He stumbles back, sputtering something that’s a cross between watch where you’re fucking going and sorry, dude. Because his common sense is battling with his ability to just not give a fuck right now.
“Jesus, Tweek. Are you drunk?”
It’s funny.
Tweek has imagined countless scenarios where that voice speaks to him again. They’ve never uttered those words though.
Tweek looks up and sees him. The person he’s not allowed to even think about anymore. Or speak about.
It’s strictly forbidden in his friendship with Bebe. She doesn’t want it mentioned in her presence because it’s not getting you over him, Tweek. If anything, all this wallowing is preventing you from moving on. Damn.
But she’s not here. So it slips from his mouth as easily as an exhale.
“Craig.”
Craig Tucker is infuriatingly the same and different all at once.
His eyes are still amber colored and unfairly beautiful. He is still ungodly feet tall with a scowling face, strong nose, and sharp jaw. But he’s sporting facial hair on his jawline now. His hair has been cut from the shaggy emo style that used to make Tweek’s heart sputter. It’s shorter on the sides now, longer on top. It’s starting to gray in some areas.
He’s sporting a salt and pepper look that makes Tweek’s throat clench up even more. It’s funny. Craig had been so worried in the past about losing his hair, like his dad did. It’s thick as ever, just sporting the early signs of aging that make him look… good.
He tries to swallow.
Averts his eyes and looks down to meet the tattoo sleeve he never got the privilege to know. Craig got it after they broke up. It’s got a series of planets scattered on it. An astronaut floating through space that has a skull for a face and a mohawk across the helmet.
It’s the only thing about Craig that still looks badass. The rest of him looks tamed.
Craig cocks an eyebrow at him. The piercing is gone. “Well?”
Well?
Oh, right. He asked Tweek a question.
“I’m not drunk,” Tweek says, trying to emphasize the word in the same dreadful monotone Craig just had. His voice suddenly decides to add some of that squeakiness he used to have, making him unable to pull it off. “Why does everyone keep assuming I am?”
“I saw you by the finger food spread before I had to duck in here. You were eating pigs in a blanket. Plus you’re doing that swaying bullshit you always do when you’ve been drinking. Like you can hear a song no one else can.”
If you want to destroy my sweater (whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa)
Fuck Craig for noticing him. For knowing things about him.
“I’ve only had…” He counts in his head. Has to use his fingers when that doesn’t work. “Three drinks. That’s hardly anything.”
Or it would be for Craig, who is half giant and has always had a freakish ability to hold his alcohol. Tweek doesn’t possess either quality.
Craig pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighs and sets down what appears to be a frosting tube. Tweek eyes it, confused.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a frosting tube.”
“No, I know what it is.” Of course he does. All the fucking baking he used to do. “I meant – why are you using one?”
Because from what he remembers, Craig never even knew how to put frosting into a tube. Let alone decorate with one. He looks past Craig, seeing a cake. It’s white and rectangular. The words will you marry me followed by a question mark are scripted out in icing on top of it.
Tweek looks at Craig with wide stricken eyes. He can see the realization flicker through Craig’s face. The way the tips of his ears turn pink. As much time has passed between them, Craig has always been good at picking up on Tweek’s internal monologue.
“No, it’s not – I’m not.” Craig stops. Swallows. “It’s for Tolkien and Clyde. Tolkien is proposing tonight.”
Tweek didn’t even know Tolkien and Clyde were a thing. They didn’t used to be. But when Tweek and Craig broke up, those guys stuck with Craig. Which Tweek expected. They all went to the same college. It was Tweek who was the one on his own. The loner of the group. But something still hurts about not hearing from them again after the breakup.
Tweek realizes now this is where the hurt is. The fact that their lives moved on, morphed into something Tweek would have never expected, and now Tweek doesn’t get to be a part of it. Doesn’t get to even know about it, unless he’s stumbling across it by mistake.
“Tolkien,” Tweek says slowly. Swallows himself. He hates how much of his mannerisms still match Craig’s. “And Clyde.”
“Yeah. They started dating after… after.”
After they broke up. Craig and his inability to use words, and leave Tweek to fill in the blanks. It’s exactly what he did over that damned FaceTime call.
“And you’re helping… with the proposal?”
Craig shrugs. Averts eye contact. “Tolkien trusts me. The cake got a little banged up during transport, so I’m trying to fix it.”
