Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The word “soulmate” is absolute bullshit. I’m surprised that in some other world, they thought it was romantic to have a partner that you will be with no matter who they are. It’s ridiculous that people could think that being destined to be with someone in every timeline, in every one of their different lives, again and again, was a good thing. Were people that desperate to have someone that they would love them no matter what they did? Yeah right, no one would excuse everything that someone has done. It doesn’t matter if you are “soulmates” if you aren’t a good person.

There is no “soul” that connects people, no happy ending in having someone meant to be with you. There’s a reason we don’t call the people we are stuck to “soulmates.” It’s not a “soul” that is connected, but a brain. All these “soulmates” are just people connected through their brains. They’re Linked.

Everyone is born with a Link. It doesn’t matter who you are, you are born with a Link. Aromantic? You have a platonic Link. Cisgender heterosexual? Congratulations, you have a romantic AND platonic Links! Polyamorous? You’ve got romantic Links with multiple people, who are all each other’s romantic Link’s too!

Fuck, the universe knows who you are before you do. Didn’t know you were gay until you were thirty? You’ve been Linked to someone of the same gender since you were born into this world. Links don’t care about distance. You could have a Link in another country. There have been people who’ve spent their money traveling the world in search of their Link. The only clues they have are what they’ve seen and heard.

It starts when you turn five years old. You fall asleep like you normally would, and you wake up from a dream of when you were four and your best friend decided to push you off a bridge. Except it’s not your best friend that you saw every day at school, the one you had a friendship bracelet with, it’s another best friend. But you vividly remember falling from the bridge, falling into the cold water, their name bursting out of you, the heartbreak from their betrayal of you, calling them your best friend, it’s impossible for it not to be true. Even if you know your best friend to be someone else when you were four, even if you know that there are no bridges near your house, it’s still your memory. That’s your best friend. That was you who landed in the water, not knowing how to swim, and flailing.

Then you learn about Links in your history class, years after that first dream. You learn that you will share certain memories with your Links. You don’t know which memories they are, what memories they’ve seen. But because of the nature of these memories, the fact that you experience them from your Link’s point of view, it’s extremely rare for people to be able to tell the difference between their Link’s memories and their own, unless there are defining factors, like someone speaking another language. You will hear the other language for what it is, but you somehow understand it as your own, and you will still feel the same way your Link felt when they heard those words. The other big defining factor is seeing yourself. That one is obvious enough: if you appear in your own memory, then it isn’t your memory.

My friends tell me it’s stupid that I obsessively write everything down that’s happened in a day in my notebook with my name on the cover. They think it’s dumb that I take pictures of me and my friends every month, that I take pictures of places I go and things that I’ve seen, and put them into a scrapbook with a picture of me on the cover. They think that I’m trying to control things that I can not whenever I drink coffee and energy drinks to stay awake through the night, desperate not to fall asleep and remember another thing that I shouldn’t remember.

I know why they don’t care, they haven’t seen the things that Linked Memories can do to you, to your family. Their mom didn’t wake up in the middle of the night in tears when they were ten years old. Their mom didn’t wake up their dad by punching him in the face. They didn’t have to see their mom throw their dad out of the house while she was bawling because she had remembered raping an unconscious woman at the age of twenty-six, because she had felt the disgusting pleasure of doing so, felt the skin of that woman against her own, felt the way her romantic Link, my dad, had felt when he took advantage of a girl younger than him. Their parents weren’t forty and their mom never scratched her skin hoping it would come off because she could still remember, she could still feel the skin of the other woman on her body. Their mom never tried to drink away the Linked Memories that came to her every night where she learned that her Link was cheating on her even after she married him, even after she gave birth to his child.

There are some things that shouldn’t be remembered, some things that I don’t want to know, some things that shouldn’t be reviewed without consent. I do not want to experience something as horrifying as what my mother saw. I refuse to experience anything from someone else. It’s a violation of privacy, a violation of every human right.

But there are some days that I can’t stay awake any longer. I fall asleep no matter how hard I try and when I wake up, I am quick to try and categorize what I just remembered. But I never can. I just write down what I’ve remembered in a notebook to try and distinguish them another day. I refuse to confuse the memories of my romantic and platonic Links with my own.

“What the fuck?” I felt something heavy hit my shoulder and turned to the person who bumped into me. They just had to interrupt my angsty teenage monologue. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” they apologized. Oh, it’s that kid, Tweek. I’ve never actually talked to him before, but it’s hard not to know who he is.

“Whatever.” I walked off. Tweek was absent from school for an entire month. No one really knew why, but everyone hated him because of it. Tweek wanted to go on our school retreat, but he had missed too many classes to go, so they made him sign up for the next one. Everyone who was leading that one found him troublesome. The retreat hadn’t happened yet, but the leaders didn't know what to do with him.

A sharp ping rang into my right ear through my earbud and I pulled out my phone. My girlfriend texted me. Great. I rolled my eyes and unlocked my phone.

“You know what?” Annie sent.

“What?” I replied. I was not looking forward to this. Considering the last time she texted me that, I took everything with a grain of salt.

“Your eye bags aren’t attractive,” she sent. “You should really sleep more or at least put on some makeup.” Really? You were trying to tell me, the person you were dating, that I wasn’t attractive. Fuck this, she couldn’t tell me what to do.

“I’m not going to sleep so I’m more attractive. If I was going to sleep, I would sleep for my health, but it’s healthier for me to not sleep. Also, I don’t use makeup.” I was not dealing with this anymore. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and put it away.

“Craig, why are you still dating her? It’s not like you wanted to find a Link or something, plus you don’t even actually like her.” Token spoke up from my left, walking next to me. I elbowed him in the side.

“Token.” Token, my only friend that didn't hate me for not wanting to find my Link. He didn’t understand my reason — after all, I had never told him — but he at least left it alone.

