Hi, my name is Tweek Tweak and I'm an addict

Tweek stands in the water.

“It’s the closest thing to a beach.”

With a breath leaving his lungs, Tweek blinks and watches the coldness circling him. He is the only disturbance as he chose to step in the serenity to seek a drop of it. It is icy. He doesn’t like the sensation stinging him through his spine, just as much as he doesn’t think to get out.

The ends of his soft, baggy sweatpants have already sucked too much to not become a dead weight with him. His eyes drift on the facing shore. The wind is the only one proving that it isn’t a weird imitation of a pond. It doesn’t sound like a beach or its soothing, hungry waves - far from that. It’s pathetic. Really pathetic. But Tweek is desperate to be satisfied by the bit of reality he just found, standing with his ankles deep into Stark Pond.

A lick of his lips lulls him to return to the mediocre water but he soon purses them. No sounds bother the rare clapotis. He knows he isn’t alone and no matter how he turns it in his head he can’t comprehend how.

“Thanks,” he breathes out. His mouth is rashly dry next to the pond.

“You will catch a cold if you stay too long like this.”

“I know.” Tweek agrees. Staring at the deep blue, a poor attempt as he still feels to be the one overexposed. “I know, Kyle.”

He recognizes the footsteps of his friend in the back. Kyle must be edging the pathetic lake or maybe trying to catch a look at him without walking completely across the bank; nonetheless, he stays quiet after the snow is shuffled once or twice.

“It’s already been several minutes,” he says with a faint grumpiness.

Tweek knows it isn’t for him but it still makes him swallow. Kyle is only unhappy because of his health – that Tweek wants, in the middle of a winter night, to stand in a pond. He wonders with squinted eyes if he would have to swim to reach the middle. If he would even be alive by then. Before he can remember how to move his limbs for a step, he stumbles on his guilt.

“Alright, you are coming back,” Kyle interjects with a tone that would make Tweek feel protected if he wasn’t thinking about the depth one toe further.

It foreshadowes the nonsense of his mind. Tweek has planned to listen, to step out of the water but instead he must have blacked out. He wakes up to the icy bite from the rousing water; Kyle has disturbed the calm by striding to his side – swearing under his breath that it is way too fucking cold.

Tweek lifelessly follows where Kyle’s hand drags him to. “I’m sorry-”

“I should have checked on the temperature,” he swears, quickly making his way on the snowy shore. “Fuck!” He shakes his feet and pushes him to sit on the bench. “How did you stay that long in there, Tweek? Put your shoes on,” he urges with a move of his chin.

His fingers hurt when they touch his shoes. He can’t recognize if they are shaking, just that if he could he wouldn’t move them. He wouldn’t move much at all. Kyle settles next to him, faster and clear-headed, already tying his shoes on when Tweek has only slipped one foot in one of his drawn-on sneakers. He looks up after he finishes squeezing the water at the end of his pants to frown at him.

“I’m sorry,” Tweek blurts out, staring at the snow around his wet feet.

“I don’t need you to say that, Tweek,” he quietly dismisses and takes his hands between his own to rub them softly together. Tweek can’t tell if they are cold or not. They probably are since Kyle drags them toward his mouth to blow on them. “What are you thinking about?”

He doesn’t know what to say.
He doesn’t know what he was thinking about.
He doesn’t know what kind of fucked up he has in him to think about depth.
How depth starts to feel more and more like a real bed with no nightmares.

“It’s not the beach.”

“No,” Kyle confirms, still rubbing their hands together before realizing that his shoes are still off. “Put them on. I will tie them, your fingers are almost blue.”

Tweek forgot about colors. The moon drops onto them a sad halo and he is sure they aren’t blue - only out of sensations which he is jealous of. His eyes flinch in front of him when Kyle strongly ties his shoes. Anyone could see the small bump on his face from their Tweek’s punch. He doesn’t mind the bruise he got in turn; it isn’t the first time. A small part of him is aware that he overreacted while the other just wants to punch his friend another time.

It’s making him sick. He wishes he was better - but he did agree to be blind and be pulled down.

“It hurts?” Tweek voices with a weird pitch in his throat when Kyle stands up.

“What?”

He coughs to jolt up his throat. “Your face.”

Kyle stands in front of him before gently grabbing his arm to get Tweek up. “Not really, maybe because I had worse,” he answers with ease, “ you gave me worse.”

Tweek blankly nods and they are quickly heading toward the car. He stares at the messy trail of the road, feeling ready to lay down and never move again and his arm is still held. As he silently glances to the back of Kyle's head, he tries to stop on his trail but his friend pushes him back on track. Kyle shoots him a questioning look over his shoulder - only Tweek glances down and wonders why he isn’t in the middle of the pond.

South Park is muted to his own ears. Everything but the odd white noise in the back of his mind has been rendered completely silent. Tweek knows that he wouldn’t hear it if he was dead.

“Why are we here?” He croaks out when they reach the parking lot empty except for one car.

“You said you wanted to go to the beach,” Kyle answers and looks for his keys with his free hand. Tweek glances at their joined hands. He can’t feel when he moves a finger nor when the grip tightens. “Since we are in a shithole without even a pool I brought us to the pond.”

“Why are you here?” Tweek frowns and tuges until his hand is free.

Because he can’t feel his legs, he doesn’t try to go away as planned. Kyle stares at him - almost like he is sad for some reason. Tweek isn’t sad, nor angry. He feels nothing. And he doesn’t want to see what he should feel on Kyle’s face.

“Tweek, get in the car, we are going to get a cold.”

He knows it is not what Kyle wants to say, which is a relief. Tweek doesn’t want to hear anything. As he slowly climbs in the car, which is when Kyle takes the driver seat, he feverishly wonders why he even told him about the beach. If Tweek hadn’t sent that text - it would have been only him and the pond. With only the void swimming around.

“I want to eat something,” Kyle muses as he buckles up his belt. “We have like 2 hours before class,” he points out with a look at the car clock brightening them.

Tweek ignores his stare to have a taste of his frozen nails. There isn’t much to bite on but the weird sensation of his teeth in his skin makes his mind gasp for a breath; he doesn’t even have to move, his teeths clatter themselves.

“Don’t bite your nails Tweek,” he warns and Tweek can only frown when he pushes away his hand. “Put a playlist on,” he requests, as if he replied before, handing his phone unlocked.

“Choose it yourself.”

“I’m driving,” Kyle quips and turns on the heat.

Tweek twitchs and focuses on the phone on his lap, only taking it when the screen starts to darken. He lazily scrolls through the many playlists - too disgusted to even try to feel soft at the sight of one named ‘ Stan ’; he clicks on random.

His arms quickly circle himself as he settles against the window to feel the rumble in his guts. He wonders if he could even drive a car or if his parents are right about his capacities and it isn’t worth a try. Giving up and seeing dark, Tweek drowns himself in his vacant feelings.

The ride is too short, too tasteless for Tweek to willingly get out. He could see Kyle’s patience with him but he only wants to tell him to fuck off. They stay quiet while the music fills what it can. Tweek stares at the snack shop, mainly for pancakes, in front of them. Both of them are stubborn. People believe Tweek isn’t; after all, he looks like a frail sick twig. He closes his eyes, too tired to keep them open even when he is grabbed.

“Come on, there is no one,” Kyle says with a small squeeze on Tweek’s forearm before leaving the car.

Swallowing and tasting the drowsy after-taste in his mouth, he uncurls from himself. His hand slips when he tries to open the car door. His jaw clenches and he opens it strong enough for the door to swing back. Kyle says nothing, only closes the car and walks toward Tweek’s side - not leaving him alone even if he wants to stay with his shadow.

At least, it isn’t a lie that the place is empty. If a plump goth hadn’t appeared behind the counter they would have been in a proper supernatural movie setting. Tweek doesn’t meet Henrietta’s eyes, wishing to be a stranger as he walks to a booth and slips in.

“Hi,” Kyle greets her as he follows him.

She slowly makes her way toward them with a sigh that echoes in his head. “If you are going to do that stupid waffle vine, I will burn everything down.”

“Do I look like Kenny?”

Tweek has no need to look to feel all the eyes on him. He curls up a hand and stares at the window. A car distantly drives by, by the short apparition of light, before it dips back to silence.

“So,” Henrietta states and Tweek makes the mistake to meet her eyes in the reflection. “What the fuck do you want when it’s not even 6 a.m.”

“Waffles and coffee? Please.”

“Sure. Like I don’t have anything better to do.”

She drifts back to the kitchen and Tweek meets Kyle’s insisting gaze. His empty eyes don’t scare him away or even make him want to busy himself with his phone. Nevertheless, Tweek isn’t going to make it easy for him when, in the first place, he doesn’t want to be here.

“Your lips are blue.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Kyle does that pouty frown but shows no sign of giving him peace. “I want to be alone.”

“If that was the case you wouldn’t have sent that text.”

“Nobody should be awake at that time.”

“Well, surprise, I was,” he deadpans and probably only for the style, moves his phone on the table to have it on his left.

“You’re such a bitch, always minding everyone’s business,” Tweek spits out without needing to return the glare. He knows his face has been hateful for a while now. “With your stupid ideas,” he mumbles, “dickhead.”

“Douchebag,” Kyle replies without moving his piercing eyes away as Henrietta settles two large cups of coffee in front of them.

“Raven is coming?”

He looks away to meet her bored eyes. “No.”

Henrietta shoots an accusing look at him at his lack of justification. She turns to Tweek with more softness. “Heard you got a duck, Tweek. Sounds amazing.”

He stares at the cup, sliding it with one hand to another with the aim of watching drops spill out. It’s rude but he has a vicious satisfaction to have the upper hand here. Either he lets her wait long enough or answers with a bitchy response. The brief control of the setting powers him up but swiftly dies down because his guts butt on his behavior.

“Yeah.” Tweek is too tired to find anything else to say.

They stay silent and probably stare at him like he is the anomaly here. It’s their problem.

Kyle clears his throat. “How much do I owe you?”

“I’ll bring the bill,” she slowly answers before walking away.

Tweek tastes the coffee. Kyle takes out his wallet for some money. Their eyes meet but Tweek quickly diverts himself on the plates Henrietta is bringing them. They are settled in front of each other; only now he realizes there is no music to live up the ambiance. She slams down a bottle of chocolate, maple syrup and whipped cream on their table.

“We didn’t order that-”

“I don’t care,” she cuts as she hands the bill to Kyle. “I’m not working at this hour to follow the rules.”

He offers a smile with the money. “Thanks.”

“Don’t call for me,” Henrietta warns with a last look at Tweek before slipping back behind the counter to reach a door.

Tweek grabs the whipped cream and greedily fills his open mouth with it. A bit sprays on the corner of his lips, forcing him to take a break to not have it glide down.