Tweek can see it then. A corner of the cake is smudged with icing, revealing some of the white cake underneath. He isn’t wrong. Craig still doesn’t know how to use a frosting tube, apparently. The closer Tweek looks at it, the messier it seems. Like he just globbed it in.
He sighs. “Hand me that.”
He’s referring to the tube.
Craig eyes it and then Tweek. “I still think you’re drunk.”
“If I am drunk, that only makes me better at frosting jobs. Remember?”
Something familiar flickers across Craig’s newly aged face. Amusement. Like he’s remembering all the times Tweek would get drunk or high and start baking like crazy. How they’d always have an ungodly amount of pastries afterwards.
He hands the tube over, reaching for a can of store bought icing. Tweek almost rolls his eyes. Clyde might not be able to tell the difference, but a little bit of Tweek dies when he finds an ice cream scooper and scoops the Betty Crocker monstrosity out of its container and puts it neatly into the tube.
He does the outline of the trim where it got messed up before moving onto the big chunk on the side that’s messed up. His hands never tremor. He’s about to ask for a spatula to smooth it out to match the rest of the cake when one appears in front of his face. Craig has retrieved it from somewhere without needing to be told. He blinks at it before grabbing it.
“Thanks,” he mutters.
He doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. Other than the fact that it’s making his brain hum pleasantly. It’s something else to focus on other than the fact that his father is dead. Even if he thinks proposing with a cake is tacky.
“You’re still good at this,” Craig says softly. He’s standing behind Tweek’s shoulder, watching. Tweek had been so focused on the cake he hadn’t noticed.
“I’m still a lot of things,” Tweek says just as softly.
Craig is silent for a moment. Almost infuriatingly so, which shouldn’t be the case. Craig has always been quiet. Except with Tweek.
Eventually, he clears his throat. “I saw your movie. The — the latest one.”
Tweek pauses to look at him. “The memory loss one? From the film festival?”
Craig nods. A barely there motion. “Yeah. I thought the songs you picked for it were really good. Especially the Quietdrive one.”
Tweek doesn’t know what to say. It’s almost like Craig is trying to bait him. That version of Time After Time used to be their song.
Tweek had assigned it to them.
He was always doing that. Making playlists and assigning songs to moments. It’s part of why he studied music management in college. Part of why he loves his job now as a music supervisor for an indie film company.
But it’s also why he thinks he might hate it. Because he’s assigned so many songs to so many moments, there’s hardly any that don’t lead back to Craig.
“It’s not my movie. I just picked the music for it,” Tweek says. “But thanks.” A pause. “What about you? What — what are you doing now?”
“I’m teaching physics. At the high school.”
Tweek stops, almost pressing too hard on the cake. “High school? South Park High?”
“Yeah.”
Craig doesn’t look bashful or ashamed when he says it, and he shouldn’t. Not really. But teaching high school physics had never been part of the plan back when they actually made plans together.
It feels ridiculous to bring up now, and Craig doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t owe Tweek any explanation, but Tweek is still trying to rationalize and find one.
Craig had been determined to work for NASA. He interned and everything.
What happened?
When he finally finishes smoothing out the cake, it looks good as new.
He stares at it, feeling like it’s a metaphor for his entire life. Patchwork jobs that cover up the real issue. The way he’s crumbling underneath.
The pleasant humming suddenly goes away. It’s replaced with angry static.
“You look different,” Craig says. “Time has been good to you.”
“Different,” Tweek repeats, looking at him.
Craig hums. “Healthy. Just… more.”
Tweek’s eyes dull. He can’t see them, but he can feel the light go out. “You’re still the same.”
Craig frowns like he doesn’t get it. And outwardly, yeah, he’s changed a ton. He looks like the leftover remains of an early 2000’s emo heartthrob. Someone who is attempting to shift into adulthood. It’s like he’s shed one skin for something less fluorescent.
“You still don’t know how to talk to me,” Tweek says when Craig doesn’t. Just doesn’t. “You never really did, now that I’m thinking about it.”
Craig’s mouth forms into a thin line. He’s taken his snake bites out. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? I mean, god, Craig. You couldn’t even say the words when you ended it. You made me do it.”