“Answer the question, Craig.”

“I don’t know why I’m still dating her.”

“Then break up.”

“Okay.” I pulled out my phone and texted Annie that we were breaking up. I took a screenshot so I would know that this is something I did, that I broke up with her today. “Done.”

“Finally,” Token said. “Anyway, there’s a party tomorrow. Are you going?”

“No, I have things to do.” By that, I meant that I was going to stay home, drink my energy drinks to stay awake, take care of my mom, and try and figure out my mess of a life.

“I’m picking you up anyway.” And there he went again, making his own plans.

The party sucked. I got a picture here so I could remember and I wrote down what had happened today so I didn’t forget, but that was pretty much all I could do. Why did I let myself be dragged around by Token? I pulled out my phone. I got a text from my mom. She had gone out to the bar again. I sighed. This is what happens when I leave her alone at night. Another text came in. I needed to find a place to stay over. Of course, I needed a place to sleep over, because when mom goes out, she goes out. At the very least, I needed to make sure someone was taking care of her.

I stepped outside to call my mom’s platonic Link. She agreed to take care of my mom and hung up. At least I could trust her, she’d already seen the memories of the fight and stuck by my mom through all of it. I took a deep breath. It was cold out here, unlike inside. I closed my eyes and relaxed my limbs.

“Hello?” Are you fucking kidding me? Why was someone bothering me? Couldn’t I just be left alone? If I kept my eyes closed, maybe they would leave me alone.

“Are you okay?” They weren’t going to leave until I responded, were they? Ugh. I opened my eyes and standing in front of me was Tweek. Of all people, Tweek, the kid who was absent for an entire month, was asking if I was okay?

“I’m fine.” It’s not like anyone would’ve understood why I was out here anyway. Plus, I had never talked to Tweek before, so hopefully, he would leave me alone.

“Are you drunk? Do you need a ride home or something?” Never mind, apparently he wouldn’t. I glared at him, trying to dissuade him from talking to me, but he didn’t even bat an eye.

“Listen here. I’m not drunk. I will never touch a drop of alcohol in my life, so don’t just assume that I’m out here to throw up,” I snapped. I was not in the fucking mood to deal with their shit right now. His face stayed kind, but his eyes looked down.

“Oh, sorry. I haven’t been to a party before, so I don’t know,” Tweek said. My phone vibrated and I took it out to read my texts. It was Token. He was staying here and couldn’t let me sleep over. There was no way I was sleeping here too, with the smell and trash in the house. It wasn’t like I could drive to anyone’s house too, I didn’t have a license. Wait, Tweek. He offered to drive me so he must have a car.

“Did you say you could drive?” I asked.

“Uh, yes? Why do you ask? Do you need a ride?” Tweek responded, questioning.

“Maybe, I might need a ride but first I need to find a place to sleep over.” Who could I sleep over with? I ran through all the options but still came up blank. Well, I could’ve just stayed out all night, bought some energy drinks, and stayed awake. I wasn’t planning on actually sleeping anyway.

“Well, I know you just met me, but you could always sleep over at my house.” What?

“What?” The words slipped out of my mouth before I knew it. Tweek just asked me to sleep over. “I mean, I don’t have anyone else to sleep over with, and I can’t think of anyone else that’s sober enough to drive me anyway…” I rambled aloud.

“So?” Tweek said. There was nothing else I could do and I couldn’t go home. There was no other choice.

“Sure.” Tweek’s face lit up. “Cool! It’s a bit of a drive, but do you want to leave now?”

So we got into the convertible and drove off. We were quiet for a few minutes before Tweek turned on the radio. Huh, at least his taste in music isn’t bad. I looked out to the side at the scenery. We passed grassy hills that I had never seen before, on a highway I had never been on.

This was a hell of a drive. I looked over at Tweek, their hair blown back by the wind, driving fearless. I guess he noticed me looking over because he spoke.

Which evolved into a conversation about board games, specifically Monopoly. Tweek kept bragging that he was good, so good that he could finish a game in only an hour. I didn’t think he had anything on me, who could fill every property I owned with hotels and houses, except for the utilities and railroads. We argued about this for most of the drive.

Talking to Tweek, I could almost forget the people we were. I could almost forget that I was a teenager, who had too much on my mind, who was fucked up with no one to talk to, who remembered having panic attacks but never had one that their friends remembered. I could almost forget that I was riding in the car with the top down with someone who had never talked to me before now, someone who was absent from school for a month without a known excuse, someone who people were determined to avoid.

Until we drove over the bridge.

My chest pounded, a sinking feeling setting in.

“Stop the car!”

“What?” He yelled back.

“STOP. THE. CAR.”

The car lurched as he suddenly braked, then pulled into the shoulder.

I launched myself out of the car, not even bothering to open the door to get out. How could I not remember where it was? It was this bridge, wasn’t it? The one I was pushed from when I was four? There was only one way to know for certain. I walked over to that railing, the one that I probably fell from, and turned my back to it.

“Push me off the bridge.”

A heavy silence loomed as he slowly stalked over to me. He probably thought I was crazy, considering we just went from a party to driving in a convertible with the top down to stopping on a bridge.

“What?”

Yeah, he thought I was crazy.

“Push me off the bridge.”

His eyes widened, his breathing stopped and started suddenly, heavier than before, and I could see something flash in his eyes.

“No, I —“ His voice caught in his chest, shaking.

“Just push me off the bridge. It’s not a dangerous fall, I won’t die or anything.”

“I could never do that to you.” I looked into his eyes. Was the thing I saw sincerity? Nervousness? Adrenaline? Or maybe it was fear and concern.

“What do you mean that you could never do that to me? We just met!” My voice was raising, the rationality draining from it.

