[15/?] (This one also went over the word limit so it's a two-parter again)
It’s a short walk from the wooden door of Craig’s room to the heavy metal doors that lead towards the courtyard. He pushes them open and takes in a deep breath of the cool air. Everything seems duller than it did a few days ago. The leaves on the trees are less vibrant, the aromas that hang in the air are less fragrant, and even the air itself feels less oppressive on his skin. Craig couldn’t be more relieved. It’s a strange sort of relief, though, because even though in so many ways he physically feels better now that his rut has abated, he is teeming with a new kind of emotional distress he’s never experienced before. Ironically, it’s so all-encompassing it’s wrapped back around into physical discomfort. Nervous energy manifests low in his belly and swishes around inside him, making his skin feel tight like it’s crawling. His joints feel stiff too, but in all honesty that might be from the strain of his previous physical activities and then his complete inability to relax ever since then. Nevertheless, he plods one foot in front of the other along the concrete walkway.
Tweek actually resides in the same dormitory building, he came to learn the other day. But due to the nature of the shape of their building, it’s actually a quicker journey to cut through the courtyard to walk from one room to the other. He pays little attention to the manicured garden or the supposedly inspirational statues that are adorned with academic quotes etched upon them. He’s much too distracted. Not that he’s thinking about much, however. In fact, he has very little going in the way of a plan of action. His entire thought process was to essentially force his legs to carry him all the way back to Tweek’s room, knock on the door, and then sort of wing it from there. He didn’t want to dawdle on plotting out the details for the very genuine fear that he’d lose his gumption if he paused to think too hard. So for now, he walks. No thoughts, no distractions, only the singular task of initiating an open discussion with the poor omega he carelessly knocked up. He cringes and decides that’s a shitty way to think about it. He corrects himself. He’s going to initiate an open discussion with Tweek. He’s an individual. When he arrives, he hesitates. His mouth feels strangely dry and his palms feel strangely wet. Craig stares at the door for at least two solid minutes before he moves. Two minutes isn’t a very long time, but it’s certainly too long to be standing paralyzed while staring at a door. He forces his knuckles to firmly tap the door identical to his own three times. And then he waits.
Nothing happens. He’s getting more and more anxious. Part of him wants to turn on his heels and book it back the way he came, but a stronger part of him plants himself squarely in front of the door and refuses to move until the door opens. It feels like an eternity, but it’s really only another minute or two until Craig can hear some kind of commotion from the other side of the door. There are a few small crashing sounds and heavy footsteps, and then the distinctive sound of multiple locks turning. The door creaks open just a few inches, but Craig can see a mess of blonde hair through the empty space. His breath hitches and his heart does a cartwheel.
“Yeah?”
A voice speaks to him through the door and in an instant, Craig’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not from excitement but from fear. And further still, it’s not from the fear of having a heavy discussion with an acquaintance-turned-sex-partner, but from the fact that the voice speaking to him distinctly does not belong to Tweek. The door opens a bit further and Craig gets a full view of the person addressing him. He’s blonde, sure, but the rest is different. Craig looks ahead to the smiling face with a chipped tooth and downturned eyes.
“You’re not Tweek,” Craig states stupidly, and without a filter.
“Nice to see you, too, Tucker,” the imposter blonde clucks his tongue. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
The sentence doesn’t register right away in Craig’s mind. He’s too startled and distraught.
“What are you doing in Tweek’s dorm, Kenny?” Craig frowns, confusion plastered on his features.
“Uh,” Kenny scratches the back of his neck, clearly just as confused as Craig. “I just told you I live here, dude?”
“Tweek has a roommate?” Craig’s voice, unfortunately, goes up an octave in his sudden panic.