He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Starting this conversation this way. He’s starting to think Craig is right and he’s at least a little bit tipsy. But he’s so tired of Craig’s face flashing every time he closes his eyes and he hasn’t even been picturing the right one. He’s let time touch him. Change him. He didn’t let Tweek witness any of it.
“You don’t understand,” Craig says. “You don’t know how hard it was –”
“I don’t understand how hard it was?” Tweek is aware his volume is climbing. How he’s practically screeching. Craig does this to him. Makes him lose control. Forces him to say things Craig himself won’t. “I’m the one who had to do it. Who had to call it off. And you… you didn’t even fight it. Didn’t fight for me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?” Tweek presses. God he’s probably acting pathetic, but he’s probably never going to get this chance again. Craig blocked his number right after they broke up. Cut off all contact with him.
Tweek could never figure out what he did wrong. Why that fight was different than the rest.
Maybe this is why he came here tonight. Not because he believes in destiny or fate, because either one of those should have fucking saved him and never did. But because he’s spent these last few years searching for closure only one person could give him.
Craig screws his eyes shut. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Fuck. Tweek hates when he does that. Like he’s holding things back.
“Why didn’t you fight for me?” Tweek asks again. “Wasn’t I worth it?”
“Don’t do this to me. Not now.”
“When, then? When else are we going to do this?”
“The timing isn’t right!” Craig snaps. Now he sounds manic. It’s so different from any version of him that Tweek has ever seen. He can’t look away.
“When is the right time, Craig? Because I’ve been drowning in it. I don’t know how to get rid of all this fucking… time!”
He doesn’t know how to stop it. Slow it down. Keep it from feeling like it’s passing him by and trampling him at the same time.
“I don’t want to do this here. Not this way. Not while you’re drunk.”
“I’ve already told you, I’m not drunk.”
Tipsy, maybe. But he’d know if he were drunk.
“You’ve never been able to hold your alcohol,” Craig argues.
“Don’t do that,” Tweek hisses, moving to step closer to him. “Don’t act like you know things about me. You don’t.”
Craig may be a lot of things. Monotone. More than a bit of an asshole. A coward, when it really comes down to it. But he doesn’t like to be accused of not knowing something. It’s some fucking complex he has. Tweek can see it come to life in his eyes. The way it burns and ignites.
“I know plenty about you. Time isn’t going to change that.”
“That’s all time does, you asshole. Change things!”
God. He needs to get out of here. Craig must have the same idea because he growls.
He doesn’t know who moves first. Whether he slips or simply takes a misstep. Either way, Tweek’s shoes aren’t equipped for the kitchen floor and his feet go out from underneath him. He can see the moment Craig tries to catch him, but goes down too.
They land on the cake, taking the whole thing down with them. It’s squished completely, seeping into places that make Tweek want to screech. They lay there for a moment, mouths parted and staring at the mess between them. Icing is everywhere. In their hair. On their hands. All over their backs.
Somewhere in the back of Tweek’s grossed out mind, he realizes this is just another metaphor, one for how Craig and Tweek are. Even when they try to fix things, they end up making it worse. Smashing it completely.
“Did we…” Tweek starts, looking at the mess with wide eyes.
“Yeah,” Craig says, shaking his hands. Icing goes flying. “I think we did. God fucking damnit.”
“What’s going on?”
There’s a flurry of movement. The kitchen door flies open and four bodies come in. While Tweek is surprised to see Tolkien and Clyde after all these years, standing side by side like they go together, Craig lets out a similar disbelieving sound at the other two people.
“Fucking hell,” he curses, gesturing towards Wendy and Bebe. They look… dishelved. “This is still going on?”
Bebe and Craig share a glare. Tweek isn’t surprised. They hate each other.
“I know you’re not accustomed to giving relationships a fighting chance,” Bebe says, “but some people don’t give up as easily as you.”
She’s definitely pissed. And it’s not just because Craig and her hate each other. But the fact that Bebe hates him specifically for Tweek. She’s that sort of ride or die friend. She intends to hate Craig for all of eternity and has kept that promise so far.
Wendy looks nervous, but also like she’s attempting to access the situation to descalate it. Her lipstick is smeared. “What on earth happened? Are you guys laying on… cake?”
Both of them push up on the palms of their hands, turning around enough to see what they already know. They’ve completely demolished the cake. Of course they have. They’re destructive together. They take down whatever is in the room with them. Even a proposal attempt.