“I can’t do that!” His voice was strained, struggling to come out.

“It’s for fun! Just push me off!” I was screaming now.

“Ask someone else!” Tweek was screaming too. I wasn’t in the right mind anymore, I fucking hated when I got like this, but fuck, maybe if I sounded like I was rational, he would push me off and I could finally learn if this was the bridge.

“You’re the one with me right now and I’m here right now. I’m not drunk, and I know how to swim. It’s just for fun, lighten up a little.” My voice was steady, and I prayed I sounded rational enough for him to listen.

“Lighten up a little? How about considering how I feel about this, pushing someone I just met off of a bridge? I can’t—“

“JUST FUCKING DO IT!” I screamed too loud, face red with frustration and anger.

“FINE!” Tweek screamed back louder.

And he shoved me off the bridge. There was nothing below me, no solid ground connected to my feet, no ground against my back. I knew I was falling. I felt the fall, I felt the wind hitting my back, felt the weight of my own body, and suddenly I was back there again, Except this time I wasn’t staring up at the face of my best friend, but at the face of a complete stranger. This was the bridge, I knew it. This is the bridge. I found it. Suddenly, I’m enveloped by cold water as I land, and it hurts more than I would like to admit.

I did know how to swim, but maybe it was just the nerves and the pain kicking in. I could feel myself sinking, the water soaking through my clothes, my nose almost going under the water, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I closed my eyes and tried to move my arms, move anything. I couldn’t die yet. I couldn’t die. I had just found the answer to my fucked up life. I had just found the bridge I was pushed off of as a child. But I had no control over this situation. I couldn’t do anything to stop me from drowning — my arms wouldn’t move! I was holding my breath as best as I could, hoping I’d hit the bottom soon because it wasn’t too deep, but it still felt like forever. The panic set my nerves on fire, my lungs burned from the lack of air, and finally, I could move. I swam back up and I heard a voice as I broke the surface.

“Craig!” It was Tweek. He looked scared and nervous.

“I’m so stupid. I couldn’t do anything to save you, I couldn’t control my anger, I’m so sorry. I thought you were going to die and I was the one that pushed you. And you didn’t come up, you didn’t come up, you didn’t come up, what was I supposed to do?” Tweek started scratching his skin. His breaths were deeper and desperate. “I’m horrible. I’m stupid. I can’t do anything right. Everything was going fine and I just had to ruin it. I almost killed Craig! Of all the people at school, I almost killed you!” His voice was rising in pitch, straining to even get out of his chest, and it was almost a whisper as he tried to breathe, tried to intake as much oxygen as possible.

Was Tweek… having a panic attack? I had felt this before but never seen it in person. I remembered scratching my skin until it broke, my breathing getting heavier, my thoughts jumbling, and my brain spiraling out of control. I remembered what people would do help me. If someone touched me, it was like sensory overload. There was already too much happening, too much I was feeling, and a touch would push me over the edge. I wouldn’t touch Tweek.

“You’re safe. You’re okay. Tweek, look at me,” I spoke, gently, because when people spoke too loud I would get scared. It was always those words, a reminder that I was safe, the connection of another human being, the fact that someone didn’t think that I was as horrible as I knew I was, the fact that I mattered and that it was okay, that brought me back. It wouldn’t be so fast. We had to sit, we had to breathe, we had to stay for a few more minutes under the stars.

“I’m fine, Tweek. You didn’t almost kill me. I’m okay, I’m safe, you did nothing wrong,” I said. The cool air reminded me of where we were, and I looked up at the sky.

“Look at the stars. Look at all the things that are out there that are beautiful and the things that shine and here we are, in the middle of it all, shining like our own stars.”

Tweek looked up with me, and I could hear his breath slowing. We sat for a little longer, just staring at the night sky, and when the silence became awkward instead of calming, we went back to the car.

Tweek opened the trunk of his convertible and pulled out some bandages, the type that wrap around your arm. He taught me how to put one on and I wrapped it around his arm, covering the scratches on his skin and some scars that I hadn’t noticed before. They were uniform and straight, which wasn’t natural, but it could have just been a cat or something.

“The bandage is to stop the swelling and to make sure I don’t scratch there again,” Tweek said, smiling. It wasn’t something to smile about, nothing about this was. And the scars, they worried me. But I wasn’t going to bring it up, or ask him about it because that wasn’t something you did.

I shoved my hand into the pocket of my jacket and felt something that I hadn’t noticed before. I pulled it out, and it was a small piece of chocolate. I looked at it, lost in thought. How did this get into my pocket? When did I get this? I guess I kept it on me in case I needed a snack, but I forgot about it. It hadn’t melted. Suddenly, it clicked. After a panic attack, I remembered that eating something made me feel just a little bit better, helped me recover.

So I held the chocolate out to Tweek. “Here,” I said. “Eat this.”

“Ah, no thanks, I’m not hungry. Also, where did you get that?” Tweek asked.

“It was in my pocket, It’s just a piece of chocolate. Even if you aren’t hungry, you should eat it. It should make you feel better, give you a bit more energy.” I said.

Tweek knew I was right, and he took it from my hand, opened the wrapper, and ate it. ”Thanks,” he said.

We got into the car and Tweek started driving again. He changed the music to something more calming, with acoustic guitar, and it filled the silence around us. When he spoke and broke it, I was almost too happy to be rid of the awkward tension.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” On second thought, I wasn’t happy to be rid of this awkward tension. Tweek continued, “It’s one of those things that I can’t help and it happens sometimes, but still. You just met me, and now you probably think I’m some weirdo.”

“No, I don’t. It’s okay, I don’t think anything less of you and it’s something that’s perfectly natural.” How am I supposed to explain that I knew exactly what to do because it was something I had experienced before?