If he was nervous before, he’s bordering on a full-blown panic now. Dozens of thoughts race through his mind. It’s been nearly two full days since he dropped Tweek back at this very door. So much can happen in that span of time. What if Tweek told his roommate everything? What does Kenny know? Can Kenny keep a secret? Does Tweek trust Kenny? Is Tweek close to Kenny? Does Kenny know Tweek is officially an omega? Craig feels queasy. He can feel the color drain from his face. Kenny scrutinizes him for a moment and frowns before taking a cautious step forward.
“You doing okay there, Craig? Did something happen?” Kenny drops his cavalier attitude and takes one of much more genuine concern.
“No, I just need to talk to Tweek,” Craig says flatly, both lying and telling the truth all at once.
“Ah,” Kenny nods, but it’s apparent he knows something is fishy. “He’s not here right now. You don’t look so good. Wanna come inside and sit down for a minute?”
“No,” Craig scoffs as if the idea is ridiculous. “I just need to talk to Tweek. Do you know where he is?”
“Yeah, he’s at work,” Kenny shrugs.
Craig stares at him vacantly. He didn’t know Tweek had a job. He definitely doesn’t know where he works. Kenny stares back at him. This is so fucking awkward.
“At the coffee shop…?” Kenny finally supplies with a gesture of his hand as though that much were obvious.
Craig knows of at least five different places to get coffee on this stupid campus. That doesn’t narrow the search very much. There’s another awkward beat between them. Kenny looks increasingly concerned, but Craig can’t get out of his own head enough to notice.
“...the one he’s named after? Tweek Bros? Sure you don’t wanna come inside, buddy? You look like shit,” Kenny swings his arm back into the house in something akin to a welcoming motion.
“Fuck off, Kenny,” Craig takes an aggressive form of defense. “I’m not your buddy, you weirdo.”
With that, he turns and pulls out his new phone to plug the walking directions to the coffee shop into his GPS. He channels his tumultuous feelings all into something more condensed and familiar and fixates on actively hating Kenny. Truth be told, he doesn’t actually hate Kenny at all. But focusing on forcing himself to hate him is far easier than untangling the string of complex and foreign emotions he’s faced with instead. Kenny hasn’t done anything except offer him an uncomfortable kindness and point him in the right direction, but even still… Craig scrunches up his face hatefully and flips him off before following the path towards the cafe where he’ll find Tweek.
It’s a short walk, really, and when Craig arrives after his brief yet anguished journey, he realizes he’s actually walked right past this exact place multiple times before. He’s never paid it any mind since he’s never been much of a coffee drinker. It’s a nice storefront, though. There are big glass windowpanes that allow any passersby to catch a glimpse of the welcoming interior adorned with wooden furniture and cozy warm lighting. Even though his senses feel a bit dull right now, he can still smell the inviting aromas of fresh coffee and warm pastries wafting from inside out into the chilly air. On the entryway door, the company logo is plastered on the glass along with thick black letters, spelling out “Tweek” right there on the storefront. It's a wonder he didn't notice before. Craig surreptitiously peers through the window. His chest feels tight and his tongue feels thick when he catches sight of Tweek himself behind the counter. He hasn’t been sighted– Tweek looks preoccupied. It’s now or never, though, so Craig finds his strength and pushes through the door. He’s ready to say something to him, anything at all, whether it be a greeting or an apology or some weird messy monologue about their night together. He’s not ready, however, for the door to have a cute little set of jingling bells that chime the moment he swings open the door.
Naturally, it alerts Tweek right away and he looks up. Their eyes meet in shock and the mug Tweek was holding crashes to the floor and shatters. He screams. Craig winces. Several customers turn their heads and several more shuffle around, only adding to the commotion. Tweek apologizes vaguely to the room at a volume much too loud for a quiet, indoor coffee house. Craig stands in place, less sure than he’s ever been before. To others, it must look like he’s waiting patiently while Tweek gathers the shards with a broom and a wash rag, but in reality, he’s frozen on the spot. An abstract amount of time passes and Tweek emerges from the other side of the counter to get up close to Craig. He’s wearing a logo-branded apron smeared with coffee grounds on top of his usual attire. His hair is the same mess as ever (though there’s a bit of sweat along his hairline), and his eyes are wide and bloodshot.