“I think all the goths are hanging out back there,” Kyle says, staring at the, probably, kitchen door before turning to grab the chocolate sauce. Tweek doesn’t care and squishes the maple syrup all over his pancake. “What the- Tweek , you don’t have diabetes but that doesn’t mean you have to fucking eat the whole bottle.”

“Sucks to be you,” he quips back, shaking the bottle to ignore his friend.

The sweetness makes him sick at the fifth bite. Actually, he doesn’t even munch one bite  - as soon as there is space he fills his mouth with another oversweeted pancake. The coffee readjusts his tongue to taste something other than sugar. He will definitely throw up later today but for once he is hungry. Probably only to ignore how empty he is feeling.

Kyle steals his last soaked pancake before he can have a bit. With his know-it-all face he has definitely noticed that Tweek isn’t feeling good. When he tries his concoction, he grimaces and quickly tries to scour most of the syrup, which is a pained satisfaction for Tweek to watch; he should have never taken his pancake in the first place.

He nurses his twitches at the bottom of his stomach. His hand halts when he reaches out for the coffee but he never denies himself. He might even ask for a refill if Henrietta is still around but he doesn’t want to walk in the backroom and discover the goths having a cursed reunion or incantation of some kind. To his surprise, Kyle finishes his pancake after shaving it many times to avoid most of the sugar. The more he looks, the sicker he feels.

Tweek looks away when their eyes meet. Feeling the silent mourn, he decides it is better to admire the creepy parking lot.

“You are trying to push us away because you don’t think-”

“Because you are assholes-” Tweek doesn’t act on the need to snap a glare at him.

“You are afraid that we won’t like you if we see or know what you think,” Kyle quips. “It’s not going to change anything Tweek. We are here for you.”

“No.”

“So we can let you be here for us but not the other way around?”

“It’s different. That’s– it’s- we are different.”

“We are friends .”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be," Tweek retorts, sinking at the weight in his throat. He closes his eyes to ignore everything.

Kyle sounds like he is restraining a sigh. “Do you want to go somewhere else? Sleep?”

Since Tweek was a kid, his life has been all about coffee.
The coffee shop, the coffee tasting, the coffee publicity, the coffee smell, the coffee arts - at this point the only thing that is missing is a coffee transfusion. Not really excited about that, if he is honest.

Tweek never minded it much as a kid. His brain has linked the warm drink to his only comfort. It also might have been his first word, it wouldn’t be a surprise, he probably drank more coffee than milk during his childhood. All of this should explain the weirdness of his body. Just of him : Tweek Tweak. Coffee addict.

His cold tolerance might also come from that, explaining how warm temperature quickly affects him. The cold is just brushing over him like an afterthought and scrambles away when he gives no reaction. A tickle that is nice on his cheeks next to his friends engulfed into heavy scarves.

Without the chance to notice that his coffee was laced with meth, he had already got himself sick on his family drink. When the realization hit him, he wasn’t certain he could get past it. If he really was drugged since he was a kid— it was probably too late to get out of it, would it even be worth it?

What is worse is that his parents could have done it on purpose. They are the one mixing the coffee with it and pushing the drink in his hands - always insisting that he should drink more at each and every one of his problems.

“Shit, we have to break it,” Kyle swears, flinging the chain trapping the door.

Tweek watches him turn around before leaving him alone in front of the door leading to the only ladder for the school’s roof. One look over his shoulder reminds him that Kyle hasn’t forgotten about him. Even if he can share the idea of getting away from himself if possible.

Without really thinking, he flattens himself against the wall. Something is crawling out from his inside - he feels it right against his heart. The beating is too quiet to not be hiding on purpose. He feels numb.

Lacking an emergency and only thinking of extermination, Tweek lets a shaky exhale leave him. His eyes give out at the same time his legs do. It is a slow, asperous fall that suits him for the lack of feelings.

Tweek can feel his mouth swallow a cold knot that ricochets down in his void stomach.

There hasn’t been much in his head since the weekend. It’s sickening and bothering to not be anxious; not that he isn’t worried about anything. Only that he can’t care enough about it. Instead of reassuring himself, or even lifting up a weight from his shoulders - Tweek lives dead.

Tweek can’t remember when that sickening mood degenerated. Maybe it has always been like that when he stops moving because he is shaking too much to move, with no strength left to control his impulse of tearing his hair out. Without starting to hang out with Stan’s gang, he probably would have never noticed this odd switch. Sometimes he revels in this new state. 

It’s unfamiliar and yet reassuring. He is free from his anxiety, even if this asks of him to be out of mostly everything. It only proves how more messed up he is than what he ever expected.

A kamikaze button. Tweek will never admit it to anyone and couldn’t even to his mirror, but that’s its name. It’s so easy to fuck everything up on purpose. Not by accident or because he is a stupid teenager. He wants to hit where it hurts. Because it hurts.

His lungs are cleaned out of air and his resolution flies astray. He can’t bring himself to care anymore: about himself, about his friends, about life. When he will be left alone because he is too much. Tweek is too much and he knows it.

A loud clang scares off his torment. He clumsily tries to get back on his feet with his head angrily ringing with the multiple hits on the lock. At a pronounced momentum, the short pipe in Kyle’s hand finally breaks the door open. He chuckles proudly and pockets the broken lock.

Tweek notices that he also brought a thick blanket, which he keeps stuck under an arm.

“You okay? I told you the sugar will make you sick,” Kyle says without venom but it still pisses him off. “Think you can climb the ladder?”

“I’m not a fucking baby,” he squabbles with a glare.

It doesn’t work since Kyle hasn’t replied with one of his own, only past the door with the blanket under one of his arms. He fails at kicking Kyle after he gibbers a mockery.

They all caught the habit of finding a place to hide when they are sick of the rest of the world. Tweek thinks it’s a habit Kenny rubbed on them - their small gang is already baptising some hidden places as theirs before Tweek was with them.

It’s impossible for him to understand how he ended up in their group. He does remember talking to Kenny because he got a major panic attack in front of his house. But after that, he isn’t sure whether Stan and Kyle showed up the same day while Kenny showed Tweek garbage spots to break stuff - or if they appeared the next day without asking for any details. Anyhow, nobody ever asked why Tweek was here; except Cartman but it was always shut down by any of the others.

If they had been one or two years younger, Tweek is convinced he wouldn’t have been in the gang. Not that his friends were straight assholes as kids - a bit, yeah. But they were kids , as in they don’t realize that there are more important things than reputation or which group you belong with.

Tweek knows he was labelled as a freak, still is probably, so having regular and close friends for him never really happened. At least, he knows the reason why he is branded - it might be worse to not know why. He could hang out with some people as a kid but it was always without the promise to not be ignored tomorrow. Tweek had always been a temporary feature until Stan’s gang.

Though if they were still the same kids that always ended up in trouble, Tweek would have definitely walked away; which he did when he was ten years old and it’s definitely a great decision. They are still crazy, although Tweek learnt along the way that sometimes it was fun. Even with all their troubles he doesn’t feel any anxiety next to them. Life is easier with them and many good sides that he struggled to recognize before. It is so invigorating that he fears that it is the only time he will ever feel like this.

“I didn’t think I'd be here.”

Kyle glances at him with his typical inquisitive eyebrow. “On the roof?”

He is still squirming around with the blanket to try to get a proper comfy spot for their asses, covering themselves with the one blanket. Tweek wouldn’t have a blanket over him if it wasn’t for him.

“Here,” he replies, “just— in general. Life .”

Kyle slows down in his task before he carefully brushes the tissue down their thighs.

“I would be sad if you weren’t here,” he replies once they are both lying down, “in general.” The last words sound like it costs him a lot but Tweek only stares at the monochrome clouds. “I’m glad you’re here, Tweek.”

“You wouldn’t know if I wasn’t.”

“But I know,” Kyle argues. “I can’t imagine it if you weren’t here. With us.”

“I can,” Tweek whispers. His eyes perk at the finger brushing his hand, slowly taken in a soft but groundsetting grasp. “I think I’m sick,” he confesses after his eyes close. Breaking the bridge for tears to slip as he realizes that it was said out loud.

The warm hand curls his before another one joins to rub it between them.

“You’re not,” Kyle replies.

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.” This time, he doesn’t lose any second and it reassures Tweek just as much as it makes him more uneasy. “I tried to understand why you would say so.”

Tweek doesn’t know where to start; even if he wants his dear friend to know everything that happens behind his brain, he is convinced it will cost their friendship. There are so many noises that he has learnt to keep in there because it is not the time nor the place to talk about it. Everything is so silent now.

It turns his upside-down further into Hell because it is too unfamiliar and dead in his head. It just proves that when he isn’t thinking nonsense - Tweek is empty.
No anxiety, no thoughts, no music, no emotions: nothing.

“When Stan–” Kyle trails off and the heaviness of the air falls on Tweek’s lungs.

“What?”

He meets Kyle’s gaze after the pause lasts. His green eyes are acting blind.

“Before he tried to kill himself two years ago– I saw how, it’s...” Tweek is about to cut him, to throw the subject away but his mouth clenches close when his hand is squeezed harder. “Stan didn’t mind getting hurt,” Kyle articulates before worrying his pale bottom lip. “He would bump into stuff without even voicing that it hurts or just trying to get sick.” They all remember that. It had been weird and Tweek never said so but understood how Stan was thinking at that time. “Once I thought he would have jumped, when we were hanging on the bridge,” he explains with his eyes looking away before settling back into Tweek’s fleeing pair. “He probably forgot I was there because he walked away when I called him and-and laughed like nothing had happened.”

“And? Stan is here. What’s your point?” He breathes out, not sure his throat will allow more. 

“You know what it is,” Kyle argues with a nasty frown only broken by a sad grimace. “I think you’re doing it, subconsciously, maybe. Not caring if you hurt yourself because you don’t care anymore,” he says over the cautious touches. His fingers press on his sweating hand. “I don’t want you to start thinking like this.”

Tweek snaps his eyes away and clenches his teeth without giving mind that his tongue has been at the edge of them. He doesn’t cry when his hand is cuddled - forcefully turning it around to look at the bitten nails, the small cuts and bruises from working, the sick color bitten by the cold.

“I’m not–” Tweek takes a sickening breath.

“I didn’t say that,” Kyle says with a finger rubbing the center of his palm, “I only think that you don’t care about what happens to yourself.”

And what about it. He can’t scoff because that would open other things from the bottom of his guts.

“But I know you still do.” The soothness tickles Tweek. “You wouldn’t try to talk about it, or make yourself happy if you didn’t want to get– out . But you think that by pushing us away, it will give you good reasons to completely give up.”

“Don’t– psychoanalyze me,” Tweek articulates with closed, tortured and tired eyes.

