Chapter Text
Tweek and Craig had been a pair for as long as anyone could remember.
It started on the playground in second grade, Tweek, small and jittery, clutching his paper lunch bag like it might collapse under the weight of his anxiety, and Craig, calm and unreadable, who sat beside him at the table when no one else did. From that day on, they were rarely seen apart. Craig was the quiet, unshakable one; Tweek was the one who felt everything all at once, and somehow, it worked.
By middle school, everyone already referred to them as a couple even before they actually were one. They never made a big announcement, they just sort of… became them. Craig walking Tweek home after school. Tweek waiting outside Craig’s house with two cups of hot chocolate in the winter. Their friends teased them, sure, but there was something real there, something easy.
When they finally admitted it out loud in freshman year, it didn’t change much. They’d already been each other’s whole world for years. The first kiss was in Craig’s room, after a long night of playing video games. It was clumsy, nervous, and perfect. Tweek couldn’t stop shaking afterward, not because he was scared, but because it felt so right. Craig had smiled at him in that small, rare way he reserved just for him and said, “Calm down, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the longest time, he didn’t.
They got through every fight, every rough patch. Tweek trusted him with everything, his stutters, his panic, his fear that one day Craig would realize he deserved someone more stable, someone easier. But Craig always stayed. Always reassured him. Always showed up.
Until senior year.
It started with small things. Missed texts. Short replies. The way Craig stopped reaching for Tweek’s hand in the hallways. When Tweek asked if something was wrong, Craig said he was just “busy,” that college applications were stressing him out. And Tweek believed him, he always did.
Kenny started coming over more often around that time. He’d been Tweek’s best friend for years, the only one who could actually get him to relax when Craig was busy. He’d flop onto the couch, boots still on, and tease Tweek about his terrible aim in Mario Kart.
Tweek’s parents adored Kenny, called him “such a polite boy” and offered him dinner every time. He’d stay late sometimes, helping Tweek with homework or just scrolling on his phone while Tweek talked about his day. It was easy. Comfortable.
But nothing could really distract Tweek from the gnawing feeling that something was wrong with Craig. Craig always had excuses now.
“Sorry, babe. I’ve got practice.”
“Can’t hang today. I promised Thomas I’d help with his project.”
“I’m tired.”
Then one night, Craig canceled on him again. “Sorry, babe. I’ve got plans with the guys,” he’d said over text.
Tweek stared at the message for a long time before setting his phone down. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even after Kenny showed up at his door with snacks and an old controller.
“Movie night?” Kenny said, holding up a bag of chips like an offering.
Tweek nodded weakly. “Yeah. Craig canceled again.”
Kenny’s smile faltered a bit. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” But his voice cracked on the last word.
They sat together on the couch, half-watching a movie neither of them really cared about. Tweek was quiet, too quiet, scrolling through his phone while pretending not to. Kenny leaned back against the couch, eyes flicking toward him every few seconds. He could tell Tweek was trying not to think about it, trying not to spiral.
But then Kenny froze.
On his screen, on Instagram, Wendy Testaburger had posted a new photo from her party a few nights ago. A crowded shot, full of people laughing and red Solo cups raised mid-cheer. But in the background, blurred and half-hidden by the crowd, stood Craig.
And Thomas.
They were kissing.
Kenny’s throat went dry. He blinked a few times, thinking maybe he was seeing it wrong. But no. The angle, the jacket Craig always wore, the unmistakable tiny blond, it was them.
He didn’t know what to do for a moment. He looked at Tweek, sitting beside him, fiddling with his phone and chewing his sleeve. Kenny’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to be the one to hurt him, but how could he not say something?
“Tweek,” he said softly.
“Yeah?”
Kenny hesitated, then turned his phone toward him. “Damn- uh.. You gotta see this.”
Tweek leaned in, and for a second, he didn’t process it. His eyes darted across the photo, confusion flickering before it turned to horror. His breath hitched.