Craig turns first, looking at Tolkien. “Dude, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Tolkien looks like he doesn’t know what to say. He used to be the rational one in their group. Tweek wonders if he’s still that way. If Clyde makes him lose his sound mind the same way Craig used to make Tweek feel.
There’s something there, a maturity that Tweek will never possess. Because while Tolkien looks visibly upset over his proposal being botched, he doesn't look like he plans on taking that out on Craig.
“What’s going on?” Clyde asks, frowning. He’s changed since Tweek last saw him. A little more heavy set. A little happier looking. It’s in his eyes. Even when they turn to Tolkien like they don’t understand.
“I was going to propose,” Tolkien says slowly. He gestures to the smashed cake all over the floor. “With that.”
“Oh,” Clyde says, sounding moved. He’s teary eyed. Still a crier. Tweek can’t remember the last time he cried. “Because you know I love cake.”
Tolkien chuckles, his body visibly relaxing. “Exactly. Because you love cake.”
He feels like the room is spinning. Or maybe that’s just everyone else. Their lives are still in movement. Perpetually moving from one point to another, never clinging to the past like Tweek has been these last few years.
He used to know these people so well. Now he feels like he doesn’t know them at all.
“What happened?” Wendy asks.
“We tripped,” Craig says. “And fell into the cake.”
“But why was Tweek even in here?” Bebe asks. She curls her nose. Some of the makeup is smudged off of it. “With you, Tucker?”
“I… ended up back here,” Tweek says. Leaves out the part where he was running because he knows what Bebe will say. That he’s been running from everything. “Craig needed help with the cake and –”
“You asked him for help?” Tolkien asks, frowning and cutting Tweek off. His eyes dart to Craig. “You’re talking to Tweek again?”
“No!” Craig says quickly. Too quickly. He flinches. “He just happened to come back here. Tweek didn’t know about the cake.”
Bebe scoffs. Rolls her eyes. “Of course he didn’t.”
Clyde frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you guys all dropped him when Craig dumped him! You didn’t bother keeping up with him. He had no one. Other than me.”
“Bebe,” Tweek hisses. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing this. Embarrassing him. Making him seem like some sort of social pariah. He decided himself to not have much to do with people as they did with him.
“That’s not…” Clyde flounders, frowning. His eyes dart to Tweek, looking at him out of the corner of them. “He needed space. That’s what Craig said.”
“So Craig told you to cut him off,” Bebe snaps. “And you just listen to everything Craig says?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Tolkien says, moving to stand between Bebe and Clyde like his boyfriend needs a shield.
“What was it like, then?” Bebe asks. “Because we certainly don’t know! You guys collectively dropped him from your lives. I can expect that from Craig, maybe. Even Tolkien. But you, Clyde?”
Clyde yelps when Bebe jabs a finger at him. Sometimes Tweek forgets that Clyde and Bebe dated, but he’s wearing that leftover terror of being Bebe’s boyfriend on his face right now.
“I expected more out of you,” Bebe goes on. “You were always kinder than this. You’d give someone your heart if they needed it. Why couldn’t you have given him some fucking compassion?”
“Craig. He didn’t,” Clyde sputters. His eyes dart from Tweek to Bebe. “It wasn’t like I wanted to cut him off.”
“I made them,” Craig says. “It was important.”
Tweek looks at him, frowning. “What was important? What was so important that you had to make sure I was isolated?”
“It wasn’t meant to be isolation,” Craig says. “It was supposed to be… independence.”
Tweek gawks at him. Craig would think this has all been some trial of independence, and not what it really is. A reality he’s been trying to escape ever since he became aware of it.
“Independence,” Tweek repeats.
“Yes, you…” Craig trails off. Runs a hand through his hair and makes a face when he gets cake in it. “You were too reliant on me. On us.”
Off all the things Tweek thought he’d hear, all the reasoning inside of Craig’s fucking head, he didn’t thing he’d hear that. That he’d been a fucking leech.
He stands, attempting to dust bits of cake off of him and looking directly at Bebe. “I’d like to go home now.”
He hates this.
This version of the man he’s spent a good portion of his life loving. Hates the simplicity of him. Hates that he’s so used to someone who used to give him everything, even when they were boys in the form of fists when their anger would get the better of them, and now Craig has reduced himself down to – to… this.