“What are you doing here?” Tweek hisses in a low voice at Craig, but the tone denotes shock far more than malice.
“Needed to talk to you,” Craig mumbles.
“Hrngh, you couldn’t text?” Tweek’s shoulders slump, though he really isn’t relaxed or relieved.
“I don’t have your number.”
“Oh,” Tweek turns his head away and doesn’t contribute to that thought any further.
Craig is acutely aware of the way his chest is rising and falling erratically. This was a stupid idea. What was he thinking, just showing up unannounced during a work shift like this? He has no dialogue prepared and nothing to offer beyond his disruptive presence. He should leave. This is going extremely poorly. He should turn and run while he still has the chance.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he blurts out and starts to turn back to the door.
“Wait!”
Tweek’s hand shoots forward and grabs at his wrist. They both look down to see the abrupt gesture in action. Tweek clings a bit too harshly, but Craig doesn’t pull away. Tweek looks as startled by the action as Craig feels. A fleeting moment flies by and once again, Craig is surprised that Tweek doesn’t want to be left alone. Eventually, Tweek relinquishes his grip and holds onto his own arm instead while shuffling his feet in place.
“I was scared we wouldn’t talk after everything,” Tweek admits, speaking into his chest.
“We should definitely talk,” Craig agrees. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, though.”
“Agh! No!” Tweek shakes his hands in disagreement. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just clock out for my break now. Um, ngh, I’ll get us something to drink.”
“No, really,” Tweek insists. “It’s on me. It’s the least I can do.”
Craig winces as Tweek disappears behind an ‘employees only’ door. He feels horrible accepting a gesture of kindness, as though Tweek seems to think he’s the one who has done something wrong in this situation. But the wheels are in motion so Craig is at least grateful that they’ll talk. He spots a secluded little booth near the rear of the cafe, so he drags his feet towards it and plops down to wait. A few minutes elapse and then Tweek scurries back out with two twin mugs in tow. He beelines it towards Craig’s booth, only spilling a little coffee on himself as he goes. He places one for himself, one for Craig, removes his apron and tosses it in a heap, and then slides into the booth. Neither of them speaks, despite the fact that they explicitly agreed to talk about things only a few minutes prior. Craig grips the glossy white handle of the mug and peers into the black liquid. A few brown bubbles sit atop the black coffee, and Craig thinks it’s a little odd that Tweek added a stir stick to the cup even though it’s pretty apparent there’s neither cream nor sugar in the cup. He gives it a stir once or twice anyway.
Tweek’s clearly on edge on the other side of the booth. He grips his mug with both hands, clearly in an attempt to remain steady. If Craig hadn’t seen this exact sort of behavior in their shared classes before, he’d feel doubly guilty for causing this poor guy to seem so unnerved. Eventually, Tweek lifts the mug and takes a hefty gulp from it despite the piping hot temperature. Though it’s a much daintier sip, Craig follows suit. It’s bitter and tastes unpleasant, like sour dirt. He tries to mask his disgust by clearing his throat.
“Guess I should be switching to decaf soon, huh,” Tweek breaks the ice with a flippant comment and a wry chuckle.
This breaks the man and Craig flops forward onto the tabletop in a whiplash of defeat and emotion.
“I’m so sorry,” he gurgles pathetically into the wood.
“Ack! Ah, Craig…!” Tweek flails a bit frantically. “Oh, god… Shit, no, I’m sorry! Argh, blech, what was I thinking? Ugh, fucking stupid, man… Dude, I wasn’t trying to guilt you. Mnph, it’s… it’s not your fault, Craig.”
“It’s kind of literally my fault, dude,” Craig grumbles and doesn’t lift himself from the table.
Tweek reaches forward and gives Craig a couple of the world’s most jittery and awkward pats to the top of his head. Its inefficacy is really punctuated by the fact that Craig’s still wearing his dumb hat. This is terrible.