“W-what the hell?-No, no, that’s not-“His voice cracked, and he stood up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s-it’s not him, it can’t be-“
“Tweek-“
But he was already tugging at his hair, pacing, trembling. “Why would he-why would he do that to me?!” His voice rose, breaking into a cry. “He said-he said he loved me!”
Kenny quickly got up, stepping in front of him before he spiraled further. “Hey, hey- look at me man.”
Tweek couldn’t. His eyes were red, glassy, unfocused. His hands were trembling violently as he clutched at his head. “He lied to me, Ken-he-oh god-“
Kenny reached out, gripping his wrists gently but firmly, pulling them away from his hair. “Breathe, dude. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
Tweek’s breaths came out sharp and uneven. Kenny guided him down onto the couch, staying close. He didn’t say “it’s gonna be okay,” because he knew Tweek wouldn’t believe it right now. Instead, he just stayed. His hand brushed against Tweek’s shoulder, steady, grounding.
And little by little, Tweek’s shaking began to slow.
The room was quiet except for the hum of the TV and the faint sound of Tweek’s broken breaths. Kenny glanced at him, the way the moonlight slipped through the window and caught on the strands of his hair, the shimmer of tears on his cheeks. He looked fragile, heartbroken, but there was something achingly beautiful about it too.
Kenny swallowed hard, forcing his eyes away. This wasn’t the time for thoughts like that.
Still, he couldn’t help it, the feeling of wanting to protect him, to take away that pain.
He shifted closer, draping an arm around Tweek’s shoulders. “You didn’t deserve that shit,” he murmured.
Tweek sniffled, voice small. “I just… I thought he was it, you know?”
Kenny nodded, his voice low. “I know. I felt like that with Butters. Some people change.”
They stayed like that, Tweek leaning into him, head resting lightly against his shoulder, Kenny staring at the faint reflection of the moon in the TV screen.
Neither of them said anything else. They didn’t need to.
For now, Kenny just held him, hoping that somehow, the warmth might be enough to remind Tweek that not everyone leaves.
After a long stretch of silence, Tweek’s sobs had faded into quiet sniffles. His head rested against Kenny’s shoulder, his fingers still fidgeting with the fabric of his hoodie, twisting it the way he always did when he was trying to hold himself together.
Kenny stayed still, listening to the rhythm of his breathing as it finally started to even out. Every so often, he’d murmur something soft, a joke, a quiet reassurance, just to remind Tweek he wasn’t alone.
Eventually, Kenny felt the tension ease in Tweek’s frame. The panic had burned itself out, leaving only exhaustion behind.
“Wanna… play something?” Kenny asked gently.
Tweek hesitated, eyes still red and puffy. “I-I don’t know if I can focus.”
“That’s fine,” Kenny said, reaching for the controller beside him. “You don’t have to win. Just- press buttons and yell at me when I do better than you.”
That earned a weak, watery laugh. “You suck at Mario Kart, though.”
“Exactly. You’ll feel like a champion again in no time.”
It wasn’t much, but it worked. Ten minutes later, the TV screen glowed with bright colors, and for the first time that night, the sound of Tweek’s laughter, small, cracked, but real, filled the room. Kenny exaggerated every loss, groaning dramatically while Tweek snorted through his nose and wiped at his eyes.
“See?” Kenny grinned. “Can’t think about Craig if you’re too busy beating my ass at racing.”
Tweek smiled faintly, leaning back into the couch. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Oh yeah?”
Tweek gave a small hum of assurance at that. He looked tired, but calmer, like he was finally breathing again. Kenny didn’t move his arm from where it had stayed draped loosely along the back of the couch, his hand almost brushing Tweek’s shoulder. It wasn’t much, just enough to keep him close, to let him know he was still safe here.
The movie still played quietly in the background when Tweek’s phone buzzed on the coffee table.