Kyle glances at him before his jaw tightens. “I don’t mean to. Sorry.”

Tweek can breathe in. Breathe out.

Feel the hole in his chest. Ignore the myriad of eyes in his head. Taste the fear in his bloodstreams. Avoid the cold from within his lungs. Tweek is fighting through a rat maze to get the final rinse.

That’s what he is expecting, patiently and diligently kneeling for – he waits for the ocean to get him down. The sun is already blocked by its black waves. If he goes down, there won’t be a coming up. He would ignore that he wants to call his friend when it will crash and drown him so thoroughly there will be nothing left to see. No one will ever think about Tweek ever again.
The meth inked a bad omen in his poisoned lungs and it is useless to fight through it.

Tweek is already holding his breath. He will count one-two-three and free him of air as he is rocked to the depth. What’s the most agonizing is all the eyes on him, watching and waiting for him - maybe it is fun to watch him looking from afar how others get to breathe. He knows he doesn’t have any particular talents or is even particularly enjoyable to have around.

“You are–” his throat closes up at the odd tone but Tweek determinedly clears it. “You are out here. Doing things. Actually living.”

Kyle keeps his eyes on him even if he continues to avoid it, only looking from time to time. Tweek feels like his friend could leave at any moment and he wonders why it hadn’t happened already. At some point his friends will say that they can’t be here for him. Maybe they would think like his parents - that it's just a small dementia to reason with his incapacity.

“You are too.”

“No.” He frowns at the sky slowly clearing up. “It’s– I am not. I don’t feel like I have a life.” Tweek doesn't cry. “I’m not in control of anything. I won’t go to college, can’t even get a driver's license or just– what’s even thepoint?”

Kyle’s eyes blink down to the bitten nails scratching his arms. Tweek doesn't realize he has caged himself in his arms until Kyle smoothes his fingers away with his own.

“Life sucks.” It’s a normal thing to announce; but it still sucks out the air from Tweek’s lungs. “It’s like a roller coaster, or… a boat into the ocean– which one do you prefer?” Kyle pauses and he ignores him. “When you're on a roller coaster, it goes up or down. Sometimes it stays at the same level, but it’s like life. Sometimes you just fall, plunge down without any control and it fucks you up. Maybe you have to throw up-”

A sudden gasp of air reaches Tweek, almost allowing him to laugh but it dies down in a choked tone. “If I wanted to remember Stan throwing up at the fair last year, I would have just looked up at the video.”

“ You are trying to not throw up,” Kyle continues, unbothered, “which is bad for your health. And a bit dumb. Because I am here– Stan and Kenny too-”

“You want me to throw up on you?” He whispers, half-mortified but tempted.

Kyle stays quiet, obviously uncomfortable about the subject. If his grimace is anything to go by - he would have picked another metaphor.

“Yeah,” he articulates at last, “only because it will make you feel better, obviously . Because it’s better to get it out of the system.”

“You can die of dehydration.”

Kyle frowns at him - not telling outloud for him to stop being a bitch but his face is still screaming it. “I’m not saying to do it every day, just remember that it’s an option. Whenever you need to.We wouldn’t mind and that could make you feel better. I know you think it bothers us but what bothers us is you getting sick and that– you are scared to talk to us.”

Tweek tries to bury his head in himself until he feels a warm embrace slowly cup him up.
He sees Kyle’s shoulder but quickly closes his eyes as a hand brushes through his hair.

“I love you, Tweek.” He wishes it was true. That Kyle could stay here, blocking the waves away and not keep his eyes open. “Now it’s hard, because your parents are assholes and we are stuck in a single-brained town that wastes our time.” Tweek reaches for the hug at Kyle’s words, feeling the cry in his throat when he is squeezed in his arms. A kiss at the top of his head makes him swallow. “But you’re not alone, and we won’t let you be. If you want a driving licence, I will teach you,” Kyle promises against his blond strands. “You think you won’t get out of here, but you will.”

“I don’t know,” Tweek gasps out, “everyone is going forward and… I’m just stuck here because I have no-”

“Tweek,” Kyle harshly cuts but it is better like that. He falls silent, closing his eyes when his head is softly grabbed so they can face each other. “There is no way you are stuck. You drank meth forever but stopped this shit at twelve years old– by yourself . Once we get out of here, after your parents go fuck themselves, it’s going to be way better. Trust me.”

His jaw clenches, once, twice, but still feels loose and restraining what doesn’t need to be.
“You will get tired of me. I’m a fucking mess and I’m an addict and maybe it was better with meth because that didn’t mean I wasn’t the problem.”

His tears still don’t spill. It is a relief; small but existent and it worries.

“Do you think I would give my time to someone who isn’t going to get his head out of his ass?”

His eyes jump open. Tweek purses his lips and curls his fists on his shoulder.

“Maybe?” He croaks out, surprising Kyle whose head stays quiet against his.

A high-pitched snort escapes him before they are drawn closer in their hug, jumping past the border to get comfort and feel together.
“Of course not,” he chuckles, “I wouldn’t care so much if I didn’t think you were awesome, Tweek. You’re my friend and I know that if I let you crash on my couch you won’t get lazy.”
Tweek hides his head against Kyle’s shoulder, trying to breathe. “You’re not an addict either, not a problem and– maybe a bit broken but nobody is perfect. It makes sense with how you grew up. Even us,” Kyle trails off with a feathery voice. Feelings still trapping some notes but he fights through it. “You try so many new things, and even if you don’t master all of it, I think it’s amazing to be like this. What do you want to study after we leave this death hole?”

He shrugs. “It’s not about college especially. I just don’t think I will find something to do,” he mutters, half-realizing that he is nuzzling his head against his shoulder. A thought makes him wonder how long he could stay against him.

“I have no idea either, you know.”

“Yeah, but still you have the option to go to college,” he argues, “my parents would marry and chain me to the coffee shop.”

“Your parents are disgusting assholes,” Kyle spits with his chin settled on the top of Tweek’s head. “Honestly, most parents should look at themselves before talking about how we are the worst kids in the world.”

Tweek feels himself almost laughing. That’s what he likes the most about Kyle. He is brutally honest with him and they both know it brings them sometimes to fight, but Tweek wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Sometimes,” he pauses when Kyle shifts around to not get sore in their position. “I think it would have been better to have Kenny’s or Butters’ parents.”

“Better?” He squeaks in indignation.

“Like– easier,” he hurries out. “I want to hate my parents. But I can’t help it because sometimes they act like they are trying to be better… And I just think if they were beating me it would be easier for me to not have false hope.” Kyle tightens his grip and Tweek enjoys the intensity. “It’s weird, right?”

“Well, yes but I see your point.”

“It would just help to not think they still can come around.” Tweek shifts his head until he pauses on the brightening up sky; some sun rays finally come through the night and melt with the obscure shades. The world gives him back some taste.

“They don’t want you to have a driving licence?” Kyle asks.

“They don’t think a spaz can get it. Waste of time.”

“We should draw a dick on their car.”

“That could be funny.”

“I will teach you how to drive if you really want.”

“It’s not even that,” Tweek says and shuffles around, feeling like a baby staying in the hug. “It’s just the idea that I would get more options– they just really want to keep me here because they want someone else to keep the coffee shop.”

“You know what I think about them,” he mutters and must have realized the sun is rising up because he peers up. The clouds arestarting to warm up and it almost cheers Tweek up. Most of the relief comes from his friend but it still tingles him pleasantly to see the light. “I’m not saying it will definitely be easier after highschool, probably not at the beginning, but once you have your parents off your back, that will be something less to worry about. And they're definitely not helping you here, Tweek.”

Tweek licks his lips before stretching up to sit and also have a view. It is something that he never thought about much; but Tweek would like to travel - it’s frightening and heavily anxious but he is too curious to be held down. With a glance to his friend, he watches how the chill still makes Kyle shiver while the sun shyly shows up. He never said so but he wants to travel with his friends.

“I want to be like you, or Stan,” Tweek whispers and bites on his lip to pinch himself, “just– to have that someone , you know.”

Kyle fully looks at him and he can’t move away so he sulks up to ignore his piercing gaze. “We are here for you Tweek-”

“Not like that,” he cuts, feeling sick and embarrassed from the bottom of his guts. “To… To be someone’s favorite.” A short breeze makes him relish on their spot; words part away and pushes him to shrink further into a childish shame. “I know it’s stupid. I-I get that it’s dumb and probably making no sense except that I’m selfish,” he blabs out. His hand crushes itself on his throat and he holds it right where he can feel the knot. It’s a small grasp of control that could stop him from going too far. His nails dig into his skin. 

“Tweek-”

“I just-” A wave of tears halts him but they fall down like a gentle warning. “I was never the top priority. My parents care more about the shop than me… And before you guys I didn’t even have proper friends. And I– I don’t know how it feels and I know it’s impossible. To be the only thing for someone. But...”

Feeling oppressed, he glances at Kyle as his hand finally leaves his exposed throat. Kyle stares before blinking away - scooching closer even if by now it is useless. Tweek doesn’t say anything when his hands just rub on his arms to warm him up; it ends up in a half-hug with the side of their heads meeting halfway.

“I get it,” Kyle confesses at last. “I’m not a hypocrite– I mean, Stan is my favorite person.” His hands pauses on his arms before they drift to hold Tweek’s hands too. “It’s just, like that , I don’t know. I don’t think I can love someone as much as I do with Stan. It’s not really a choice.”

“I think it’s amazing.” He really does. Tweek is just very jealous. “I’m not trying to take that away or…”

Kyle must have heard his whisper because he slowly rubs his thumb on top of one of his shaky hands.

“It doesn’t mean nobody cares about you too, Tweek. You’re important to me as much as Ike and Kenny are. It’s different but you still are one of my priorities,” he explains. Tweek hates that he uses the same terms - it means that he listened , judged. “You are worth it.”

“You aren’t a hypocrite, just a lucky dick,” he chokes out to not feel the tears up. Kyle, one of the best, hugs him closer. “I don’t even know if I really like baking or if it’s just a habit.”

“You seem happy when you bake.”

“Yeah?”

Kyle nods. “It’s not because you started to do it because your parents needed to fill people with something other than meth, that means it’s not because you will end up not liking it.”

"I think I like it."

Tweek dislikes lying; he doubts too much about his parents’ words. It might be why he is so uncomfortable about acting, he can’t help but relate it to his parents' business talks.

“We probably have like an hour left before class,” Kyle whispers, glancing at him but Tweek hides his face against his folded up knees. “Wanna sleep in the car?”

He shrugs before he remembers that Kyle has basketball practice on Wednesday - today. “Yeah, okay.”

“You feel like sleeping?”

“I think so.”

Kyle has his lion’s wrinkle on when he stands up. “Did you sleep before texting us?”