Someone unrecognizable.
No more snake bites.
No more shaggy emo haircut.
Just the remains of the boy Tweek used to love, contained in some version of a man he doesn’t know.
Tweek has spent the last few years missing that specific version of Craig. Has pictured him in his head for every scenario, every milestone he was missing. But now he’s replaced by this.
A salt and pepper haired stranger.
He doesn’t even recognize the look Craig gives him while Tweek stares back in disappointment. Tweek wonders if he still looks the same. He feels like the same boy that got broken up with over FaceTime.
Floundering. Unable to grab hold of something stable.
“Please,” Tweek says again. “Can we go?”
“Of course,” Bebe says. She reaches for him, looping an arm through his. She doesn’t even care that he’s still got cake smashed all over him.
“Wait,” Craig says suddenly.
Tweek closes his eyes, huffing. His insides feel nasty right now. Like he might puke.
“What is it?” he asks, not bothering to turn around to face him. He can hear Craig stand anyway. Hear the grunt he lets out. The way his hands brush the fabric of his clothes too.
His senses are too aware of him, even after all this time.
“I just – I’m sorry,” Craig says. “For everything I had to do.”
It’s infuriating, really. Tweek has always imagined Craig telling him he was sorry. He’s pictured it countless times in his head.
This isn’t as satisfying as the ones he daydreamed.
His house is silent.
It’s eerie in a way it shouldn’t be, considering it had felt too loud when Tweek lived there as a kid. But as it is, all it does is highlight the way he’s unable to dry. All he wants to do is sob, but it’s like his body can’t remember how. Won’t let him release whatever emotion he’s cemented inside of him.
He knows he’s probably tipsy and miserable, but he didn’t know loving Craig all those years ago was going to feel like this now. Like he’s ruined his life.
When crying doesn’t work, Tweek moves to the computer to look into selling this fucking house. An obnoxious amount of Facebook notifications pop up. Tweek gets distracted from finding a realtor and goes to click through them.
They’re all the same. Wishing condolences to a man who doesn’t need them.
Each one makes the air in Tweek’s lungs feel hot. He goes to his father’s status bar, ignoring the words what’s on your mind and letting his fingers fly.
My father was a cruel man who doesn’t deserve your sympathy. He’s not a victim of his death. Death was too kind of an alternative for him.
He squints, checking for spelling mistakes. Decides he doesn’t care if there are any, and retreats to his room.
He falls asleep at some point. When he wakes up, it’s to someone gently shaking his shoulder.
“Tweek,” they whisper. They pause their shaking to brush the hair off of his forehead. It’s tender. Tweek whines and presses into it. “Tweek, wake up. What are you doing here?”
He thinks he’s dreaming at first. It’s the only explanation he can think of for why Craig is inside his room right now. He makes a nonsensical mumbling sound, rolling over. Too mentally exhausted to even be angry with his mind right now for making up such a cruel scenario.
“Honey,” Craig says. “C’mon. Seriously. You’re supposed to be in California right now. You’ve got that exam. You’re starting to worry me.”
California?
Exam?
Tweek is starting to think this is too detailed to be a dream. His dreams are usually weird and involve things chasing him. Not, he realizes as he sits up and blinks in confusion, the version of his ex-boyfriend who looks like he still belongs in college himself.
“What?”
Craig frowns. The snakebite piercings tugging downwards. Tweek can’t look away from them.
“For your music law class? The one you’ve been freaking out about because you had to have it rescheduled?”
Tweek remembers the exam just fine. Remembers the way he had to beg to be able to make it up after the semester ended because he had just figured out his dad had been drugging him. Figured it out and had a whole fucking breakdown over it and almost ruined his college career.
That had been during the fall semester of his senior year of college. When his father suddenly stopped sending care packages with his favorite brew because, unbeknownst to Tweek, an investigation had started at the shop. He had been planning on running.
Tweek remembers it so fucking well.
He also remembers this version of Craig. The one he had been mourning earlier. The one that is looking back at him now with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, ripped jeans, a Weezer shirt, and hair that hasn’t been touched by the slightest bit of grey.
He cocks an eyebrow at Tweek. A pierced eyebrow. “Honey, seriously. Are you good? You’re staring at me like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Craig doesn’t even realize he’s the ghost.