He reached for it automatically, thumb swiping across the screen — and then froze.
A notification.
thomas.rdlk posted a new photo.
Kenny noticed the way Tweek’s breath caught. “You okay?”
Tweek didn’t answer. He tapped the notification.
The photo was simple — Thomas standing in front of a mirror, smirking slightly, phone in hand. He was shirtless, showing off in that casual, attention-grabbing way he always did. But it wasn’t Thomas that Tweek’s eyes locked onto.
It was the background.
The bed.
The dark blue hoodie crumpled behind him.
The one Tweek had bought Craig last Christmas.
His heart sank. His hands trembled again, but this time there were no tears — just the hollow ache of something breaking all over again.
Kenny leaned in, instantly reading his expression before he even saw the screen. “Tweek…?”
Tweek’s voice came out thin and cracked. “That’s Craig’s hoodie.”
Kenny leaned over, eyes narrowing as he caught the screen. His jaw tightened. “Of course it is.” He grabbed Tweek’s shoulder firmly, almost shaking him. “Hey, hey, look at me. Listen to me. This? This is Craig being a jerk. That’s all it is. He’s a liar. He’s a fuckin’ jerk. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Tweek stared at it for another second before he set the phone down like it burned to touch it. His chest rose and fell unevenly. He whispered “He’s with him right now.”
Kenny scoffed and shook his head, pulling Tweek’s hands away. “Yeah, and he’s an asshole. Love doesn’t make someone not a douche. You get me?”
Tweek’s eyes were wide, red-rimmed, glassy. “I just… I trusted him…”
Kenny tightened his grip on Tweek’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Yeah. You trusted him. And he blew it. Big time. That’s on him, not you. Got it?”
Tweek nodded weakly, sniffing. Kenny let out a sharp breath and leaned back slightly, brushing a hand roughly through his hair. “Look at me, Tweek. You’re too smart and too good for someone who pulls crap like this. And if you let him ruin your night over one dumb hoodie, you’re gonna let him ruin your whole life. Not happening.”
Tweek managed a small, shaky laugh. “You sound… really mad.”
“I am mad. At him. At you? Never.” Kenny’s tone softened just slightly, but his grip stayed firm. “Now quit crying, wipe your nose, and get back to your game. You’re not lettin’ him ruin your night, understood?”
Tweek blinked a few times, the first real spark of clarity breaking through the haze of heartbreak. He nodded, forcing himself to let out a shaky laugh. “Okay… okay.”
Kenny clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Now stop staring at that phone like it’s gonna bite you and whoop my ass in Mario Kart again. Let’s go.”
And for the first time since seeing the photo, Tweek actually smiled. Small. Fragile. But real.
Tweek wiped at his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he turned back to the game. Kenny leaned back with a smirk, hands poised on the controller.
“Alright,” he said, grinning. “You just got a second chance to destroy me. Don’t blow it.”
Tweek managed a weak laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You’re gonna lose again, though.”
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of colorful tracks, engine roars, and the sound of someone cursing hilariously whenever they fell off a cliff. Tweek forgot about the hoodie. He forgot about the post. Even Craig’s face vanished from his mind for a little while. All that existed was the game, the bright colors of the screen, and Kenny’s occasional taunts.
“You call that a drift? That’s a sidewalk glide, Tweek! Come on!” Kenny laughed, narrowly avoiding an attack item.
“I’M TRYING!” Tweek shouted, throwing his hands up in frustration. Then he giggled, the sound soft and raw, and his laughter carried an edge of relief.
By the time Kenny finally won, not that he didn’t cheat a little, Tweek was leaning heavily against his shoulder, too tired to protest, too calm to move.
“Fine,” Tweek mumbled, voice small, “you won. Happy now?”
“Very.” Kenny’s grin softened. He nudged Tweek lightly with his elbow. “Now, movie time. And this one? You pick. I don’t care if it’s a rom-com or a documentary on competitive hamster racing.”