“I think I have been awake for like forty hours.”

“Alright, we are going to sleep in the car,” he decides, taking the blanket in his arms after folding.

Tweek stares at him, unsure if his legs aren’t too shaky after opening so many pandora’s boxes. He meets Kyle’s gentle eyes and patient hand.

Of course - he reaches for it with tears drowning his eyes.

Sleep doesn’t come. He finds it a bit disappointing to not have a panoramic roof in a car; who wants to live in a box. But it is still comfortable. The back seats have been pushed down for them both to have space to lay down. They aren’t hugging but Tweek feels better enough by simply knowing that his friend is at his reach.

“I’m sorry if I’m not helping,” Kyle said after they stayed quiet in the car for a while. Tweek had been staring at the roof and tugs on the skin around his nails. “I know I’m always trying to convince you that you should try a therapist– I feel like I’m not here for you if I don’t, you know?” He didn’t answer, only brewing for himself the images of their last fight and how Kyle really had to put his nose in everyone’s problems. “I just think it’s worth a try,” he continued, “like it did for Kenny’s brother. Maybe he wouldn’t have spoken again if he didn’t talk to a therapist.”

“That’s totally different.” Tweek isn’t harmed by his parents. Just left over.

“I know, but I want you to feel better.” Tweek fell mute and wanted to cry when Kyle hugged him sideways. “I see how much you get better by yourself and I just wonder if you wouldn’t be happy quicker if you try this. You’re always here for me. I want to do the same for you.”

They stayed on those words. He tried to not think about it in this half reconfort. Kyle had left him the choice to put music on if he wanted to - he doesn’t need it and would even prefer if it was noiseless to sleep; but the AC was enough to fill in the silence inside Tweek’s head.

Without properly sleeping, he wanders between a soft coma and a lack of life. It is a good sugar crash. He startles up at the soft knocking and at Kenny drawing a dick with the mist on the car’s window facing him. With a hand, he swats Kyle awake. His grumpiness jostles up and he insultes every part of his supposed friends before unlocking the car once he finds his keys.

“Hello, hello,” Kenny sings, swiftly closing the door behind him when he sits in the driver seat. Tweek can recognize from the chatter that there are already many people at their highschool - he dives back under the windows to not be seen by any of them. “How was your bros’ night?”

“Don’t talk that loud, asshole,” Kyle mutters as he straightens up with his hat askew. He doesn’t lighten up when Stan hands him a coffee-to-go but there is a newborn flush shutting him up. His boyfriend just smiles at both of them, blocking the opened door in the back to reach for him.

“We had waffles,” Tweek answers.

He knows that they are going to talk once he will be out of earshot. Weirdly, he trusts them enough to not think they would stab him in the back. Frankly he doesn’t want to repeat everything he said to Kyle with anyone else.

He just has time to stretch before Kyle and Stan kiss. It is short and would have been unnoticed if Stan hadn't handed him coffee-to-go at the same time; as if realizing that they are in each other's space and just need to kiss. Tweek shoots a biased look at Kenny who just smiles with a shrug.

“Gonna have a boner for the rest of the day,” he comments.

Tweek hides his laugh behind his coffee as the other two sharply cut their chaste love.

“Seriously, Kenny?!” Stan calls with a glare while Kyle sulkily, yet deadly stares at him, turns to his coffee.

“I’m just stating the obvious. Plus you don’t want someone to see you two and spread it around school, right? Just reminding you to keep it in your pants.”

He groans. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m going to sing Bro Duet at your wedding so you better take that back.”

“Like I will invite you to our wedding,” Kyle retorts, bending his neck from left to right with a groan and innocently missing Stan’s quick double take and his flushed cheeks.

Tweek wakes his face up with small cold slaps. With a deep breath he watches the drops falling down in one of the school’s bathroom sinks - only peering up at his reflection when he realizes his knuckles have turned white on the edge of it.

He hears the flush going twice before Kenny walks out from the toilet to wash his hands. His hips playfully bump into Tweek who doesn’t budge.

“Do you think it’s difficult to change schools?”

Tweek frowns and looks at him. “Like to go to Butters’?”

“Yeah, no,” he replies with a shake of his head. “Not me but I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be better for Karen.”

Drying his face with his sleeve, Tweek tastes dry lips. “Why are you still talking to Butters if you don’t want to see him?”

Kenny tears paper for his wet hands without meeting his eyes. “I just want to be back without trying to slap his cute ass. Maybe it will be over after the winter break.”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, “days ago you tried to break into his place and then cried when you thought he had moved out of town.”

He ignores the glare to brush the end of his neck with his cold hand - it doesn’t wake him up as he would like but it brings his senses closer to reality.

“I was drunk,” Kenny argues, starting to sound offended, “and you wouldn’t even know about it if Stan didn’t tell you. You were dead drunk.”

“True.”

Tweek doesn’t see what would be the point of denying. He wanted to be wasted and it worked; although he remembers more than he expected. It’s one of the main reasons he doesn’t want to meet Craig.

Since their paths rarely meet, Tweek only has to worry about some classes they share and might happen to be close enough to talk. Not that Tweek wants to– and Craig certainly doesn’t either - they aren’t that much good friends so it would surprise Tweek if he tries anything other than a polite ‘how are you doing’. It’s not that he is embarrassed of his drunken self–- a bit; but just imagining that Craig might ask him questions makes him want to hide, so Tweek does. He foggily remembers grabbing Craig’s face too many times to be innocent.

When they walked toward their high school - Tweek forced himself not to look too much as they passed next to Craig’s gang at the entrance of the building. Craig and Clyde bought every second they could to stay on their skateboards while Token and Jimmy chatted not far with Heidi. He only looked away after Craig did a small flip, who didn’t even stop to greet them when they walked by, only flipping his finger at Stan when their eyes met.

Tweek tries to forget about all of it as he walks in his class, trying to decipher what is going on around him without tearing his sleeves apart with his aching nails.

“Today is going to be a good day,” Stan confidently declares once Tweeka and Kenny sit at their tables.

“Why? You are a psychic, now?” Kenny asks, shifting his bag atop the table to lay his head on it.

“No,” he whispers with a smirk, “Craig has a bruise right on his dumb face from the corner of the corridor he walked in earlier.”

Tweek remembers the sound of the impact though he has no idea what distracted or pushed him in the corner. Clearly he hadn't been expecting it but nothing happened in the corridor, Tweek was right there so he would have noticed it too, to distract him that hard.

Kenny snorts. “Harsh.”

“Right? He is such an idiot.”

“You clearly made him trip.”

“No I didn’t, I was right next to Tweek, three lockers over.”

“Uh.”

Tweek ignores them even when he feels their eyes asking him to add something. Maybe it has something to do with Craig’s height.

“He just walked right into it, maybe he was not looking where he was going,” Stan mocks, clearly enjoying the memory. “Tucker is a dickhead so it’s definitely deserved. We should paint on his car,” he muses, “we still have spray-paint leftovers, right? What do you think Tweek?”

His tired glare seems to work well as an answer.

“We could tag Cartman’s mom's number on his car,” Kenny says. “It’s like publicity."

“And Craig will look like an idiot.”

“It’s a win-win.”

Tweek doesn’t roll his eyes, afraid that with his lack of strength they will get stuck, and he is too tired to argue even if he wishes they wouldn’t look for troubles like that. Not only because it’s Craig - it happened that Tweek participated in Stan and Craig's rare wars. But this time it looks too easy and Tweek needs to stay away because he is still obsessed like an undying virus.

Classes don’t go well but it gets better once he ditches after the second period. Not that Tweek really tried to follow what went on in the classes, Bebe and Annie tried to talk to him with their worries clearly written on their faces. Tweek felt bad that their simple questions only irked him. Yes, he isn’t feeling good. Even a dead man would see that on his face but people still have the urge to say ‘you don’t look well’. Like he isn’t the one having to live with his reflection.

There are too many people in highschool. It’s sickening to notice how many could watch you or talk like they know shit. Tweek is used to that - maybe most of the looks they gave him today aren’t all about how he looks out of place.

Once he lays down on the roof, he can’t bring himself to close his eyes. At least, Michael and Firkle don’t say anything when he shows up there on their turf, to almost collapse. Henrietta is silent but offers him a dark pillow for his comfort. They have gathered stuff; hiding cushions, pillows and dark books on the roof. Stan is probably the reason why they are allowed in their space since he talks to them even if there is a drastic distance between their two groups.

Tweek likes the goths.
Not because they often come to the coffee shop but because they are in their own small world. They don’t care much about others as long as nobody annoys them - Tweek likes that idea. Weirdly, they greet him as if he was also a part of their group just like Stan; who didn’t say anything about it outside that the goths decide who is worthy of them. Once Michael told Tweek that he has a broken soul just like them, which really makes him question if he should like them or not.

Tweek is broken, it’s his own problem. He doesn’t need people to tell him he has issues, that he is a mess and should just ask for help already. His one-time therapist told him that it is horrifyingly abnormal for someone as young as him to be so anxious. He felt worse than before when he walked out.

His parents had pushed for him to take more appointments. Professionals and pills would make his weird self feel better, they said. The only thing they want to get done with is his moods because it’s bad for business and Tweek should just smile. Tweek has been scared that his parents would force pills down his throat, especially considering that they are dealers. One part of their sick brains probably thought that with their son hooked up on meth, it would only be better to also have him addicted to precious medication.

Tweek doesn’t want pills. He already has enough on his plate. His quick addictions are already troubling him enough. If he starts to take the supposed solution to anxiety he wouldn’t get off of it, even if he got better by himself he doesn’t want to try. His friends don’t seem to think it’s weird. But he knows it is. Tweek will probably die because he won’t be able to stop reading or play; that’s how it ends anyway.

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to imagine what his friends would say.

If they knew how sickeningly he is into Craig Tucker they would ditch him in a pit. It has been years already. Tweek doesn’t understand why he is so invested in Craig’s life but here he is. He even bought space books with the faint hope that would catch his attention and have it on himself .

It’s obvious he isn’t even fighting it. Tweek always takes any opportunities to know any- fucking -thing about Craig and one day he will go crazy, follow him home and kidnap him.
He hopes he won’t do that. The more he thinks about it, the less it feels like something he would enjoy doing. Not that he doesn’t really want Craig for himself, which is a truth unsettling enough but he wouldn’t be that happy to make the guy miserable.

His friends never called him broken because they haven’t seen all of him.

Tweek isn’t feeling like any of this is worth it. Efforts to wake up every day just to watch how the distance grows between himself and everyone. He isn’t sure he wants to try anymore.

His childhood isn’t that tragic but he can’t help but think it’s enough for his frail self. Tweek will die in the coffee shop, drinking coffee his whole life, watching others evolve while he just waits for death.