“If you say so,” Tweek chuckled. There’s no way that he thought that, and his brain was probably overthinking this situation and running it through his head over and over again, worrying about what I think, but what was I to do? We continued driving in silence. The house wasn’t much farther, thankfully, but the silence made it seem longer than it was. That, and the cold clothing sticking against my skin.

Chapter Text

The counselor here is useless. He’s just like all the other ones. He doesn’t understand, he just calls you down, tells you that your grades are low, and tells you the exact same thing every time.

“You’re going to get it up, right?” he says. And every time I reply with the exact same thing.

“Yeah, I’m working on it.”

I cried in front of him once. Only once. That’s when I was failing a class with a teacher that I hated and was scared off, was so far behind on a project, and I needed to pass that class to graduate. I went down to his office and I cried. I told him that I was scared of talking to her, of failing the class, of admitting how far behind I was on a project, on my homework.

He said that the teacher was actually quite nice and understanding if you talked to her. He called the teacher, said I needed to talk to her after class, and sent me to the class.

He sent me to the class of the teacher that would tell us that we were wasting our parents’ money, that we were disappointing them. He sent me to the class of the teacher that would spend twenty minutes of a seventy-five minute class telling us how our parents paid an expensive tuition for us to be having a low grade in a class when I already knew that, when I already knew I was burdening my family, that I was disappointing everyone, that I wasn’t making anyone happy. I already knew that I was useless, that I was someone who couldn’t do anything for their actual classes, but made time for hobbies and personal skill advancement instead.

Really, this counselor was useless. I wish I had that counselor that would go to the student’s class and look for them, pull them out of the class at that moment, instead of just sending a paper slip to be delivered with a time and a duration. I wish I had a counselor that understood who I was, that I could actually talk to, that didn’t just brush off my ADHD accommodations because I should be able to talk to authority figures myself. Have you considered that I don’t talk to those authority figures for a reason, that I don’t talk to you for a reason?

My favorite teachers were more helpful and understanding than my counselor. My counselor, he only worried about my grades and the one class he taught. Which is why, instead of being with my counselor on the day of my breakdown, I was with my favorite teacher and my friends.

Tears were coming out of my eyes, my voice felt wobbly, and I curled into a ball. I sobbed as my friends told me they would help me. As they patted my back. As they called my best friend, who was now in college, who was my platonic Link. As I told her about how I was so scared.

Scared of transitioning from a private college prep school to a community college, scared of disappointing my mother and father, scared of disappointing my aunt who paid my high tuition, scared of my future, scared of starting over, scared of not graduating, scared of losing her. Even after the bell rang, some of my friends stayed. A few had to go because they had tests, but the ones that could stay did. They hugged me, wiped my tears, and sat with me for a little while longer. When they left, the one who called my platonic Link left me her phone, saying to return it to her after school. My favorite teacher let me stay in his office for just a few more minutes, stay on the line with the person who I knew cared about me most. He offered me his office as a home, as if I hadn’t already made it my home, and when it was time to go, he signed a note for my teacher. So I went up to class.

I went to the class of the teacher who, when I gave her the note and explained why I was late, asked me why I was with that teacher in the most accusatory tone possible, as if I was lying or had done something wrong.

As if I hadn’t just broken down, hadn't just shown my most vulnerable self to someone, hadn't just shown my inner fears and struggles to the people who couldn’t understand. As if I should have gone to the counselor instead.

I woke up in a bed drenched with sweat and tears. Why? Why was that the thing I remembered? I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to fall apart. I didn’t want to write it down, but I had to. I fumbled for my phone, opened the Notes app, and typed, tears still running down my face. I knew it wasn’t my memory, I knew it. I hadn’t found my platonic Link, let alone had the luck to have my platonic Link be at the same school as me. I can’t even distinguish between my platonic Link and my romantic Link yet. But could it have been my platonic Link if they had already found their platonic Link? We only had one romantic Link and one platonic, never two platonic Links. So it had to be my romantic Link’s memory. But that didn’t change what I experienced. It wasn’t my memory and I had done it again, had invaded someone’s personal experiences again.

This was exactly why I hated sleeping. I hated it. I could hear and feel the sobs coming out of my throat, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to know about someone’s private thoughts. I didn’t care if they didn’t go to the same school as me, if I didn’t know their counselors, because I didn’t even get the chance to get to know them, to get to know my Link. I didn’t get the chance to respect their boundaries. I laid there awake, hating everything about this. The sun rose, I didn’t care. The room I was in wasn’t mine, and there were sounds coming from outside, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going anywhere.

My stomach growled. It was easy enough to ignore the sound and stay, stay in the room with the wet bed and the skylight. But I couldn’t ignore the gnawing in my stomach. I didn’t want to leave this bed because maybe if I didn’t do anything, if I rejected this, it wouldn’t be true. The smell of eggs and salt wafted through the air, and it became impossible to brush off the hunger in my stomach. Okay, maybe I could just get up to eat. The food smelled amazing anyway. But I still didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, not after that memory. But I could just eat the food in silence. Admitting defeat to my stomach, I got out of the bed and walked outside to the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re finally up.” It was Tweek, of course, he just had to be a morning person. Or, whatever time it was right now. I went and sat at the table, ignoring him entirely. I wasn’t dealing with Tweek’s perkiness right now. Except he was persistent.

“I made breakfast, so you better eat. It’s extremely early, so I get if you aren’t a morning person, but if you need a coffee or something, could you at least tell me?” Coffee. I whipped my head up to look at Tweek.

“Coffee.”