Tweek gave a faint smile and picked a random movie. As the opening credits rolled, the warmth of Kenny’s shoulder pressed against him, the quiet hum of the TV filling the room, Tweek felt himself slipping into that rare, fragile kind of calm.
The more he relaxed, the heavier his head grew. Eventually, his eyelids drooped, and without realizing it, he had fallen asleep, resting his head on Kenny’s shoulder, body curled just slightly toward him.
Kenny’s eyes softened as he looked down at him. Tweek’s breathing was slow and even, his lips slightly parted, a few messy strands of blonde hair sticking up in every direction. The faint glimmer of drool on the corner of his lip made Kenny smirk quietly.
He moved carefully, not wanting to wake him, and pulled his phone from his pocket. With one hand steadying Tweek’s shoulder, he lifted it just enough to take a picture.
Click.
Kenny looked at the screen and shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and quiet fondness in his expression. “You look ridiculous… and beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, his voice low so as not to wake Tweek.
After a moment, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and adjusted Tweek slightly, tucking the blanket around him and letting him rest. Kenny leaned back slowly, watching the faint rise and fall of Tweek’s shoulders in the dim TV light, his own arm still draped loosely over him.
For a while, neither of them moved. The only sounds were the soft movie audio and the quiet, steady rhythm of Tweek’s breathing. And for the first time that night, Kenny allowed himself to just… be there.
Morning light seeped in through the curtains, pale and cold at first, then warming as it spilled across the living room. The TV was still faintly glowing, credits looping quietly on the screen. On the couch, Tweek and Kenny were still asleep.
Kenny had slumped sideways in the night, his head tilted back against the couch cushion, mouth slightly open, snoring just loud enough to make the silence hum. Tweek, curled up beside him, had his cheek pressed against Kenny’s shoulder, a thin blanket tangled around both of them. A tiny line of drool glimmered at the corner of his mouth, just barely catching the morning light.
It was strangely peaceful, something Tweek hadn’t felt in weeks.
He stirred first. Blinking blearily, it took him a moment to remember where he was, why he’d fallen asleep there, and why his chest still ached.
And then it all came back, the photo, the hoodie, Craig’s betrayal.
The heaviness settled again, quiet but familiar. Still, it didn’t feel quite as suffocating this time. Kenny’s hand had somehow found its way to rest near his arm during the night, and that small, unconscious closeness had anchored him.
Tweek sat up carefully, stretching. Kenny didn’t stir, only let out another loud snore that made Tweek huff a small, unwilling laugh.
“Idiot,” he murmured affectionately under his breath, rubbing his tired eyes.
He grabbed his phone off the table, the photo from last night still sitting in his notifications like a bruise. He didn’t open it again. Instead, he tucked the phone away and stood, his body heavy but steady.
The house was quiet as he padded downstairs. The smell of coffee and toast lingered faintly, and the sunlight through the kitchen window made the dust in the air glow like tiny flecks of gold.
His mom was already there, humming softly to herself as she buttered a slice of toast. She looked up the second she saw him.
“Tweek! Morning, sweetie,” she said brightly. Then, noticing his slouched posture and the faint redness still lingering around his eyes, her smile faltered. “Oh honey, what’s wrong?”
Tweek tried to brush it off, heading toward the counter. “It’s nothing, Mom. Just tired.”
She frowned, setting down the knife. “Tweek.” Her voice softened, the kind of tone that always made it harder for him to hide things. “Something happened.”
Tweek hesitated, his hands trembling slightly as he poured himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t even realize how much they shook until the liquid sloshed up the sides.
“Craig…” he started, voice breaking halfway through. “He- um- cheated on me.”
His mother froze. The room went still for a moment before she let out a small, heartbroken sigh. “Oh, sweetheart.” She walked over quickly, wiping her hands on a dish towel and wrapping her arms around him.