He startles when one of his earphones is taken off.

“Fuck you,” Tweek mutters at Kenny’s not even amused face.

He tils his head with a sort of forced smile.

“Did you break our fucking lock, Kenny?” Henrietta spits out not far. Their smoke is close enough for Tweek to inhale some of it. Probably not enough to get cancer, he muses.

“Your what?” He asks, settling down next to Tweek who clenches his jaw and puts back his earphone.

“The lock we put on the door,” Michael drawls, “it mysteriously disappeared this morning.”

“I didn’t even know there was a lock.” Tweek is glad they don’t ask him. “Wait, you wanted to keep us off the roof too?”

Firkle mutters something while Henrietta’s roll of eyes could be felt.

“We were going to give your conformist gang a key, since you kept your mouth shut about this place. Though now I don’t see why we should.”

Tweek keeps his eyes closed and increases the volume to get back in his head but Kenny is persistent and doesn’t stop nudging him until he also gets one to listen to music together.

With one ear free, he can hear the goths talking and pages flipping. It’s probably Firkle, he is usually either reading or drawing with a smoke. He should be in middle school but so far no one here cares enough to tellhim off, not that he goes to any classes. Firkle once told Tweek that he would either have his own library or be an arsonist, whichever comes first. The idea sounds nice so Tweek says nothing about it; especially when his own dreams and future plans are fully numb.

“Did PC say anything today?” Kenny asks, crossing his legs with one foot still moving to the beat.

“Why would he say anything to me?”

“Because of yesterday.”

Tweek goes to purse his lips but only sighs. “Nothing happened. He told me something about the stage play and how I could focus on the band to blow some steam-” he frowns at Kenny’s chuckles and opens his eyes to glare. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing– I swear.” He clears his throat and looks almost honest with his hands up in surrender. “Just thinking that PC is trying to daddy you.”

He should have kept his eyes shut because now Kenny knows he has his full attention.
“Choke on a dick-”

“Been there, done that,” Kenny quips as he turns on his side to hold his head in a palm. “But I think he is right.” Tweek doesn’t lose his frown by pure stubbornness but still twitches a small ‘what’. “About music. I think that’s one of your things.”

“One of my things ?”

“Yeah. It makes you happy.”

He blinks at him, glances at his phone in his hand - hesitatingly pausing his current playlist to fall in the cacophony of highschool.

Tweek absolutely likes music. Guitar, bass, drum or a piano, any sort actually. He would gladly try every instrument. It brings him a certain peace and ease. It could be because nobody taught him; he just happens to try it and could do it his own way. He is in control.

His mouth is dry but he makes it work. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

“PC wants me to lead the band for the year’s show,” he admits. “I don’t see the point of it, it’s not like anyone wants this shit to happen.”

If everything goes well the committee will fight to get a prom. Bebe really wants one.

“The dude knows it’s our band, right?” Kenny frowned.

“Yeah, but he said that I should try to be the lead singer.”

“Well– you do have a great voice.” Tweek anxiously eyes him at this comment, slightly relieved that they are talking low enough for the goths to not hear them. “Once you get confident enough to ignore people, I’m pretty sure that you will make them come in their pants.”

“I don’t want PC to come in his pants because of me.”

“You can’t control success buddy,” Kenny argues and pets Tweek’s fucked up fringe.

He rolls his eyes to not smile. His words don’t come right away, playing with his phone doesn’t help much but he is sure that he can’t really ask why Kenny is losing time here, by his side.

“Butters texted me,” Tweek says, confident in the subject but hoping to not lead it.

“For what?” He tries to play nonchalant and it would have worked if it wasn’t for they didn’t know each other.

“I think Annie and Bebe talked about me. I don’t see why he would have talked to me otherwise.” Tweek lets him take his phone but only unlocks it after being sure Kenny wouldn’t see his password.

“He is your friend.”

“Not really,” he admits without even exaggerating. Most of the time he only hung out with Butters because Kenny was around, hence not exactly socializing with anyone other than him. Butters obviously has a huge crush on Kenny. It completely explains his behavior - or he is as obsessed as Tweek but with someone other than Craig. That’s why Butters actually lost the right to be the Dungeon Master when they play D&D - he always found a way to boost Kenny.

“Come on, he thinks you’re his friend,” Kenny explains and Tweek doesn’t see why not, so he shrugs, casting a look at his opened texts. “Look, he worries about ya,” he says innocently, like Tweek doesn’t hear the low ‘so cute’ fleeting at the end.

He is tempted to fakely gag but it isn’t the best idea when Kenny is still trying to move on. He feels bad that he is not really trying to get over Craig - though he really hopes it would pass with time - but Kenny isn’t smart about his problem either.

“Show me the texts.”

“What texts?” He replies, definitely typing an answer for Butters since Tweek has not texted since yesterday, refraining from telling people to fuck off.

“You promised to show me your last texts with him before you stopped talking with him,” he insists while Kenny keeps playing his innocent card. “What you guys said after his dad tried to shoot you.”

“We didn’t stop talking.”

“When you faked your death to not talk to Butters,” Tweek retorts with his frown properly shutting down Kenny's attempt to close the subject.

After returning his phone, he silently takes out his own to scroll through it. “You better not write anything.”

“He changed his number,” Tweek reminds with a half-shrug, “but I won’t.”

Kenny almost hands it with a wary look but withdraws at the last second. “You know that doesn’t mean I will let you off the hook?”

Tweek arches an eyebrow, beaming with cockiness. “If you want to cheer me up, give me your gay drama.”

His friend represses a smile and gives his phone.

He doesn’t need to search for when it happened. The cheerful texts drastically fell into a colorless exchange. Butters’ apology and Kenny’s fast reassurance that it’s definitely not his fault for what happened. It’s painful and almost horribly funny to read that. Kenny has been obviously distraught without finding the right words to explain their almost kiss so it was left at a ‘I didn’t mean for that to happen’.

“Butters took that well.” 

“Well, I think he mostly doesn’t think much about kissing,” Kenny explains, “or he had something else to think about with his dad barging in.”

Tweek purses his lips and returns the phone. “Do you think he beat him up?”

“Definitely.”

“It’s really fucked up.”

With a sad snort, Kenny shrugs and his head falls on Tweek’s shoulder. “I hope he stays at his high-school, he is happier there."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He probably shouldn't have brought it up.

"But I think he's starting to understand— he texts less."

"And that's good?" Tweek articulates, incredulous. 

Kenny's lips quirk up into a forced indifference.

"Well if he is texting less that means he is-" 

"Moving on?"

"Sort of?" He is unsure. "Just that there is a reasonable distance between us. Less chances to end up alone against each other without anyone to bother us-" 

"Are you fucking fantasizing right now?" Tweek interrupts with a frown. He quickly slaps his chest when Kenny doesn't say anything back. 

"Yeah and now I'm thinking of sticking my tongue in your ear."

"It's going to taste bad," he argues after grimacing at the image.

"I had worse."

"Like wha-! No!" Tweek shrieks and fights the sudden grip of his face. "No! Don't fucking do this!" Kenny laughs with his tongue reaching him.  "It's not funny!”

"Keep the PDA in your pants Kenny!" Henrietta snaps.

Tweek can finally breathe as Kenny glances at the goths. He catche Firkle's blank unsettling look at the corner of his eye.

"Nothing can be kept in my pants."

"Gross." She grimaces. 

"Conformists are desperate to talk about their junks," Michael says, promptly taking a drag from his cigarette.

"You know a lot about conformists' junk?" Henrietta comments. 

Tweek is simply relieved that Kenny settles on putting his head on his shoulder. They both watch the goths but he doesn’t miss the squeeze Kenny gives to his hand. He wonders what would happen if he wasn't friends with him anymore. Tweek knows that he will feel bad to not be here for them even if he is probably no help at all.

Firkle stares at them, not really concerned about his friends or he simply doesn’t have anything to say. Tweek doesn’t know what to do except that he must avoid Kenny from striking an emotional moment, so he holds his gaze. 

The goths are peculiar but Firkle has a particular way to be. They sometimes talk over coffee and they would just randomly mention facts about them and develop. It certainly sounds boring but it is simple and Tweek doesn’t overthink much. They both say random stuff so there are no judgements.

He returns Firkle’s insisting gaze who finally blinks, slowly and showing his mastery of eyeliner with a pensive pause.

"Anhedonia."

Firkle reads a lot, which explains his wide knowledge of rare words. He always offers one to Tweek when they sit in silence over their drinks. It's rare for him to not ask their meaning.  Only once he hadn't asked for its meaning and that had bothered him all day to not know it; looking the answer up felt weirdly wrong so he had to text Firkle.

"Anhedonia?" He curiously parrots beside Kenny. The goths aren't fazed by the new subject - maybe already knows about it - but Kenny probably doesn't know Firkle as much as Tweek does.

"The loss of interest and enjoyment in all activities that you once liked," Firkle explains with a tone that sounds like he is explaining it to babies, "the feeling of not caring anymore."

Tweek's mouth dries out as heated shame climbs all over him. Maybe the word isn't real. Perhaps he is over thinking it through his sudden anger - but he doesn’t like to be told what he is feeling. No matter if it's true or not. 

"You want a word for you?" He snaps just as Kenny shoots him a look to not to. "Stupid fuckingbi-"

Tweek’s head harshly rings before it even hits the floor.

"Tweek! Oh my God!" 

"Fuck!" 

The numbing sensation washes him over and for a brief second he believes that he is feeling the blood running out of his nose. He needs a moment before remembering that he is laying in the middle of a boxing ring - Jumbo’s - even if he can’t even remember how he got there for his training this time.

"Tweek? Are you okay?" Jimbo shouts with five of his face hovering over him. He is probably the one sliding his hand behind Tweek's back to straighten him up. "It isn't a real fight, Jake! You don't hit to hurt."

"I didn't know he wouldn't dodge it!" Jake exclaims, voice reverberating with an anger that would make Tweek laugh if it wasn't drilling through his skull.

His eyes don’t manage to catch everything, too distracted by the four same faces around him that keep speaking at the same time. He has noticed how his opponent was clearly more pissed off about being in the wrong than actually hitting him. Jake and him never got along, even if Jumbo said they would because they are the same age.

Both would freely hit each other if it could happen. Ever since Tweek learnt that Jake doesn’t address him by his name but instead as 'freak that doesn't know what to do with his hands' - his fists would gladly beat him up outside of the ring.

“Tweek, how are you feeling?” Jimbo asks with an insisting tone as Jake huffs and walks away by kicking the air. “Your nose doesn't look broken but it’s really bleeding.”