“And he's alive!” Tweek chuckled. He brewed me coffee, the sweet nectar of the gods, and got me some sustenance, in the form of eggs and bacon, before sitting down and joining me for breakfast. I inhaled the sweet scent of caffeine and began to eat. After a short while, I started to notice something. Tweek talked a lot during meals. He didn’t have much to eat on his plate, it was almost nothing at all, so it didn’t take him long to start running his mouth. Even if I didn’t respond, he just kept talking. Most people would find it annoying, but to me, it was nice having the silence filled with something, having someone talk without expecting a response. Plus, he was so excited about whatever it was. I could get used to this.

“Hey,” I interrupted. “Do you, uh, want to hang out more? Like at school?” The surprise on Tweek’s face was evident as his eyes widened just a bit. The silence in the air was short but heavy, the anticipation of his response worrying me.

“Sure.”

That day was not the last time I ended sleeping over at Tweek’s house, not like I wanted to sleep anyway. It happened again and again, with us getting closer each and every time. Whenever my mom went out to drink, I called her platonic Link and then called Tweek. He would pick me up and drive me to his house. Sometimes we would do homework together in the kitchen and talk about what we didn’t get to talk about at school. At this point, I had seen almost every inch of the house too, except for Tweek’s room. It was the one place I wasn’t allowed. Whenever we did stuff, it was in “my” room, which used to be the guest room, but I slept in there so often that I claimed it. Last night was no exception. I woke up on the floor of “my” room, instead of on the bed with my Game Theory pillowcase, plastic pieces digging into my face. I groaned.

Why did it end up that a quarter of the time I ended up at Tweek’s house that I fell asleep against my will? I pulled out my phone and opened Notes once again. I typed, typed the memory that I remembered today. I typed about the time that I stayed home for a week, laying in my bed every day, not feeling as if I could get up. After all, what was the point when you fully knew that even if you didn’t show up to school, it wouldn’t make a difference. No one would notice I was gone, no one’s life would be changed. I typed about how I had hardly eaten anything, only pulling out snacks from the bedside drawer once in a while because I was almost never really hungry. I typed about how I would have my lights off, how I had lost enjoyment in the things I used to love, how the only light in my day were the videos I watched that made me laugh. I typed about how I didn’t shower, how I didn’t do work, how no one noticed I was even gone.

A sharp knock on the wooden door caused me to drop my phone. That scared me, holy shit. Words rang through the door, saying it was time for breakfast, and I went outside to the kitchen.

“Morning, sunshine,” Tweek said, too cheerful for this time of day.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do you have an energy drink?” I opened the fridge, knowing full well that there were drinks in there because we had gone out and bought some for me together the last time I slept over. I think we even had the flavored Red Bull.

“Why, still tired after I kept you up last night?” Tweek said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my drink and slammed the refrigerator door shut.

“Listen, I didn’t plan on falling asleep during Monopoly and waking up with a hotel stuck to my face.” Not like I was about to tell him that I didn’t plan on going to sleep at all. It was kind of nice though, the warmth and the comfort of knowing someone was there, that you aren’t alone. We weren’t close enough for me to tell him that yet.

““Neither did I,” he said. I guessed that Tweek had fallen asleep too. We ate breakfast as usual — with Tweek’s plate having almost no food on it and him talking not long after we had started eating — when something popped into my mind. I stayed over at Tweek’s house because of my mom, but where were his parents? I hadn’t seen Tweek’s parents before and he hadn’t brought it up before. There wasn’t a room where his parents slept, and if there was, then I had just never seen it.

“Tweek, where are your parents?” Tweek stopped talking and looked me in the eyes. I fucked up, didn’t I? I asked about a touchy area. You aren’t supposed to do that, Craig.

“Uh, well...” Tweek spoke hesitantly. “They aren’t here. My parents aren’t here.” How could they not be here?! Did they not care?

He continued, “My parents were okay with me for a while, but when I turned eighteen, they dropped me. They left me the house and some money, a lot of money actually, but they went to live off somewhere on their own.” Is that even legal? Could they do that?

“Somehow, it’s entirely legal for them to do that, because eighteen is the age of adulthood and once a child turns eighteen, the parents aren’t legally obligated to take care of them. They said I was too much of a burden and they just left.” He chuckled a bit, but it sounded broken, like the ones that are involuntary and are close to a sob.

What was I supposed to do with this information? How was Tweek supposed to just tell me this and expect me to just move on with my life? I couldn’t just leave it at that. I knew I had to say something, but there was nothing I could say. The best thing I knew to do was talk about something even vaguely similar.

“You know how our Linked memories start when we are five and don’t stop until we die?” Tweek was confused, it showed on his face, but I kept talking. “Well, when I was ten, my mom remembered my dad, her romantic Link, raping someone.” I saw the horror in Tweek’s eyes, but I needed to keep talking.

“She kicked him out of the house, but she couldn’t forget. She couldn’t forget the feeling of the girl’s skin on her fingers, how my dad, how she had felt so good. She scratched her skin to try and get the feeling off, to try and forget all the horrible things he had done. She tried to drink away the memory — she still tries actually, that’s how I end up at your house most nights — but there was nothing she could do.” My hands were shaking at this point and I was watching them shake, unable to look at Tweek while I talked.

“But it didn’t stop there. Even if one parent was gone in person, it can’t sever the connection in their head. She kept seeing more Linked memories, more memories of how my dad had been cheating on her when they were married and even after I was born. It drove her mad — no, it drives her mad.” I’d never told this story to anyone before, not even Token. Yet here I was, telling it to Tweek for a reason that didn’t make sense. I had to return to the topic at hand.

“Your parents left you behind without remorse, my dad left everything behind without remorse. I know it’s not the same thing, but maybe, just maybe, I can understand how you feel about being left behind. I’ve never thought about it before, but maybe to my dad, I was a burden. Maybe I’m a burden to my mom too, but I try to take care of her whatever way I can. When she goes out to drink, I call her friend to help her, so at the very least, someone can be there for her.”