Tweek stiffened at first, he’d always been bad with hugs when he was upset, but then he melted into her, the tears pricking behind his eyes again.
She rubbed his back gently. “I’m so sorry, baby. You don’t deserve that. Not after how much you loved him.”
Tweek nodded against her shoulder, his voice small. “Kenny showed me last night. I didn’t believe it at first. I just-“ He swallowed hard. “I don’t know how he could do that to me.”
“Oh, my baby.” She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes glassy but full of that warm, motherly steadiness. “People who hurt others like that… it says more about them than it ever will about you. I’m proud of you for seeing the truth. And I’m really glad Kenny was there for you.”
Tweek let out a weak laugh. “He yelled at me to stop crying.”
His mom chuckled softly. “That sounds like a good friend, dear.”
“Yeah,” Tweek said, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “But… it helped. I think I needed someone to tell me straight.”
She brushed his messy hair from his face, her thumb lingering on his cheek. “You’re gonna be okay, Tweek. It’s going to hurt for a while, but you’ll be okay. You’ve got good people around you. And one day, you’ll look back and be proud of how strong you were.”
Tweek stared into his coffee, steam curling gently upward. He still felt sad, there was no pretending otherwise, but for the first time since it all happened, there was a thin, flickering thread of hope beneath it.
Upstairs, a loud snore rattled the ceiling, and Tweek couldn’t help but laugh softly again.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I hope.”
The coffee was almost gone when Tweek heard the soft creak of footsteps upstairs. A muffled yawn followed, then a heavy thud, probably Kenny bumping into something in the dark hallway.
Tweek’s mom smiled faintly. “Sounds like your friend’s awake.”
Tweek’s lips curved slightly. “Yeah. He stayed over.”
She gave him a knowing look. “I figured,” she said kindly. “He’s a good kid. Always liked Kenny.”
A few moments later, Kenny trudged down the stairs, hair sticking up in every direction. He had that half-dead, half-irritated morning expression, the kind of look that said he’d rather still be asleep. He was wearing a loose white wife beater and gray sweats that hung low on his hips, his hoodie nowhere in sight.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice gravelly and low, rubbing his eyes with one hand.
Tweek, mid-sip of coffee, nearly choked. He looked away quickly, heat rushing to his face for no good reason. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Kenny look like that before, but something about the sleepy roughness, the way his shoulders flexed when he stretched, made something in Tweek’s stomach twist.
He stopped himself immediately, scolding his own thoughts. He didn’t like Kenny like that. Kenny was just… Kenny. His best friend. The one who told him to quit crying and then fell asleep beside him to make sure he wasn’t alone. That was it.
“Coffee?” Tweek offered quickly, trying to sound casual.
Kenny grunted, walking past him toward the pot. “Please.”
Tweek’s mom smiled, setting down her plate. “Good morning, Kenny. You hungry?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard by how cheerful she sounded this early. “Uh… yeah, sure. Thanks, Mrs. Tweak.”
She poured him a mug of coffee and handed him a plate with eggs and toast. “You boys stayed up late, huh?”
Kenny sat at the counter beside Tweek, still half-asleep, but smirked faintly. “Yeah. Beat Tweeker’s ass at Mario Kart though.”
“You cheated!” Tweek shot back immediately, offended.
“Dude, how do you cheat at Mario Kart?”
“You- you bumped me off the track!”
Kenny snorted into his coffee. “That’s called being better than you.”
Mrs. Tweak laughed softly at their bickering, shaking her head as she rinsed a pan.
Tweek laughed. “You’re a cheater.”
Kenny coughed mid-sip, choking a little before muttering, “Yeah, okay, sure,” under his breath, eyes rolling.
But there was a hint of color on his cheeks, too.
The kitchen filled with the low clinks of silverware and the smell of breakfast. For a while, no one spoke, just the soft morning sounds of a house waking up.