Tweek doesn’t try to talk when his face still burns through his eyes. He manages to stand up, feeling awkward at the way he is almost stalked until he reaches the toilet. Jimbo immediately brings him toilet paper and Tweek diligently brings it up his nose. Some droops still spiral down the sink, drawing pinkish filaments, catching his eyes until they are rinsed down.

“I hope there isn’t blood on the ring,” he articulates after he receives a wet small towel to replace the bleeding paper. It stings and he decides to let his nose in peace.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Jimbo huffs out with no meaning, glancing at the mirror or directly at Tweek’s side for any fuss. “How is your head? Shit– how many fingers do you see?”

Tweek blinks at him before smiling a bit behind his towel. “Three.”

“Good, good,” he gibbers, “you took a strong one.” He stares down at the sink. “You are quick on your feet. I’m surprised he got you like that this time.”

It seems the hit has reached his throat because he struggles to swallow. 

"Not always apparently."

"I should call your parents to pick you up."

"No, no," Tweek hurries but his voice croaks, "I'm feeling good, I can— I can take the bus."

He plans to walk but Jimbo wouldn’t get off his back if he said so. Tweek only manages to get out after several long minutes. To not get too much attention, he shared a drink with Jimbo to show that he isn't feeling ill and that it was just the shock. His head drums a bit but he can deal with it.

Tweek watches the door of the bus close. The driver doesn’t look at the stop before driving away. The paper in his nostrils doesn’t feel weird, barely noticeable but he can see there is some blood already. 

It probably bled during his short walk, not caring much about going straight and instead went to play at the edge of the sidewalk. He doesn’t hum any music, only listening to his shoes scrubbing the ground at each balanced step. His legs start to get tingly. The tight sports pants can’t protect him enough to stay still when it is snowing. The coldness of the bench is starting to bite his ass but he welcomes it to stay conscious. 

Tweek stares at the edge of his worned shoes, at the small holes at the top of both as if it’s on purpose. He wants new ones but doesn’t want to ask anything from his parents. Even coming back home feels like a lethal chore. 

A sniff hardly passes through his nostrils so he takes out one of the papers to look at its color. It’s starting to get dark. He hears the streetlamp painfully creak on, breaking in the twilight. His nose isn't the most painful beating part. Another car passes by. He folds the paper back in his nose after a drop falls on his leg. He idly scratches the blood.

" Tweek ?"

His heartbeat goes silent when he recognizes that it’s not Jimbo’s voice before rocketing through his bones. Tweek watches, speechless, the car that parked not two meters away from him with one tall Craig Tucker beside it. 

They stare at each other - himself too lost at the idea that it might just be an hallucination because of his loss of blood. Before his flight or fight instinct kicks in, Craig steps forward. 

"Tweek, what are you doing here?" Craig asks, his tone strange with his impassive face. "Why is your nose bleeding ?" 

"I– what are you doing here?" Tweek blurts out, wanting to jump on his feet but his body disobeyes. He thinks for a second that he wavers off the bench but he doesn't fall so it’s a win. 

Craig watches him, mouth paused around one syllable before he easily erases the distance between them. Tweek panics to still have a real distance. He doesn’t like the idea for someone to be at a grabbing distance of; without mentioning that Craig has his height giving him a clear advantage over him. 

"Are you okay?" He frowns and his arm almost reaches out before it goes to touch his chullo hat, slightly shifting him.

"What are you doing here?"

Craig is clearly dumbfounded. Tweek is no help, too out of touch, only recalling that his nose needs to be nursed and his sick brain can’t remember what words are. 

"Did someone-" he pauses as Tweek shuffles around to have his backpack in front of him, hugging it with his free arm. "I had to go pick up pizzas for dinner."

Tweek peers at him and his car’s lights still on just a few feet from them, before diving his attention back to the ground. The blood rushes to his nose but if anything the feverish sensation grounds him.

"Okay.” His voice echoed weirdly and he wanted to cry. 

"Tweek, sit down, you– you don't look good," Craig tries, his tone gently coming closer. He actually is . "Did someone hit you?" 

"No."

"Why is your nose bleeding?" 

Tweek has said no for the advice. Technically, he had been hit . He sees himself twitch and his body jerks away when Craig reaches for his forearm. The silence smothers them. He stares at the ground with wide burning eyes.

"I'm just waiting for the bus," he articulates with a good, fake, fine tone. At least his nose can be an excuse for him to look away; he does have to lean his head away a bit to not stare at Craig's shoulders. 

"I was behind the bus, Tweek. It already passed."

"That's not true," he argues even when he saw the door opening and closing in front of him.

"I drove back when I saw you didn't get in," Craig explains and clears his throat without moving. His tone does seem to offer something more than his usual coolness. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah." 

"What's with your nose?" 

"Boxing practice."

"Of course."

Tweek wants to laugh because there is little chance for Craig to know about it but he decides to think of his response as a way to try to calm him down. His twitches only perk up and his teeth sink into his bottom lip at the realization. He digs his nails in his arm to bring his backpack closer.

"You should go home before your pizzas are cold," Tweek articulates out of his lungs.

He doesn’t like the silence, not when Craig is still here - looking, seeing , the mess he can’t control in his head.

"Let me drive you home." A pained snort escapes Tweek before his eyes clutch close at the irony. His body leans forward at the sensation of blood. " Fuck– your nose! Tweek sit down or let me drive you home," Craig insists.

"I'm fine.” He tries to put some determination in his words but his throat is dry.

Tears prick the back of his eyes but he holds them close, convinced he can get through this alone.

That's what he was supposed to do. Get himself on the tracks by himself because nobody cared; he could get that people had their lives but he wished he had been an important part of one of them.

Craig grabs him, breaking their personal spaces and lets Tweek recoil from the act when he is warmly held against him. He breathes out, blinking against the side of Craig's chest, and takes in the spread hands on his back. 

He feels Craig's heart rabbiting and his own heart starts to match it. Luckily his backpack is painfully obstructing any sort of real contact. Something brushes next to his ear, Tweek instantly flushes at the idea it might be Craig's mouth.

It is a hug. 

He thinks. It could be something else, just nothing he knows of.

Before he can think of what to do or even say, Craig’s arms squeeze him further before the pressure disappears. Tweek frowns when it comes back and for a second he goes mad thinking it’s some weird CPR thing.

"What are you doing?" He whispers, not daring to let his hand, now fisting the bloodied tissues, settle on Craig's shoulder.

Craig doesn’t move. Not breathing for a split before Tweek hears him swallow. 

"I thought– that was a panic attack."

Tweek wonders if Craig has those, probably not but then why would he know them? Maybe Clyde.

"I read cows were, sort of, you know." He takes a breath so deep that it moves Tweek which is weirdly pleasing. "Hugged between metal brackets before being killed." 

Tweek stares at the end of the bus station because his body fell asleep when he was almost swept off his feet.

"I," he fails to find words. "I'm a cow?" 

Craig doesn't answer and now Tweek realizes it must be awfully horrible for him to be in that position.

"No. No, I just thought that would help you," he finally answers. "Like it relaxes the cows."

"Oh."

His lips can’t close in stupor. The pressure comes back, mind-blowing at the end of his back where fingers dip and stay like a promised kiss. 

"I heard handspinners help too."

Tweek thinks he is having a stroke because none of this is making sense.

It’s only now that he realizes the snow is falling harder - that Craig's car is still on the sidewalk, lights on and brightening a contrast with the harsh streetlights. He still doesn’t move, not feeling his limbs and thinking it is a good time to give up. But something tips him to say something.

Maybe it is a panic attack or he has just too many twitches at once that makes him look unstable. Craig doesn’t let go of him; which worries him and not only because they are lacking in distance. He is scared of how he looks because he surely is not fine. 

As it is most days, it’s an equilibrium between unhappiness and relief that breaks out at the worst moment. He just wants to hide it from Craig. It’s insane how Tweek wants to know everything about him but just knows he couldn't offer the same.

Tweek is weird - his brain keeps circling around things that aren't normal and only putting off people around him. How could he even have true feelings when it’s probably just a way to seek Craig's impassiveness. 

"Craig, I think your family will start to worry." 

Neither moves. Tweek's nose titillates. He wants to scratch at the blood starting to hold in there.

"Are you okay?" Craig asks, sounding almost shy. 

"I'm fine," he automatically answers.

His legs tingle when he makes his first step back. Craig lets him get out of his grasp and the cold greedily eats up their proximity before their eyes meet at an arm reach. His hand slowly slips down Tweek's arm, letting go when it almost touches his wrist.

"You–" 

He stares back, searching how truthfully sane he is to be obsessed with Craig; how he wants to climb right against him and live there like a leech. Tweek is miserable.

Craig clears out his throat. "You have some fresh blood," he points out, touching just under his nose to show.

Tweek blinks away, not far because he is looking at his chest. His hand reaches for his sleeve but loses its reward when he sees Craig's own not far.

"You will have some on your clothes," he cuts, holding Craig's hand from reach before timidly pushing it away.

He has read enough stories about placing blood on people to give them a sense of propriety to fear of what’s happening.

Craig blinks once before a frown appears and disappears in a snap. "I have tissues."

Tweek stares at the depth one step away. He wonders if people can drown in their own bath. Naturally - without a fight and pain. Perhaps it's an odd curiosity. He doesn’t think that far as he observesthe color of the bathtub. His nose hurts just as his legs tumbled with a past relish of running. He is exhausted. 

After running away from Craig yesterday, Tweek had slept like the dead; probably because of his blood loss and the lack of sleep for the past days. His parents had tried to trick him into talking so he passed on dinner.

School has been an insignificant blur. He went because his friends forced him. They reached out and it made him feel bad to enjoy the attention. Tweek had avoided talking, his lack of energy is probably the reason for the band to not even try to play and just go to Token's place to see Ninky.

He had been happy to see the duck swim in the pool. So far there has been no trouble and he is excited at the prospect of getting the house for himself over the break so he can keep Ninky with him.

Stan also lent his soundboard to Tweek. He doesn’t want to leave it at his house when Randy might come around since he doesn't know boundaries. Every button is settled on one of his favorite vines and Tweek thinks he discovered the feeling of being high when his duck chose which button to press, echoing 'freshavocado' around them like a blessing.

His joy deflated when he remembered that he should be working at this time. He had kept his phone on silent to not be tempted to look, but his shifts are engraved on his mind. Tweek has been ditching for days now and he fears what his parents will do. He had briskly left Token's place and his friends had quietly walked out with him.

At least he didn't meet Craig.

Thanks to his friends he hadn't been bothered at school, but he believed his eyes meeting Craig's a few times wasn't from random luck. He couldn't enjoy the chance so he ignored it. Tweek feels bad that he ran away once Craig offered him a slice of pizza when Tweek’s stomach painfully groaned. By the time he walked to his car to pick a pizza, Tweek had rushed away.