I finally looked up at Tweek. His expression was empty and I couldn't read it. Suddenly, his eyes filled with tears and then he was crying.

“Thank you, Craig. Thank you for telling me that. It really did help, it really helped me a lot.”

After that conversation, and after I finished breakfast, Tweek drove me home. I unlocked the door and cleaned the house so that when my mom finally came home, she would be okay. Then I went upstairs to my room — it was time to rewrite what I had written on my phone.

I pulled out my notebooks and my phone and started writing about the Linked memory that I had when I was sleeping over at Tweek’s house. Once I was done, I started rereading all of the past ones I had written. I had to find a connection somewhere. I have to figure out what was mine and what wasn’t. My conversation with Tweek played through my mind again. We start our Linked memories when we turn five. The incident happened when I was ten. It had only been seven years since then. Seven years of Linked memories all written down and I had only started trying not to fall asleep and drinking energy drinks when I was fifteen. That’s 1,826 days worth of Linked memories, not counting the memories that I had when I fell asleep against my will. If I had fallen asleep every day for those seven years, it would have been 2,556 memories. I know that it was less than that, but as I read through all of those entries I had, the sheer amount began to set in. I tore my scrapbooks with pictures off of the shelves, I got out colored tabs to try and relate things, and my breathing became heavier. I couldn’t do anything about it.

Everything was falling apart. I had too many memories, I couldn’t even tell what was going on anymore. The only thing I knew was Tweek, that Tweek was something from my memories. And Token. That made two things I knew that were mine. I was the orange tab. The orange tab. I tabbed everything that mentioned them in orange so I knew it was mine, but it wasn’t enough.

I frantically shuffled through my papers and scrapbooks, desperate to match my dreams to my own memories, to mark them with orange, and desperate to recognize patterns between the other memories so I can separate them. But there was nothing. They all seemed like they were from the same person if anything. But I didn’t know what was mine and what wasn’t anymore. There were memories of the same school as mine, but were they mine or were they someone else’s? I didn’t start my books until I was ten. Five years of memories, five years of notes just… gone. What was I to do?

There were five years of memories unaccounted for, swirling in my head as mine, and it had been so long that I couldn’t remember what I remembered in a dream and what I remembered from everyday life. What about the bridge? Was that memory a Linked memory or was it my own? I couldn’t tell anymore. I needed to calm down before my mom got home, I needed someone to be by my side for just a moment, just so I could be the supporting rock for my mom when she gets back in a few minutes. The usual sharp ping and she’d texted that she was a couple minutes away. What to do, what to do?

I opened my phone, and without thinking, I called Token. Token had never answered the phone for me, but then again, I had never called. I had never told Token anything. The ring of the phone caused me to think over my decision. Should I hang up, call someone else? I couldn’t call Tweek, I had burdened him with enough for today and he didn’t even know about my aversion to Links.

“Hello?” Token picked up. I started talking before I could think about what I had said, before I could regret it.

“Token, I need your help. I started writing down my Linked memories when I was ten and my own memories too and started taking pictures so I could remember what was mine and what was not, but I only stopped trying to sleep when I was fifteen and right now, there are too many memories that I can’t tell who they belong to because I can’t find any correlations between them and I can’t find any connections between memories.” I was talking too fast, but my mouth kept going, not willing to wait for him to understand.

“Linked memories start when we are five, and that’s five years of memories that I don’t know are mine and that’s five years of not having notes and not being able to distinguish things.” I continued.

The doorbell rang and I jumped. Was she already home? Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Token finally spoke. “Craig, I’m at the door. Can you let me in?”

Token was here? For me? I didn’t think that I could get up, but I knew that the door could be unlocked remotely. Hands shaking, I opened the app and unlocked it. The second he had heard the sound, he opened the door. He walked inside, heading upstairs. He had never been in my house before, but I guessed that my gasps for air were so loud that Token could find me. He opened my bedroom door and sat on the floor with me, looking me in the eyes. He hung up the phone without even breaking eye contact.

“Craig, you’re okay. I can help you. Your Links do not define you, destiny fucking sucks. Fate is a stupid concept and it can suck a dick,” Token said, sounding too serious for what he was saying. I laughed a bit at that last part.

“Breathe with me, okay?” Token took me through some steps. We breathed in together, we breathed out. He told me that breathing out is more calming than the breathing in. We did it again, and once more for a total of three times. It was a bit easier to breathe now, and I could think a bit more.

“Craig, I want to thank you for calling me and telling me. We may be best friends, but you hadn’t told me a single thing. Thank you for trusting me. I know I may not seem trustworthy — after all, I’m a party animal who likes to go out and get wasted — but you trusted me anyway.”

I wasn’t thinking when I called Token, but I’m thankful I did anyway. He smiled at me, I smiled back, and we went through my notebooks together. It was easier for Token to make connections, after all, he was detached from the situation, and we actually made progress. We decided that one Link was blue, one Link was red, and if we couldn’t tell which Link, it was purple. While most tabs ended up being purple, there were a few that we could connect.

There was a memory of me at a school rally, but we had insignias printed on our shirts and one on the floor of the Pavilion. It didn’t match our school name, and it was a high school rally, so we matched that memory with the college counselor one. They were both at schools that weren’t our own, and they were both high schools. But the most definitive piece of evidence was the fact that I mentioned a teacher that pulled me out of the rally to talk about my grade in their class, and from my description, it was the same teacher that I had talked to the counselor about. These memories were the blue tab.

We were still working when my mom came home, but Token was glad to help me take care of her too. I offered to let him sleep over, and he accepted. We brought the inflatable mattress into my room and set it up. When nighttime came and the bed was made, Token and I helped my mom to bed, careful not to touch her bare skin because it reminded her of the bare skin of the woman from the Linked memory. We gave her the pills she was prescribed, the ones that tried and failed to put her into a sleep without memories, and when she was asleep, we went back to talking on the beds.