“Well, I mean, yeah, but…” Tweek weirdly lays his head down on the table to face him. “It’s my fault, too.”
Both of their faces are squished awkwardly on the scratched-up wooden surface, but at this angle, they can look each other in the eyes. This wasn’t at all the reaction Craig expected. He sort of suspected anger or sadness or regret, but while laying face-first on the table and looking into Tweek’s unique eyes all he feels is a tingling, comforting sensation. Somehow being smoosh-faced on the table makes it feel a little more private, even though they’re both decidedly acting very peculiarly in public. It’s just the tiniest bit encouraging. He huffs a little bit and the ghost of a shy smile curls up the outer corners of his lips.
“I’m still sorry, Tweek,” Craig offers, but can’t quite keep eye contact as he talks.
“Me too,” Tweek’s teeth are clattering together and Craig can feel the vibrations through the table on the side of his face. “I feel like… ngh, like I tricked you…”
Craig sits upright at that. Tricked him? How could he feel like that? Craig was the one prowling, and he was the one that brought him back to his room, and, well… everything else after that.
“You didn’t trick me,” Craig insists firmly. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“Ha,” Tweek coughs out an ironic laugh and sits up, too. “I knew what I was doing, too.”
They go quiet again and let those words sit in the air. Tweek slurps at his coffee.
“Yeah, but Tweek, it was your first time,” Craig attempts to shoulder the entirety of the blame again.
“Yeah, about that,” Tweek cuts him off and puts down his mug. “Is… hmm. Is it always like that? Where, ah… where you know exactly what you’re doing…? But, agh, you can’t help yourself?”
“Pretty much,” Craig grouses. “I hate it.”
“Hmm…” Tweek muses and runs a finger over the rim of his mug. “Is it wrong if… I didn’t entirely hate it?”
“...oh,” Craig says just for the sake of replying.
Re: Tweek/Craig, ABO, overstimulation
It’s a short walk from the wooden door of Craig’s room to the heavy metal doors that lead towards the courtyard. He pushes them open and takes in a deep breath of the cool air. Everything seems duller than it did a few days ago. The leaves on the trees are less vibrant, the aromas that hang in the air are less fragrant, and even the air itself feels less oppressive on his skin. Craig couldn’t be more relieved. It’s a strange sort of relief, though, because even though in so many ways he physically feels better now that his rut has abated, he is teeming with a new kind of emotional distress he’s never experienced before. Ironically, it’s so all-encompassing it’s wrapped back around into physical discomfort. Nervous energy manifests low in his belly and swishes around inside him, making his skin feel tight like it’s crawling. His joints feel stiff too, but in all honesty that might be from the strain of his previous physical activities and then his complete inability to relax ever since then. Nevertheless, he plods one foot in front of the other along the concrete walkway.
Tweek actually resides in the same dormitory building, he came to learn the other day. But due to the nature of the shape of their building, it’s actually a quicker journey to cut through the courtyard to walk from one room to the other. He pays little attention to the manicured garden or the supposedly inspirational statues that are adorned with academic quotes etched upon them. He’s much too distracted. Not that he’s thinking about much, however. In fact, he has very little going in the way of a plan of action. His entire thought process was to essentially force his legs to carry him all the way back to Tweek’s room, knock on the door, and then sort of wing it from there. He didn’t want to dawdle on plotting out the details for the very genuine fear that he’d lose his gumption if he paused to think too hard. So for now, he walks. No thoughts, no distractions, only the singular task of initiating an open discussion with the poor omega he carelessly knocked up. He cringes and decides that’s a shitty way to think about it. He corrects himself. He’s going to initiate an open discussion with Tweek. He’s an individual. When he arrives, he hesitates. His mouth feels strangely dry and his palms feel strangely wet. Craig stares at the door for at least two solid minutes before he moves. Two minutes isn’t a very long time, but it’s certainly too long to be standing paralyzed while staring at a door. He forces his knuckles to firmly tap the door identical to his own three times. And then he waits.