Now he can comfortably taste the emptiness in his bathroom. 

"Tweek? Baby?" 

He takes a breath, feeling now the nakedness over him when he is still standing in front of the bathtub.

"Dinner is ready, sweetie," his mother says and Tweek wonders if Stan still thinks of Randy as 'dad' in his head.

"Okay," he replies because he doesn’t hear her walking away. Once she does, he manages to breathe.

Without having set one patch of skin in the bath, he watchesit drain away before turning to the mirror. Believing he will shower in the morning, Tweek only pats some water on his face to trace the deep bags under his eyes. He could hide most of it with makeup but it doesn’t sound much like a good idea. There is no point in faking to be healthy. He knows it’s a trap.

Still, Tweek walks down after putting on his pajamas and sits at the table to see his mother smile and hand him a plate of warm lasagna.

"Homemade is always better, right sweetie?" She asks but he only grabs his cutlery. 

They are almost good at traps. Of course, they would smooth him down with one of his favorite dishes before reminding him that he has to work. 

The first bite only makes him angrier because now that he doesn’t do his shift at the coffee shop they care. Sort of. The thing is that he has a somewhat normal appetite when he doesn’t care about anything. If he could he would still skip meals to feel better about his awful mood. It’s stupid but he really believes it would get through his head if he gets any sort of price to pay.

Tweek stubbornly fills his cheeks enough to struggle to talk or choke on it.

"You didn't come to the coffee shop at all this week," Richard says as Tweek checks how much lasagna is left. 

He remembers that time he ate with Stan’s gang at a restaurant - to celebrate Kenny's brother for gathering enough money to have their own place away from their parents. The waiter looked at them weirdly because Tweek had pronounced lasa- nya without realizing it. Kenny liked to annoy Kyle like that and he copied without thinking.

"We found a new Christmas decoration for the counter, I'm sure you will like it," his mother adds with a smile still on her face.

"This is the family business, Tweek. I don't understand why you don't see that, it's how we give you food and a roof." 

Tweek doesn’t nod or glance, only swallows down to busy his mouth with the food. It’s tasty but it’s revolting him. His parents remind him, in case he ever forgets , that they are kindly giving him what he needs to live.

A small hysteric smile blooms on his face because why isn’t he immensely grateful and follow them blindly?

"It's your future too, son," Richard continues, probably not noticing the internal laugh in Tweek. "You have no idea how difficult it will be for you to find a job. And not many jobs are as fulfilling and unique as ours." 

"You do like baking, sweetie," she adds. He glances at her before taking another bite. "People like your sweets too. Doesn't that make you happy?" 

Because now it's about what makes him happy. 

"Tweek, we are working for you to have a job. Why can't you understand that? How coffee is this precious palate orgasm-" 

"We had to work late because you didn't come in for your shifts," his mother luckily cuts before Tweek decides to knock himself out with the table. "We don't even ask you to open the shop so you get more sleep."

"Of course, you will have less pocket money for your behavior. Be happy that it's the time of the year to be generous and aware of each other. We understand that at this time of growing up you will act stupid."

Tweek meets his father’s gaze, not stopping to munch even if he could swallow by now.

"We were adolescents too, we understand that you would want to be– a bit rebellious ."

It’s probably the right time to use the 'it's not a phase' card. 

"You are going to manage the coffee shop by yourself for the break. We know you can do it, sweetie."

"It's not a punishment," Richard adds like he isn’t wasting fresh air. "But with your current… mood . I don't believe you would behave around your cousins." 

"I wouldn't," Tweek proudly agrees. It's not that he likes to make a scene but he wouldn’t let them talk shit about him like last time.

He doesn’t look at their surprise to stand up with his empty plate to put it in the sink; their son only returns to grab his empty glass. 

"I'm not an employee, I get that you two would give your life to the coffee shop but I want to go to university," Tweek says, surprising himself on how controlled his voice is. Not anger, only disbelief and that type of surprised laugh. "I'm not someone you can use even if I like to bake, that doesn't mean I would do it again for any of you."

It is exhilarating to see them at a loss of words. His mother still holds some sort of sadness while his father definitely ventures toward anger. But Tweek is fluttering to his room with a happy step.

The only thing that deflates his sudden euphoria is the last comment, not meant for him but also indiscrete.

"I really think it's that teenager phase, honey."

His small victory is bitter. 

He was thinking that playing Red Dead Redemption would cheer him up but even around midnight he still feels mad and exhausted. He would rather burn his eyes than closing them. 

Tweek is afraid that his eyes will turn dark on him and his feelings.

It doesn’t disappear when a snowball hits his window. He opens up in politeness, ready to tell his friends to fuck off because he is in the middle of a quest. In response he gets a snowball in his face because he avoided the first one. He quickly walks out of his house.

"Take a jacket, it's cold tonight," Stan warns, keeping his voice low.

"Kenny has a skirt, why do I need a coat?" Tweek replies pointing at their friend who keeps trying to make Kyle eat snow. 

"He is a princess, he doesn't catch colds," he dismisses with a shrug. 

"Well I'm never cold." 

Stan frowns but a snowball eats his words. He turns around as Kenny tries to shield himself with Kyle, silent with his bitchy face. 

"WHAT the fuck are you waiting for?!" Cartman screams - making Tweek notices now the car sloppily stopped on the sidewalk at the corner. 

Kenny is about to scream back an insult but he is pushed down with a kick in this chin.

"You are going to wake up my parents playing here!" Tweek hisses before Kyle stumbles on top of Kenny with one of his martial-arts like grab.

"Come on guys, let's go before Cartman wakes the whole town with his squeals," Stan says, grabbing them both to put them back on their feet. 

A weird chill pierce through his spine, Tweek shudders but crossing his arms is enough for his twitches to not be obvious. They all hurry toward the car; Kenny with a happy step that doesn’t prepare them for anything good. Kyle joins Tweek and glances around, bumping their shoulders once. 

"What happened with Craig?" 

His face wins a few degrees of vicious heat. "What?!"

Kyle frowns at his small jump. 

"You guys want to freeze up your asses?" Kenny calls next to the car.

"No," Tweek loudly replies - fearfully hurrying to join them.

"I asked what happened with Craig yesterday!" Kyle exclaims without even sounding frustrated or even his basic grumpiness.

"What happened with that asshole?" Stan frowns, leaning almost on the top of the car as if ready to jump over it. 

"Nothing!"

"Did he punch your nose?" 

Tweek gapes before groaning out. "I told you that was Jake!" 

"So what did he do?" Kenny asks.

"He asked me if I knew if Tweek was alive, since he ran off– and Cartman get out of the seat! I'm shotgun!" Kyle explodes but before he could yank the passenger door open, Cartman lockes it with a loud cackle.

"You want me to beat the shit out of Craig?" Stan offers.

"What?!" Tweek's neck snaps from his panic. "No! He just– I mean… I think he tried to help me? I had the start of a panic attack." 

"He gave you a panic attack?" 

"Stan!" 

"What?! We are talking about Tucker!" 

"He tried to help me," Tweek sighs out, ignoring the blooming annoyance toward his friends, "I think. Like he said something about cows?"

"He said that you were a cow?" Kenny repeats before breaking into snickers as Cartman's laugh booms through the small opening of the window. 

"What?"

"I don't think he told me I was a cow! He just, you know–" Tweek halts to move his arms like he is hugging someone in front of him. 

"Catch?" 

"No, he hugged me," he seethes, crossing back his arms with a twitch to gather warmth aside from his face. 

Stan gasps. “He tried to molest you?!”

“What?!” Tweek sputters. “No!”

“What the fuck, dude!” Kyle shouts at Stan. "It's a hug!" 

“Tucker doesn’t hug!” He argues. “Can you really remember when you saw him hug anyone ?” He insists. “He probably doesn't even hug his mom!”

Before Tweek can argue - simply because they don't know Craig enough to decide what he does or not; plus he definitely can be affectionate, if he wasn't Craig wouldn't be cooing about his guinea pig everyday. 

Kenny just groans and rubs his eyes with his palms. “Oh my God he tried to molest Tweek."

"No!"

Kyle mutters something about being stupid.

"Seriously, he could have been trying to help me," Tweek says as he opens one of the car doors, "I would have known if he tried to molest me. It's not something you can't miss." 

He truly wouldn't have missed it if it happened.

"Tucker is a big faggot, he obviously did," Cartman states with his haughty tone.

"He didn't!" He squeaks back with a glare. He can feel the embarrassment creeping up. 

"Show me how he hugged you," Kenny requests, walking around the car to join him. "I'm not as big as him but we can picture it."

"I don't want to picture anything," Stan huffs out. 

"Cartman get out of the seat, it's mine!" 

"Fuck off Jew!"

Tweek sighs and opens his arms after considering his options; his friends are all getting excited and they wouldn't let him go unless Kyle and Cartman go at each other's throats. For a second, it’s awkward for him and Kenny to stay against each other as everyone pauses to look at them.

"Where did he put his hands?" 

"I really don't think Craig is that type of guy." 

"Shut up Kahl! Everyone knows you are a slut," Cartman hisses as Tweek tries to place Kenny’s hands where Craig’s were yesterday. "Going for Craig, now?" 

"Shut up fatass!" Stan barks out.

"You should thank me for warning you!" He screams back. "We all saw what a slut he is with dudes with dark hair."

"That's not true!"

"Kinda," Kenny comments, not a bit awkward, "that's clearly Kyle's type."

Tweek hears Kyle open his mouth before he closes it with a small 'huh'. 

"You think Tucker is handsome?" Stan chokes out like he is dying and properly terrified by the sound of his throat.

"No!" He retorts. "Oh my God, seriously no. Can we just get done here and go?" 

Tweek clears his throat, never feeling confident in his control whenever Craig is brought up. "So, uh, yeah." He pats his hands on Kenny. "That's where they were." 

"I'm not going out for a fag show."

Kyle and Stan ignore Cartman's comment to gather around them two. 

"He didn't put his hands on your ass?" 

"No!" Tweek flushes. "What the fuck?"

"I could.”

"No. Sorry but no."

"See? Craig probably wanted to help."

"Why did he talk about cows then?" 

"He also mentioned something about handspinners," Tweek adds as he is separated from his friend. 

"This asshole is so weird." 

"Can we just go before someone sees us?" Tweek groans out, not waiting for their answer to climb in the car grumpily.

He shoots a warning glance at Cartman when he ses him open his mouth - it works and soon Kyle tries to manhandle him to get out of his seat.

At least nobody mentions Craig during the drive. This memory fills up his stomach with dread and discomfort. Maybe Craig was really worried about him - Tweek must have looked mad with a bleeding nose, blue bruises and twitces. But his friends - except him and Kyle, the sanest here - still decide that the slumpy statue in the dump is a copy of Craig. 