Tweek’s mom eventually broke the quiet, her tone gentle again. “Kenny… thank you for being there for him last night. I know that must’ve been hard.”
Kenny looked up from his plate, expression softening a little. “Yeah. He didn’t deserve that.”
Something in his voice, quiet, protective, steady, made Tweek look at him again. The same heat from earlier crept up his neck before he quickly turned back to his coffee, pretending to focus on a stain on the table instead.
“Thanks,” he said softly, not looking up.
Kenny just shrugged, chewing another bite of toast. “Don’t mention it, man. That’s what friends are for.”
But even as he said it, Tweek couldn’t shake the feeling that something in the air between them had shifted, just slightly. A weight that used to only ache now buzzed faintly, like static under his skin.
Outside, the day was just starting, sunlight spilling through the window, catching in Kenny’s messy hair, turning it almost gold.
And for the first time in a long time, Tweek didn’t feel completely broken.
The clock on the kitchen wall blinked 7:42 a.m.
Tweek nearly dropped his mug. “Oh my god-we’re gonna be late!”
Kenny blinked, halfway through another bite of toast. “Late for what?”
“School, Kenny! School!”
He stared at him blankly, then downed the rest of his coffee in one go. “…Oh. Right.”
Tweek shot up from his chair so fast it scraped against the tile. “C-crap, I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!”
“Relax,” Kenny muttered, standing and stretching, “you’re acting like they’ll arrest you for being late.”
“They might!”
Kenny just grinned. “Yeah, okay, psycho.”
They raced upstairs, both talking over each other, Tweek frantically digging through drawers for his clean hoodie while Kenny complained that his shoes “mysteriously disappeared” even though they were right next to the door the whole time. The house filled with the sound of doors slamming, zippers zipping, and the distant laughter of Tweek’s mom yelling after them to grab their lunches.
By 7:56, they were out the door.
The morning air was cold enough to bite, their breath showing in quick bursts as they jogged down the street.
Tweek adjusted his backpack strap. “I can’t believe you slept in your clothes.”
Kenny snorted. “You’re just pissy becauze you wasted time brushing your hair.”
“Because I don’t wanna look like I got electrocuted!”
“You already do, dude.”
Tweek glared at him but couldn’t help laughing. The sound came out small at first, then real. It felt… good.
By the time they reached South Park High, the parking lot was buzzing with the usual chaos, kids leaning against cars, someone blasting music too loud, the bell already ringing in the distance.
Kenny shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets. “You hanging with me before class?”
Tweek nodded automatically. “Yeah, sure.”
He followed Kenny across the courtyard toward the familiar group, Stan, Kyle, and Eric sitting on the brick ledge outside the main doors. They’d all hung out together plenty before, so when they saw Tweek trailing behind Kenny, nobody even blinked.
“Yo,” Kyle said, grinning. “Tweek! Haven’t seen you around lately, man.”
Tweek smiled, shifting his backpack higher. “Y-yeah, I’ve been… busy, I guess.”
Stan gave him a nod. “Glad you’re here, dude.”
Eric smirked. “Damn, Kenny, you bringing your emotional-support blonde now?”
“Shut up, fatass,” Kenny said automatically, no heat in it.
Kyle laughed. “Dude, he’s just mad because he doesn’t have one.”
Tweek chuckled softly, shaking his head. It felt surprisingly normal, the teasing, the noise, the smell of someone’s breakfast burrito in the air. Like nothing had fallen apart.
They all started talking about random stuff, Stan complaining about how early football practice was, Kyle ranting about their math teacher being “a sadist in disguise,” Kenny throwing in sarcastic comments just to rile him up.
Tweek listened, chiming in now and then, feeling that old rhythm slide back into place.
For a few minutes, the heaviness in his chest eased.
He laughed when Kyle shoved Eric for stealing his coffee, smiled when Stan offered him a granola bar, and even rolled his eyes when Kenny slung an arm casually around his shoulder while making fun of Eric’s outfit.