Nothing happens. He’s getting more and more anxious. Part of him wants to turn on his heels and book it back the way he came, but a stronger part of him plants himself squarely in front of the door and refuses to move until the door opens. It feels like an eternity, but it’s really only another minute or two until Craig can hear some kind of commotion from the other side of the door. There are a few small crashing sounds and heavy footsteps, and then the distinctive sound of multiple locks turning. The door creaks open just a few inches, but Craig can see a mess of blonde hair through the empty space. His breath hitches and his heart does a cartwheel.
“Yeah?”
A voice speaks to him through the door and in an instant, Craig’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not from excitement but from fear. And further still, it’s not from the fear of having a heavy discussion with an acquaintance-turned-sex-partner, but from the fact that the voice speaking to him distinctly does not belong to Tweek. The door opens a bit further and Craig gets a full view of the person addressing him. He’s blonde, sure, but the rest is different. Craig looks ahead to the smiling face with a chipped tooth and downturned eyes.
“You’re not Tweek,” Craig states stupidly, and without a filter.
“Nice to see you, too, Tucker,” the imposter blonde clucks his tongue. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
The sentence doesn’t register right away in Craig’s mind. He’s too startled and distraught.
“What are you doing in Tweek’s dorm, Kenny?” Craig frowns, confusion plastered on his features.
“Uh,” Kenny scratches the back of his neck, clearly just as confused as Craig. “I just told you I live here, dude?”
“Tweek has a roommate?” Craig’s voice, unfortunately, goes up an octave in his sudden panic.
If he was nervous before, he’s bordering on a full-blown panic now. Dozens of thoughts race through his mind. It’s been nearly two full days since he dropped Tweek back at this very door. So much can happen in that span of time. What if Tweek told his roommate everything? What does Kenny know? Can Kenny keep a secret? Does Tweek trust Kenny? Is Tweek close to Kenny? Does Kenny know Tweek is officially an omega? Craig feels queasy. He can feel the color drain from his face. Kenny scrutinizes him for a moment and frowns before taking a cautious step forward.
“You doing okay there, Craig? Did something happen?” Kenny drops his cavalier attitude and takes one of much more genuine concern.
“No, I just need to talk to Tweek,” Craig says flatly, both lying and telling the truth all at once.
“Ah,” Kenny nods, but it’s apparent he knows something is fishy. “He’s not here right now. You don’t look so good. Wanna come inside and sit down for a minute?”
“No,” Craig scoffs as if the idea is ridiculous. “I just need to talk to Tweek. Do you know where he is?”
“Yeah, he’s at work,” Kenny shrugs.
Craig stares at him vacantly. He didn’t know Tweek had a job. He definitely doesn’t know where he works. Kenny stares back at him. This is so fucking awkward.
“At the coffee shop…?” Kenny finally supplies with a gesture of his hand as though that much were obvious.
Craig knows of at least five different places to get coffee on this stupid campus. That doesn’t narrow the search very much. There’s another awkward beat between them. Kenny looks increasingly concerned, but Craig can’t get out of his own head enough to notice.
“...the one he’s named after? Tweek Bros? Sure you don’t wanna come inside, buddy? You look like shit,” Kenny swings his arm back into the house in something akin to a welcoming motion.
“Fuck off, Kenny,” Craig takes an aggressive form of defense. “I’m not your buddy, you weirdo.”
With that, he turns and pulls out his new phone to plug the walking directions to the coffee shop into his GPS. He channels his tumultuous feelings all into something more condensed and familiar and fixates on actively hating Kenny. Truth be told, he doesn’t actually hate Kenny at all. But focusing on forcing himself to hate him is far easier than untangling the string of complex and foreign emotions he’s faced with instead. Kenny hasn’t done anything except offer him an uncomfortable kindness and point him in the right direction, but even still… Craig scrunches up his face hatefully and flips him off before following the path towards the cafe where he’ll find Tweek.