We should have been talking about Links, but instead, I talked to Token about Tweek. Tweek was someone special to me at this point. He was the first one I’d told about my family and the past. I didn’t tell Token what had happened to my family, but I did tell Tweek. He was the type of person who tried to fill the gaps of silence because he had finally found someone who didn’t find it annoying. We would go out when I slept over to buy energy drinks for the fridge, to buy more coffee and other things that I used to keep me awake. I told Token almost all the things I was thinking about Tweek, about how I fell asleep playing Monopoly, how I had brought my own pillowcase to his house, how he made me breakfast in the morning, how much I loved his taste in music, and Token listened.

“I knew you slept over at Tweek’s house a lot, but I didn’t know it was to that extent. Are he your new best friend?” Token joked. But he had a good point. I still thought of Token as my best friend, even though I had spent all this time with Tweek.

“No, for some reason, I can’t think of him as a best friend,” I replied.

“Well, from how you talk about him, maybe you're in love with Tweek,” Token said, more serious than I expected. In love with Tweek? Was I in love with Tweek? He made me smile on the bad days, he made me feel at home whenever I slept over, he made me feel alive whenever he drove with the top down, but was I in love? He made my heart feel warm and fuzzy, made it beat fast and slow at the same time. Was this love? I explained how I felt to Token, how being with Tweek made me feel, and asked him the same question.

“Yeah, that’s love,” Token answered, with a dopey smile on his face.

Chapter Text

I never thought the day would come where I’d be dating someone, but it did. The school never thought they would see it either. Apparently, when the word got out that I was dating Tweek, everyone was dejected. Tweek told me that people at school talked about me a lot, and Token confirmed it. They heard about my break-up with Annie and figured that I was prime Link material. In this case, that meant that everyone was thinking maybe they were my Link. Since most people didn’t even seriously date unless the person was their Link, the breakup was a big deal. So when I started dating Tweek, everyone was disappointed because they thought I had found my Link.

I was happy. Happy not because I had found a Link, which I didn’t, but happy because I got to make my own choice. I chose who I wanted to be with, I chose who I was dating, I chose who liked, I was in control. I could learn who someone was on my own, from the beginning, and respect their privacy. I wanted Tweek and the world couldn’t tell me otherwise.

At school, we would hang out where not too many other people were. It was quiet and I could just be with him, be in his presence. I didn’t want anyone to bother us or whisper at the fact that we were dating. I couldn’t let Tweek be uncomfortable. To be honest, it made me uncomfortable too, but I just kept tricking myself into thinking it was for Tweek.

We were sitting there, against the wall, just kind of leaning on each other when I looked over at him. And he was already looking at me. Our eyes met, and there was this tension in the air. It had been there for a while, every time I looked him in eye, every time we got close. It made my heart skip a beat and calmed me down at the same time. I didn’t know how to fix it, but it reminded me of something.

Suddenly, Tweek moved. Oh god, he was going in for a kiss. I didn’t want to share this with anyone. I didn’t want to kiss him. This would have exposed so many things to my Links if they saw this, it would violate Tweek’s privacy. I couldn’t let him kiss me, I couldn’t let anyone else feel this, experience this.

My hand whipped in front of my mouth right as his lips closed in. His lips met my hand — oh fuck, they were soft and they kind of tickled — and he opened his eyes.

Tweek pulled his head back and looked me in the eyes. My heart, I couldn’t feel anything else except the pounds of my heart as I looked into his eyes and the feeling of his lips on my finger. What had I done?

“If you didn’t want to kiss me, you could have just said so.” He sounded disappointed. Had I disappointed him? Why did I have to be so stupid?! I had hurt his feelings somehow, I didn’t mean to. I needed to clear this up.

“I—“ My words caught in my throat. I couldn’t just tell him why I didn’t want to kiss him, he wouldn’t have understood. I didn’t want to burden him with my obsession. I didn’t want him to think less of me or hate me or think I’m a pain. Then what was I supposed to do? What did I tell him? I didn’t know, there were too many things and the air was becoming hard to breathe. I wasn’t thinking rationally, I needed to think rationally.

“I— I want to break up with you.” The words had come out of my mouth without thinking. What was it I was doing? I didn’t want to break up with him, I loved him, I was just scared, so scared.

“I can’t be with you anymore, I don’t love you.” But I did love you, I just… I didn’t know what to do and the words were coming out of my mouth that I knew that I would regret. Craig, why were such a fucking dickhead!

“Love is a choice, not a destiny or a feeling.” His voice had changed, it was gloomy and dark. Monotone, almost. I didn’t know what I had done.

“And I’m choosing to walk away.” Don’t walk away, Craig. Don’t do it. You can’t just walk away from this.

“You’re just going to give up at the first bump in the road?” Tweek’s voice was still dark, his head turned away from me. He wasn’t leaning on me anymore. I guess I just noticed it, but it seems like he hadn’t been leaning on me for a while.

“I’m sorry.” The only true thing that I said, and it’s an apology? Are you kidding me, Craig?

“Oh… okay.” His eyes shifted to the floor to look at his feet. “I’ll just go then.”

He ran away before I could do anything. You were such a fucking idiot! You couldn’t kiss him, so you broke up with him? Why would you have even thought about breaking up with the one person you cared about? I had to go after him, maybe he was at least okay.

Where was he? I didn’t know. I didn’t know. This is what happens when you make a choice instead of following the universe’s rules. I ran around, looking for him anywhere possible. When I finally found him, I approached him slowly. He was curled into a ball with his back against the wall.

But Tweek heard my footsteps and whipped his head up to look at me. There were tears in his eyes. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to make him feel better. The only thing I could think to do was hug him.