Tweek’s heart lurches to life, almost as if it just remembered it needed to be pumping blood this whole time and is trying to make up for years worth of circulation. Maybe it’s because his heart is seeing this version of Craig again. The one it used to beat for.
Tweek doesn’t know what to do. Isn’t used to having it beat so erratically when he’s been having to check his own pulse point the last few years to make sure it’s even working.
He jumps up, almost colliding with the floor in the process.
“Fuck, honey,” Craig says. Twenty-two year old Craig who still has his snakebites and eyebrow piercing. Twenty-two year old Craig who still has Tweek’s heart. He reaches to grasp him now, holding him steady in a way Tweek hasn’t felt in years. “Are you okay?”
“Are you a ghost?” Tweek asks. Because that’s the only explanation he can think of in this state of mind. That some version of Craig really did die, and is here to haunt him.
“What? Is this – have they really been drugging you? Is that what this is?”
Fuck.
Shit.
That’s right. Before their big break up, they had a big fight over Craig not believing Tweek over the suspicion he was being drugged. They had a blow up fight that led to them taking a break. Craig went to house sit for Tweek’s dad during the first week of winter break, and Tweek didn’t hear from him at all.
He thought he was blowing off steam. Not what he really was doing. Planning how to break up with him.
“You’re not real,” Tweek says softly.
Concern etches across Craig’s features. Fuck. He’s so young. He’s so, so young. “Okay. You're starting to scare me. Also starting to make me believe that maybe you were right.”
“I was right! But, shit, that was years ago. You – I saw you tonight. But not this version of you.”
What the hell is going on?
“You’re not making any sense. I didn’t see you at all today. I only spoke to you on the phone, when we had that stupid fight. Did you fly here directly after that?”
“You didn’t speak to me. You – you spoke to your Tweek. The twenty-two year old version of me.”
Pieces are starting to float and fit together. Impossible pieces to an impossible puzzle.
“I’m trying to look at this logically,” Craig says. “You’re the one not making sense.”
“Fuck you and your logic,” Tweek snaps. He moves to cross the room, flipping the light switch on. The room is immediately assaulted in light. Both of them have to flinch before their eyes adjust. When they do, they’re able to see each other. Really see each other. All the differences between them that only time can do is more prevalent.
“Holy shit,” Craig whispers, looking at Tweek with wide eyes.
“Look at me,” Tweek says. “Really, truly look at me. Do I look like your Tweek to you?”
He knows what Craig sees. All the ways he’s different from the twenty-two year old version of himself. The way his hair is longer. The way he’s still thin, but not underweight. Probably the way he’s seemingly grown, evident in the way his old pajamas are now showing off his ankles.
He knows his face is different too. He’s spent so much time examining himself in the mirror lately. He knows every line that’s been etched around his mouth where he frowns. The way his forehead holds a permanent crease.
There’s no denying it when Craig looks at him fully. He’s not the same version of himself anymore either.
Tweek’s mother left when Tweek was eleven years old.
He remembers coming home from school and seeing her stuff packed by the door. His father was still at the shop. He didn’t know.
“I can’t take you with me,” she had told him, brushing his hair back from his face. “I wish that I could.”
He had thought at the time, being a boy and when he assumed the person he loved most would always be his mother, that she was being truthful. Of course she would want to take him. Of course she couldn’t for some unknown reason Tweek couldn’t place. He was too young to understand. That’s what she told him.
He knows now what it was in actuality. Her breaking for freedom and she could only save herself. She only wanted to save herself.
“This house has a secret,” she told him, smiling softly. “It doesn't know how to stay in one place.”
Tweek wondered if she was speaking in riddles. If she was talking about herself being unable to stand it here any longer.
He knows now, at twenty-eight years old, what she really meant.
The house slips through time.
“My fucking phone isn’t working,” Craig says. Twenty-two year old Craig. Tweek can’t stop looking at him as he scowls at his phone. It’s glitching. The screen flashing and then shutting off.
They’ve moved down to the kitchen, both of them needing something to drink. Tweek is nursing some tea. Craig watches him with curious eyes when he stops looking at his phone.
“You hate tea,” he states.
“Hated,” Tweek mutters, taking a sip. “I learned to like it after the whole… drugging issue.”
“Shit. He was really drugging you, huh?”