It’s a short walk, really, and when Craig arrives after his brief yet anguished journey, he realizes he’s actually walked right past this exact place multiple times before. He’s never paid it any mind since he’s never been much of a coffee drinker. It’s a nice storefront, though. There are big glass windowpanes that allow any passersby to catch a glimpse of the welcoming interior adorned with wooden furniture and cozy warm lighting. Even though his senses feel a bit dull right now, he can still smell the inviting aromas of fresh coffee and warm pastries wafting from inside out into the chilly air. On the entryway door, the company logo is plastered on the glass along with thick black letters, spelling out “Tweek” right there on the storefront. It's a wonder he didn't notice before. Craig surreptitiously peers through the window. His chest feels tight and his tongue feels thick when he catches sight of Tweek himself behind the counter. He hasn’t been sighted– Tweek looks preoccupied. It’s now or never, though, so Craig finds his strength and pushes through the door. He’s ready to say something to him, anything at all, whether it be a greeting or an apology or some weird messy monologue about their night together. He’s not ready, however, for the door to have a cute little set of jingling bells that chime the moment he swings open the door.
Naturally, it alerts Tweek right away and he looks up. Their eyes meet in shock and the mug Tweek was holding crashes to the floor and shatters. He screams. Craig winces. Several customers turn their heads and several more shuffle around, only adding to the commotion. Tweek apologizes vaguely to the room at a volume much too loud for a quiet, indoor coffee house. Craig stands in place, less sure than he’s ever been before. To others, it must look like he’s waiting patiently while Tweek gathers the shards with a broom and a wash rag, but in reality, he’s frozen on the spot. An abstract amount of time passes and Tweek emerges from the other side of the counter to get up close to Craig. He’s wearing a logo-branded apron smeared with coffee grounds on top of his usual attire. His hair is the same mess as ever (though there’s a bit of sweat along his hairline), and his eyes are wide and bloodshot.
“What are you doing here?” Tweek hisses in a low voice at Craig, but the tone denotes shock far more than malice.
“Needed to talk to you,” Craig mumbles.
“Hrngh, you couldn’t text?” Tweek’s shoulders slump, though he really isn’t relaxed or relieved.
“I don’t have your number.”
“Oh,” Tweek turns his head away and doesn’t contribute to that thought any further.
Craig is acutely aware of the way his chest is rising and falling erratically. This was a stupid idea. What was he thinking, just showing up unannounced during a work shift like this? He has no dialogue prepared and nothing to offer beyond his disruptive presence. He should leave. This is going extremely poorly. He should turn and run while he still has the chance.
“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he blurts out and starts to turn back to the door.
“Wait!”
Tweek’s hand shoots forward and grabs at his wrist. They both look down to see the abrupt gesture in action. Tweek clings a bit too harshly, but Craig doesn’t pull away. Tweek looks as startled by the action as Craig feels. A fleeting moment flies by and once again, Craig is surprised that Tweek doesn’t want to be left alone. Eventually, Tweek relinquishes his grip and holds onto his own arm instead while shuffling his feet in place.
“I was scared we wouldn’t talk after everything,” Tweek admits, speaking into his chest.
“We should definitely talk,” Craig agrees. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come here, though.”
“Agh! No!” Tweek shakes his hands in disagreement. “No, it’s fine. I’ll just clock out for my break now. Um, ngh, I’ll get us something to drink.”
“Oh,” Craig wasn’t expecting that. “No, uh, I’m fine.”
“No, really,” Tweek insists. “It’s on me. It’s the least I can do.”