"Gentlequeers," Kenny calls from his higher seat. Cartman grumbles as Tweek only weighs his baseball bat in his hand. "Tonight we are going to beat the shit out of this statue of Craig."

Kyle tiredly lets out a deep sigh.

"Where is the alcohol?" 

"There isn't any alcohol, Cartman."

"Why the fuck are we out here if there isn't any alcohol?!" 

"To break shit and have fun."

"Literally no one invited you, man, you just showed up out of nowhere when we took Stan's car." 

"Shut up!" Cartman shouts. Tweek thinks he actually tries to intrude on their group because he is lonely but maybe he actually likes them. "And gentlequeers? What's that dumb shit!" 

"We are all queers here!" 

"I'm not a fag!" He screams, outraged. "And your skirt is hideous.”

Tweek shares a tired look with Stan when Kenny lets out a throaty whine. 

"What's the fucking problem Cartman! We don't care that you like to wear makeup but you have to stop being such a bitch!" 

"Fuck you Kenny! All of you!"

They all watch him stomp away with more curses about them being idiotic hippies.

"Can we start now? Or do any of you have something to say?" Kenny sighs, kicking a piece of junk that echoed down. 

"I think your skirt looks nice." 

"Thanks Kyle but when you want to flirt, wait when your boyfriend isn't here."

Tweek dances on the edge.

His hands are warm, pumping with the exaltation of his euphoria. Even after breaking everything they found - with or without ceremony, he couldn't be caught by tiredness and just went on.

He hums under his breath, just as his feet dance around to fight the strength of the wind and not lose the rhythm. Safety isn't his priority at the moment– if he could he would jump in freedom and run away as far as he can. At least he isn’t miserable. That’s something. Maybe he would be if he didn't have his friends.

The building has never been completely finished, only abandoned once the adults realized that the area was dying. It’s still high enough for the wind to make him flinch and Tweek is jealous of it.

He still holds his ground, perhaps desperately useless but his mind supplies to do something, anything. Maybe Kyle is right about roller-coasters - now he was riding it up and feeling a little better. Like any type of high - once it falls down it will hurt.

Tweek opens his eyes at the hands slipping on his waist. The view isn't that great with the dump eating nature and the city is more of a death trap than anything.

"What are you doing?" He asks when they have stayed put for a minute. 

"I thought you were doing the Titanic scene, you know?" Kenny says with a loud smirk. 

"I'm not."

"Just T-posing and chill?" 

"Yeah," he admits. "To feel the wind." 

"Your cheeks are red as fuck." 

"Yeah, kinda cold."

Tweek likes the high spot once in a while. If he looks down it will make him sweat like crazy, each step flaring up his anxiety and untamable imagination - but everytime it is worth it.

The first time that he climbed broken places or even properly faced the depth was with his friends. They told him it was liberating to get once in a while above everything; he hadn't believed them at first so he had been dragged all the way up - even throwing him around when he didn't want to climb.

Today he almost missed a critical step. Tweek had been so eager to get up there that his hand slipped where he didn't have a good grip. His chin almost hit the edge of cold cement but his good reflexes saved him from biting his tongue.

Tweek had teared up in shame, angry at how helpless he seemed to be. But he didn't cry. Stan had grabbed his forearm and lifted him up with an ease parents must have with babies. As much as he doesn’t like to be underestimated, it’s weirdly enjoyable to be manhandled as long as it’s his friends. Tweek psychoanylizes himself with a sort of lack of attention as a child.

"I'm not doing Titanic."

"Alright," Kenny chirps.

Tweek stares at the landscape, still holding his arms up.

"Get your hands off my butt too." 

His friend laughs and lets go. Tweek holds a chuckle because somehow it doesn’t bother him. If anything it’s a bit flattering because Kenny loves him, like many things, but in his own way and doesn’t ask him to change. The contacts might appear borderline but Tweek knows that they both just like the actions as a balm for their hearts.

"We thought of taking Ninky with us but I'm not sure parkour with a duck is a good idea." 

Tweek hums in agreement. He glances at him when he steps by his side. Kenny glanceS down before stretching. 

"You aren't cold with that skirt?"

"Nah, I have tights." He pinches it to show the pale color. "Some can actually keep you warm."

"Are you guys doing the Titanic?" Stan interrupts, thin snow creaking under his shoes.

"Tweek doesn't want to– are you seriously doing it now?" 

"What?" He frowns, cheeks heating up but he still holds his arms up. "I just want to see if Kyle will get it!"

Tweek snorts. “Dorks.”

"What were you two doing by yourselves? Making out and Kyle fainted?" Kenny taunts with a dirty smirk and a sway of his hips against Stan's. 

"Shut up, Ike called him."

"Why? It's midnight or something."

Stan shrugs. "Probably because their parents are coming back tomorrow."

"Last day of school too!" Kenny exclaims with a joyful laugh. "I'm so in need of a break right now. I even managed to not work for Christmas."

"Nice." 

"I'm just glad I will be with the side of the family that doesn't get drunk on wine," Stan says.

"What the fuck you fags are doing?" Cartman cuts.

Tweek turns around with a suspicious look but Cartman just innocently walks next to them. His arms start to tingle so he lets them fall on his side.

"You finished your tantrum?" 

"Shut up Kenny or I'll push you as-HEY!"

"You want another kick?" Kyle hisses and flips him off as Cartman glares and stretches his leg with a hand on his knee.

He stops between Kenny and Stan, glancing at them up and down before Stan meets his eyes.

"I'm going to fucking puke," the dumbest one mumbles in the back. 

Tweek rolls his eyes and sits down once he pushes some snow to not get his pants more wet. He sees Kyle, faking his exasperation, holding Stan's hips. 

Kenny snickers, sitting down while Cartman stomps over and pushes the lovers to get a seat too. 

"Asshole," Stan spits. 

"Don't be gay in front of me," he snaps back, "be happy that I don't expose your fucking affair."

"Shut up." 

Tweek sighs and watches them stepping around to settle next to him. He is between all of them.

"I think Ike is dating someone."

"Why?" 

Stan settles himself against Kyle's chest, feet off the edge, while Kyle supports the both of them with an arm. 

"He asked me if I wouldn't mind going to a concert with him and someone , since ma’ probably won't let him go alone like that," he explains, "and I swear I saw a hickey on him."

"What concert?"

"Carly Rae Jepsen." 

Cartman laughs first but Stan quickly joins with more volume.

"He is going to try to bring Firkle to a pop concert?!" 

Kyle frowns and leans his head ahead to look at Kenny. "Firkle? You knew Ike was dating someone?!" 

"Uh-" 

"I saw them making out behind the coffee shop," Tweek admits with a smaller laugh. 

He glances at each of them, trying to find words before he frowns in indignation. "Why didn't I know?!" 

"He told me he will tell you," Stan defends and offers a small smile at his virid betrayed glare. "Ike only told me because he really wanted to date Firkle– the guy isn't the easiest dude to know even if they are in the same class." 

"That's the small goth, right?" Kyle asks, squinting off to nowhere. "Why the fuck wouldn't he tell me?"

"Karen told me, I thought you knew," Kenny lazily snickers. 

"Like I need a lesson from you when you don't even see that she has a girlfriend," he retorts. 

"They are friends!"

"Tricia told everyone that they are dating," Stan adds. 

"I saw them kiss too. Lots of tongue too," Tweek chirps, very amused to see that Kenny still doesn’t want to picture it.

"Everyone here is fucking gay, what's wrong with this town?" Cartman whines under his breath, fighting to open a small bag of sweets.

"Shut up fatass," Kenny replies with half-care. "I would know if Karen was dating Tricia! They are just friends and Karen doesn't think about sex and that shit."

"I'm pretty sure she is," Tweek argues with a raised eyebrow. 

"Forget it," Kyle sighs out, passing a hand under Stan's hat to pet his hair like they are alone.

" I would know," Kenny still mumbles under his breath. 

A car roars not far and they watch it speeding up outside the city.

"My parents believe it's my rebellious slash goth 'phase'," Tweek says with the appropriate air quote.

"Urgh." 

"Really?" 

"Tell them it's not a phase."

"I know.”

"They think we are rebellious just for the look, they can't understand we wouldn't act like that if there weren't problems," Kyle mutters.

"Most of the adults are stupid."

"Useless." 

Tweek opts to shrug because he doesn’t find his words yet. 

"They don't want to change their habits."

"God, you guys are boring!" Cartman bellows out, crushing his empty packet of sweet in his hand. "Do drugs and stop being lame." 

"Shut up Cartman, we aren't as dumb as you."

"You are stupid!" 

Kenny lets out a loud whine that shuts all of them up.

They stay quiet, drinking in the fresh air and the weird dump odor that hasn't bothered them much now. The adrenaline has left Tweek's body, leaving up its previous emptiness to fill up the silence.

A part of him wants to be back in front of his small TV to play and forget about real life. 

"I'm thinking of stealing a pony for Christmas for Karen."

"We already tried, it won't fit in the car."

"What? When?" Cartman frowns.

"When we got the duck." 

He grimaces and Tweek throws snow at his face before he can insult Ninky. 

"You guys know it's a male?" Kyle asks. 

"Don't assume genders," Kenny says. "Gender is trash now."

"It's a duck."

"I would kill you for that duck," Tweek warns. 

"Maybe you can steal a bunny for Karen," Stan interrupts, either too endorsed in the hand in his hair or just zooming out.

"That's lame. I want an unicorn for her." 

"Just buy her a plush from MLP." 

Kenny glances at Cartman, closing his mouth before nodding. "That's not a bad idea." 

"I have awesome ideas." 

"All of your ideas are based on using people," Kyle argues. 

"And they work."

Tweek shakes his head, nudging closer to the edge to watch his feet dangle.

"We should go somewhere this summer."

"To the beach," Kenny replies as his shoulder meets Tweek's.

"Beach is overrated." 

"Shut up, some of us haven't seen it yet." Tweek nods to agree with Kenny. 

"Where would we go? To a hotel?" 

"Your uncle doesn't have a cabin?" Cartman asks. 

"I don't think it will be big enough. Jimbo only traveled with Ned." 

"If we had chosen someone richer than Tweek we wouldn't have to think about that!" 

"Shut up fatass," Kyle hisses as Stan shoots him a glare.

"And we would have the black guy!"

"Oh my God, you are racist," Kenny sighs out.

"I'm not racist," Cartman snaps, "I'm exactly saying the exact opposite of that."

Tweek is certain that’s the tiredness. Not some kind of string that snapped because there is nothing holding himself together. 

He is laughing at their antics until tears spill out. Gasping for air, he reaches to pull them back in - only failing and tasting them more. Someone says his name and he hiccups. Somewhere in that he recognizes being hugged and kissed.