It was just like before.
Almost.
Because even while he was laughing, some small part of him caught the way Kenny looked at him, a quick glance, quiet but certain, like he was making sure Tweek was still okay.
And for the first time all week, Tweek actually was.
⸻
Craig tugged his backpack strap higher on his shoulder as he stepped through the school gates, yawning into his sleeve. The sky was gray, threatening snow, and the air carried that sharp mountain chill that never seemed to go away in South Park.
He didn’t see Tweek waiting by the bike rack like usual.
Weird.
Normally, Tweek would already be pacing by the lockers, jittering like he’d had three espressos too many, which, honestly, he probably had. Craig would show up, ruffle his hair, and Tweek would scold him for being late before melting the second Craig kissed his cheek.
But today… nothing.
He scanned the courtyard, hands buried in his jacket pockets. Just Clyde, Jimmy, and Token standing by the steps, talking about something Clyde found “totally unfair” in his English class.
Craig walked up, slouching in his usual way. “Yo.”
Clyde looked up, grinning. “Sup, dude! Where’s our little maniac?”
Craig blinked. “Tweek?”
“Yeah,” Clyde said. “Isn’t he usually glued to your side?”
Craig tried to sound casual. “Didn’t meet me this morning. I figured he was running late.”
Token, who had been scrolling through his phone, glanced up. “Nah, I saw him earlier.”
Craig frowned. “You did?”
“Yeah,” Token said, adjusting his backpack. “He was over by the front steps with Kyle, Stan, Cartman, and Kenny.”
That made Craig pause. “…Kenny?”
Token nodded. “Yeah. Looked like they were just hanging out before the bell. He seemed fine, though.”
“Fine,” Clyde echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Dude, you look like you just found out your dog ran away.”
Craig shrugged quickly, trying to mask the small twist in his stomach. “I just didn’t think he’d be over there.”
Jimmy laughed awkwardly. “M-m-maybe he just wanted a change of scenery, man!”
Clyde elbowed Craig. “What, jealous? Dude, you and Tweek spend every second together, maybe he’s just giving you a breather.”
“Yeah,” Craig muttered, eyes drifting toward the steps where Token had pointed earlier. “Maybe.”
But he didn’t believe it.
The bell rang, echoing across the courtyard. Everyone started heading inside, but Craig lingered for a second longer, watching the crowd shift and blur, looking for that messy blonde head of hair that wasn’t looking for him anymore.
He told himself it was nothing.
That Tweek was probably just hanging out with Kenny because they were friends.
But the memory of Thomas’s last text, the one from last night, right before he fell asleep, flashed in his mind:
“miss you already.”
And for the first time in weeks, guilt hit him hard enough to make his chest ache.
Lunch period was loud, like always. The cafeteria buzzed with the sound of trays clattering, chairs scraping, and Clyde laughing way too loudly at something that probably wasn’t funny.
Craig sat at their usual table, half-listening to Clyde and Token argue about which Marvel movie was “objectively the best.” He kept his face neutral, arms folded on the table, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.
He hadn’t seen Tweek all morning.
Every class, every hallway glance, nothing.
He’d told himself he didn’t care.
That Tweek was fine. That Thomas’s text, “you make me feel seen, Craig”, still meant something.
But then the doors opened, and Craig’s head turned automatically.
Tweek walked in.
He looked… the same, mostly. Messy blonde hair, slightly wrinkled uniform shirt, that faint coffee stain on his sleeve that he always seemed to have. But there was something lighter in the way he moved, even with the annoyed little glare he was throwing at Kenny.
Kenny was laughing, tossing his head back, clearly not taking whatever Tweek was saying seriously.
Craig’s chest tightened for a reason he didn’t want to name.
“What’s up with them?” Token asked, following his gaze.
Stan grinned. “They got caught throwing paper balls at each other during free period.”