Craig winces as Tweek disappears behind an ‘employees only’ door. He feels horrible accepting a gesture of kindness, as though Tweek seems to think he’s the one who has done something wrong in this situation. But the wheels are in motion so Craig is at least grateful that they’ll talk. He spots a secluded little booth near the rear of the cafe, so he drags his feet towards it and plops down to wait. A few minutes elapse and then Tweek scurries back out with two twin mugs in tow. He beelines it towards Craig’s booth, only spilling a little coffee on himself as he goes. He places one for himself, one for Craig, removes his apron and tosses it in a heap, and then slides into the booth. Neither of them speaks, despite the fact that they explicitly agreed to talk about things only a few minutes prior. Craig grips the glossy white handle of the mug and peers into the black liquid. A few brown bubbles sit atop the black coffee, and Craig thinks it’s a little odd that Tweek added a stir stick to the cup even though it’s pretty apparent there’s neither cream nor sugar in the cup. He gives it a stir once or twice anyway.
Tweek’s clearly on edge on the other side of the booth. He grips his mug with both hands, clearly in an attempt to remain steady. If Craig hadn’t seen this exact sort of behavior in their shared classes before, he’d feel doubly guilty for causing this poor guy to seem so unnerved. Eventually, Tweek lifts the mug and takes a hefty gulp from it despite the piping hot temperature. Though it’s a much daintier sip, Craig follows suit. It’s bitter and tastes unpleasant, like sour dirt. He tries to mask his disgust by clearing his throat.
“Guess I should be switching to decaf soon, huh,” Tweek breaks the ice with a flippant comment and a wry chuckle.
This breaks the man and Craig flops forward onto the tabletop in a whiplash of defeat and emotion.
“I’m so sorry,” he gurgles pathetically into the wood.
“Ack! Ah, Craig…!” Tweek flails a bit frantically. “Oh, god… Shit, no, I’m sorry! Argh, blech, what was I thinking? Ugh, fucking stupid, man… Dude, I wasn’t trying to guilt you. Mnph, it’s… it’s not your fault, Craig.”
“It’s kind of literally my fault, dude,” Craig grumbles and doesn’t lift himself from the table.
Tweek reaches forward and gives Craig a couple of the world’s most jittery and awkward pats to the top of his head. Its inefficacy is really punctuated by the fact that Craig’s still wearing his dumb hat. This is terrible.
“Well, I mean, yeah, but…” Tweek weirdly lays his head down on the table to face him. “It’s my fault, too.”
Both of their faces are squished awkwardly on the scratched-up wooden surface, but at this angle, they can look each other in the eyes. This wasn’t at all the reaction Craig expected. He sort of suspected anger or sadness or regret, but while laying face-first on the table and looking into Tweek’s unique eyes all he feels is a tingling, comforting sensation. Somehow being smoosh-faced on the table makes it feel a little more private, even though they’re both decidedly acting very peculiarly in public. It’s just the tiniest bit encouraging. He huffs a little bit and the ghost of a shy smile curls up the outer corners of his lips.
“I’m still sorry, Tweek,” Craig offers, but can’t quite keep eye contact as he talks.
“Me too,” Tweek’s teeth are clattering together and Craig can feel the vibrations through the table on the side of his face. “I feel like… ngh, like I tricked you…”
Craig sits upright at that. Tricked him? How could he feel like that? Craig was the one prowling, and he was the one that brought him back to his room, and, well… everything else after that.
“You didn’t trick me,” Craig insists firmly. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“Ha,” Tweek coughs out an ironic laugh and sits up, too. “I knew what I was doing, too.”
They go quiet again and let those words sit in the air. Tweek slurps at his coffee.
“Yeah, but Tweek, it was your first time,” Craig attempts to shoulder the entirety of the blame again.
“Yeah, about that,” Tweek cuts him off and puts down his mug. “Is… hmm. Is it always like that? Where, ah… where you know exactly what you’re doing…? But, agh, you can’t help yourself?”
“Pretty much,” Craig grouses. “I hate it.”
“Hmm…” Tweek muses and runs a finger over the rim of his mug. “Is it wrong if… I didn’t entirely hate it?”
“...oh,” Craig says just for the sake of replying.