Tweek looks at him. Craig is drinking a Sprite. It hadn’t been in the fridge before. The only person in Tweek’s life who likes Sprite is Craig. When they broke up he had no reason to buy it anymore. Tweek’s dad must have bought it for him before he came to stay at the house.
The more Tweek looks around the more he can see that the house is in two states of being. Some things are from six years ago, like the old Wii system that sits in the living room. Some are from Tweek’s current time, like the deed to the house that sits on the table and his dad’s will. They lay spread out, reminding Tweek that in a few hours, he’s going to be putting his dad into the ground.
“He was,” Tweek says softly.
“What happened? After?”
Tweek isn’t sure what the rules are for timeslips. Whether he should be careful with information. Whether or not he can change the past by indulging too much. Doesn’t really know if he cares.
He sighs. Drums his fingers across the kitchen countertop. “He got away with it. I’m still not really sure how.”
He has his suspicions. That he made a deal with someone during the investigation. People here are crooked. Just like his dad. His dad was a master in self preservation. There’s no doubt in his head that he had a backup plan for if he got caught.
But even with him getting away with it, things were never the same. His father’s business had been ruined by word of mouth alone. He lost it eventually, even if the investigation didn’t take it.
“All I know is during your time,” Tweek says, gesturing at Craig, “he disappeared for a week. He told you he was taking a vacation, right?” Craig nods. Tweek chuckles. It’s bitter. “He was getting his ducks in a row. I spent all that week crashing out because I couldn’t get a hold of him. Or you.”
He supposes he knows why now. Craig’s phone is still freaking the fuck out. If this timeline is still the right one, Craig’s phone has gone to shit. No wonder Tweek couldn’t get in touch with him.
“And then?”
Tweek draws in a breath. Exhales. Averts his eyes. “Then he came back and he still had his coffee shop. I heard from him first. Then I heard from you. When you broke up with me.”
Tweek doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Maybe Craig saying he’s sorry. That he’s been thinking about it for a while and didn’t know how to do it. Maybe admittance to being a coward. Maybe to having no fucking honor.
But he doesn’t hear any of that.
“No,” Craig says quickly. Adamantly. Like even hearing the idea of it pisses him off. “I wouldn’t do that. I – I couldn’t.”
Whatever Tweek is expecting, it’s not this.
“But you did,” Tweek says. “After this week ends, you break up with me. And we stay that way. I won't see you again until – until tonight. At our high school reunion.”
Craig looks distraught. It spreads across his face. Makes him look impossibly younger. “But I love you. I wouldn’t break up with you.”
“That’s what I thought too. It doesn’t change the fact that it happened.”
“This makes even less sense to me than this whole…” Craig gestures wildly between them. “Situation. I can believe we’re in some fucked up time situation. I don’t buy that I broke up with you for one goddamn second.”
Tweek’s head is hurting. He doesn’t know whether it’s from the alcohol he had tonight or the fact that this whole thing is illogical.
How does Craig go from this twenty-two year old man who wouldn’t dream of breaking up with him to the guy who told him he needed independence tonight?
“Do you remember,” Tweek starts, “what I told you about my mom? About when she left?”
“Huh?” Craig looks at him like this doesn’t make sense. Like it doesn’t add anything to the conversation. “Of course I do. She told you she saw some future version of herself and knew she had to leave or some bullshit. I thought it was some hallucination from all the medication she was taking.”
Tweek remembers Craig thinking that. Remembers thinking the same damn thing when he got older and realized his mother abandoned him.
She had been so disassociated with life, so unhappy, that she made up some vision for why she had to leave. Tweek never fit into her vision, so he was left behind.
“I’m starting to think that maybe it wasn’t a hallucination,” Tweek says. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe… maybe time tried to fix something for her. And now it’s trying to do the same thing for us.”
Tweek looks at Craig. Really looks at him. Can see the way he’s trying to rationalize this in his head. He is logical. He thinks in equations and scientific experiments. He tests variables and comes to conclusions that fit inside a nice reasonable box.
But this is that. This defies the very way Craig views the world. He’s going to have to shift to adjust. Something he’s never been good at. But Tweek can see the way he’s starting to realize that himself. To realize what he’s risking if he doesn’t.
Him.
Them.
Tweek has lost them already. This version of Craig hasn’t.
It’s enough for Craig to abandon all logic.
“What do we do?”