Kyle laughed. “Yeah, they both had to stay after to ‘discuss appropriate classroom behavior.’” He even used air quotes.
Clyde snorted. “Classic.”
Craig tried to smirk, but it felt stiff. He looked down at the empty seat beside him, the one he’d saved without really thinking.
Tweek and Kenny finally made their way to the table, still arguing under their breath.
“You started it!” Tweek said.
“Fucker, you threw the first one!” Kenny shot back, grinning.
“I was defending myself!”
They both stopped mid-argument when they reached the table, and then, somehow, they both started laughing. That soft, tired kind of laugh that comes after a long day of pretending you’re fine.
Craig found himself smiling a little, too, before quickly looking away.
He cleared his throat. “You can sit here,” he said, tapping the seat beside him.
Everyone else was too busy unwrapping their lunches to notice the tension.
Tweek froze. For a split second, Craig thought he might actually take the seat, slide right back into the space that used to belong to just the two of them.
But then Tweek’s eyes flicked up, just briefly meeting his. There was something cold in them. Distant.
He shifted his tray and sat across the table instead, next to Kenny.
Craig’s stomach dropped, though he kept his expression blank.
Kenny didn’t say anything, just shot Craig a look that was half-warning, half-pity. Then he turned back to Tweek, bumping his shoulder lightly as if to keep him distracted.
Tweek smiled faintly, murmuring something under his breath, and Kenny laughed again.
Clyde was talking about his weekend plans, Token was checking his phone, Stan and Kyle were whispering about homework, everything around Craig moved normally.
But all he could hear was the sound of Tweek’s quiet laugh from across the table.
He stabbed at his food without tasting it, nodding along absently to something Token said.
And still, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Tweek may have found out.
The lunchroom felt louder than usual. Maybe it was just Craig’s head.
Everyone was talking at once, Clyde and Stan arguing about whether skipping gym counted as “saving energy,” Kyle explaining some math joke no one understood, Token half-listening while scrolling his phone.
It was normal. Ordinary.
Except it wasn’t.
Across the table, Tweek and Kenny were still in their own little world. Kenny was leaning close, one arm draped behind Tweek’s chair without even realizing it. Tweek was laughing at something on his phone again, his hand tapping Kenny’s arm whenever something cracked him up too much.
Craig’s jaw tightened.
He poked at the food on his tray, pretending to care about the conversation happening around him, nodding occasionally when Clyde said something stupid just so no one noticed.
But his eyes kept drifting back.
Tweek’s hair caught the light, messy and golden near the edges, the kind of detail Craig had never paid attention to until he wasn’t allowed to anymore. The faint smudge of pen on his wrist, the little tilt of his smile when Kenny teased him, all of it was too familiar.
And Kenny looked too comfortable. Too at ease. Like he belonged there.
Craig’s hands curled under the table, knuckles pressing against his jeans. He didn’t even realize he was glaring until Token asked him something and he didn’t respond.
“Yo,” Token said again, elbowing him lightly. “You good, man?”
Craig blinked and forced a small shrug. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Token nodded, not thinking twice about it, and went back to whatever Kyle and Stan were laughing about.
Nobody noticed that Craig’s eyes hadn’t moved for minutes.
Nobody noticed the way his stare lingered too long on Kenny’s arm resting behind Tweek’s chair.
Nobody noticed how his foot bounced under the table, faster and faster with every quiet laugh that wasn’t for him.
The noise around him blurred, voices fading into one long hum. All he could hear was Tweek’s laugh. That sharp, bright, nervous kind that used to spill against his own shoulder.
He looked down at his tray, pretending to adjust his fork, jaw clenching once before he finally looked up again.
Kenny said something else, Tweek laughed, almost doubling over, and Craig’s expression flickered, something dark and unguarded slipping through just for a second before his usual blank calm returned.
No one saw it.
Everyone kept talking.
Except Craig, who didn’t say another word for the rest of lunch.