“Get away!” Tweek yelled. Had I been moving forward after he looked at me? That wasn’t what was important though. Tweek was the important thing.

“I just want to see if you’re okay!” I couldn’t just take back what I said, this was the best thing I could do.

“Okay? Of course, I’m not okay, you just broke up with me! What did you expect, for me to not care? I put so much into this relationship, you know?”

I knew. I put a lot into this relationship too. Tweek was in tears, crying to the point where what he was saying was almost unrecognizable.

“I can’t take it anymore! Craig, I’m your Link!” Tweek screamed. What did he say?

“I don’t know if I’m your romantic Link or platonic Link, but I’m your Link!” Tweek continued. What? There was no way that was true.

“That’s not possible. It’s not.” The words slipped out of my lips before I could stop them.

“Yes, it is. I’m your Link. I’ve seen myself in my Linked Memories, I’ve seen the inside of your room and the notebooks and the pictures you take to save what memories are yours. I’ve seen what happened to your mother, I’ve seen Token, I’ve seen the time we played Monopoly. I saw myself pushing you off that bridge.”

“There’s no way. No way. No way.” My head was spinning, my thoughts confused and jumbled.

“I didn’t want to push you off that bridge because I was pushed off that bridge at that exact same spot as a kid. I don’t know how old I was, but I remember falling off and looking up at my best friend.”

“That’s impossible, I was pushed off that bridge when I was four. I couldn’t find it for the longest time, but I had to make sure it was the bridge. That’s why I told you to push me off.” I couldn’t breathe anymore, I was gasping for air.

“I have a scar from it, on my back. I hit a rock after I fell into the water and it cut my back. I was lucky it didn’t hit my spine, if it had, I would have been paralyzed. I have pictures of it.”

“I don’t remember that.” But that happened when I was four, so it was entirely possible that I just forgot. It was also possible that it didn’t even happen, that Tweek was just lying.

“Because it’s my memory.”

Chapter Text

Tweek had texted me. It had been a while since we broke up. At least, since I fucked up and learned that he was my Link. It was hard for me to like Tweek after I learned that. I didn’t really care that we broke up anymore. If Tweek knew this whole time, how could he date me? There’s not a semblance of like or love for Tweek left in me.

Tweek still had some. Which is why he texted me every once in a while. It was always him being sorry, apologizing, or needing something. I unlocked my phone to see which it was this time.

“Can you do me a favor?” He needed something. Of course.

“What?” I replied.

“Just say that you love me.”

“You know I can’t say that.” He should’ve known by now. I was the one that broke up with him. He knew he messed up, that’s why I get texts with his apologies. Why am I supposed to tell him that I love him?

“Please, it’s just for today. On days like this, I just needed someone to love me.” I can’t love you, Tweek. I can’t.

“I can't. Goodbye, Tweek.” I regretted that those were the last words I had ever said to Tweek because there were things I didn’t know about him until after I said this.

Like the fact that Tweek had chronic depression. I knew he had anxiety, from the panic attack I saw by the river, but depression was not something that I knew. But then again, I could have seen it coming. He was absent for a month from school. His parents thought he was a burden, which could have stemmed from the amount of money that went to therapists or money on medications or the fact that he stayed home for a solid month. And, if he was truly my Link, it would have explained the memory that I had the day we played Monopoly. The one where I stayed in my room for a week, where normal things I had loved weren’t that interesting, where I didn’t shower and hardly ate. Actually, whenever I ate breakfast, Tweek only made a little bit for himself. He didn’t have much appetite. There were, also, the other scars I had seen on his arm when I bandaged it after all the scratching after the bridge incident. I really should have seen some of the signs. But I didn’t, and no one else was there to help him after I broke up with him. The other people ignored him like they always had, and they didn’t even care.

Because I didn’t see the signs, because I was the only one he had opened up to and had let into his life, the only one that cared about him, it’s my fault that Tweek died. Tweek isn’t coming back. He can’t come back. He’s gone forever now. I’m only left with my memories of him and the linked memories from him. I don't even know which memories those are. I’ll never know. He died because he needed help and no one helped him. I should have helped him, I could have helped him. I just wish I could get a second chance.

But the world doesn’t work that way. It never works that way. Tweek is gone and there’s nothing I can do.

You know, in 8th grade, they taught us what happens when your Link dies. They didn’t teach it until we could be comfortable with the concept of death, but even then, people couldn’t handle it. When someone’s Link dies, romantic or platonic, they take their Linked memories with them. Before, a romantic Link would only see the memories of the person they have a Link with. They can’t see the Linked memories of that person’s platonic link. But if your platonic Link dies, their memories aren’t Linked anymore, they’re only yours. If a Link has been severed, if the red string of fate snaps, your other Links can experience those memories. The memories that once belonged to another belong to you.

If I didn’t kiss Tweek that one time because I didn’t want to share the moment with anyone else, because I didn’t want to breach his privacy, then there was an odd irony in the fact that his memories would be shared to my Link anyway.

I know he’s not coming back and I know I have to move on, but how am I supposed to move on knowing I have someone’s blood on my hands? You can tell me it isn’t my fault, but there’s nothing I can do. There’s no second season of this story, this isn’t 13 Reasons Why. Fuck, 13 Reasons Why romanticizes suicide, saying you can get revenge on the people who hurt you by doing this. Once someone is gone, they are gone. They don’t leave behind enough "material" for a second season, or a third season, the most they would ever leave behind is maybe a note. Most people don’t leave a note behind. Why would they want to? No matter how popular he could have been, how many people could have surrounded him, it could have had the same outcome. What good would that note be in that situation?

I can’t redeem myself from this. The only things I can do is mourn him and stay awake, hoping that my Link doesn’t become someone like me, the type of person who didn't even try and save his friend.