Be nice to your brother. Be nice to your brother, his mom had said before they left for the mall. It echoes in his head now, be nice to your brother.

Tweek’s sitting in the passenger’s seat of his car. They’re both adults, and he’s not Craig’s brother. Craig doesn’t have a brother. He has a sister and she lives back in South Park with their dad. Tweek is Richard’s son, and Craig hates him. He hates both of them. And he’s starting to hate his mom for her obviously shit taste.

It’s not like his dad’s a real winner but Richard’s no upgrade. Maybe he takes a little better care of himself. He’s not fat and he doesn’t drink every day. But his personality is fucking awful and Craig doesn’t understand why she doesn’t just stick to what she knows.

His brat son is just further evidence of his awfulness. Tweek has commandeered the aux, won’t allow him to play his own music ever, actually, because it’s “frat boy garbage,” according to Tweek. Tweek’s esoteric ass music may as well be whale sounds for all Craig knows. Aside from insulting his music and commenting on the length of time Craig takes shitting in the morning, Tweek barely talks to him, but his mom makes him drive Tweek to school, and the mall, and his weekly shrink appointment. He’s probably crazy from having a dad like that. He can’t even drive.


They stop to pick up Clyde first. Tweek introduces himself and asks his name.

“Clyde,” Clyde replies nasally. The conversation ends there.

If it were just those two, Craig would be fine, but then they stop to pick up Jimmy who kisses Tweek’s hand in greeting, and Tweek giggles. Their tone is flirty which makes Craig want to puke. Against his will, Craig learns Tweek’s getting smoothies with friends and then going clothes shopping.

Tweek asks to be dropped at the main mall entrance, in that weirdly calm, dull tone of his that gives Craig the creeps. It reminds him of his creepy father. Craig can’t get to his stop soon enough.

“Mmnh, thanks, big brother,” Tweek says with a simper when they arrive, and he leans in like he’s going to kiss Craig. He’s so fucking embarrassed, even more so because his heart is slamming hard against his sternum, but he doesn’t push Tweek away or punch him like he wants to. He just freezes. “For the ride,” Tweek murmurs, his breath hot against Craig’s cheek. Something deep in his gut twists at the tease of it all, expecting a kiss and being denied it.

On the inside, he’s fuming, but he doesn’t say anything. He can see Tweek out of the corner of his eye, studying him for a moment like he’s some sort of specimen under a microscope. Then Tweek pulls back with a contented hum, and hops out of the car.


The second the door slams shut, Jimmy’s howling with laughter. Craig’s cheek tingles with the ghost of Tweek’s hot breath and now he has to contend with his jackass friends having seen all of that.

“That was hilarious. He’s even funnier than me. He totally got your ass, dude. Are you two f-f-fuh—screwing yet?” Jimmy asks. Clyde snorts his energy drink out of his nose onto the upholstery.

“That’s fucking gross,” he shouts at both of them at once, tossing Clyde a wad of napkins from his glove compartment. “That’s my goddamn—brother,” he grumbles. He’s not, he doesn’t really mean it, but it is gross.

“I mean, not really. You didn’t come out of the same uterus, you’re not really brothers. You’ve known him for, what, a month? You’re both adults…” Thanks, Jimmy.
“So what, it’s still fucking gross. And I’m not gay!”


There’s a long pregnant pause Craig is not pleased about.

“Well…” Jimmy starts, “he obviously wants your d-d-dick.”

“Yeah, I mean, if you hate him anyway, why not get a blowjob out of it,” Clyde suggests. Craig hopes the energy drink residue continues to burn his nasal passages all day.

“Can we just go to the movies? I don’t want to talk about my stupid fucking family anymore,” he says through gritted teeth. He should make new friends who aren’t so comfortable commenting on his fucked-up family dynamics. That sounds hard, though. Maybe they’ll shut up during the movie.

It’s some Marvel bullshit he’d sort of been excited to see, but once they get in their seats, all he can do is mindlessly eat his popcorn and stare at the screen with unfocused eyes, thinking about stupid Tweek at the stupid mall with his friends, probably trying on gay little outfits.

His mom’s first description of Richard had been that he was a “very progressive man” with a “very special boy” which Craig took to mean a pill popper with a gay son. It seems like he was right on both counts. Richard talks like he’s on Xanax and his son’s shorts are too short, his tastes too obscure, and oh yeah, his taunting flirtation with Craig too bold for him to be straight.


The movie ends and Craig’s out the door before the credits even start rolling, too restless to even pretend he’s enjoyed himself during his one excursion this weekend. He’s well-aware he’s awful company, merely grunting when Jimmy asks, “What’d you think of the movie, ch-champ?” but he’s trying to keep his cool looking for Tweek at the food court. He’d texted, “on our way to food court” five minutes and still no response, though it had clearly been read.

But after a minute of scanning the crowd, Craig spots him laughing and being hugged around the middle by a guy in a big orange parka. Craig had imagined his friends would be as sexually ambiguous in their fashion choices as Tweek, but this guy looks regular, if a little schlubby. He kind of hates him instinctively because he seems to like Tweek, squeezing him tight with Tweek practically in his lap, making his face light up when he plants a sloppy kiss on Tweek’s cheek. Tweek lights up further when he spots Craig and he grabs his bags, says goodbye to his friends, and bounds over with an easy smile on his face.

“Let’s go,” Craig says in a bored tone, and he doesn’t know if he’s pleased or feels shitty when Tweek’s smile falters. It’s a little of both.


He drops Clyde off first, then Jimmy. Their chatter is only a dull hum because Tweek’s shorts seem shorter than ever and he’s got his feet up on the dash. On his way out, Jimmy hollers to Craig, “Thanks for the ride, p-p-pal. Remember what we talked about!”
“Your friends are nice,” Tweek says, voice oddly contented. He’s acting like they’re a couple driving home from dinner with friends. It’s sick. What gives Tweek the right to act like no boundaries exist between them? Some should.

“No, they’re not,” Craig replies dully.

Tweek huffs out a bit of breathy laughter at that. It wasn’t directed at Craig, but Craig wasn’t trying to be funny, so it feels like it was. Fuck this little shit.


That night, just as Craig is drifting off, he’s awoken by the sound of Richard pounding his mom into their headboard. He wonders, as he grabs his jacket, vape, and headphones, if his father got all the shame in the divorce. Then again, if his father had had any shame, he wouldn’t have cheated on her so damn much and they might still be together. Craig hurries down the stairs in the hopes he might escape this hell, at least for a little while.

Halfway down, he feels a tugging on his jacket sleeve and jerks his hand back instinctively. His knuckles collide with hard bone and soft flesh, and a sharp cry pierces through the sound-blocking his headphones provide. He yanks them off and turns around to find Tweek whining softly and rubbing his eye.

“Dude, can you smoke me out? I’ll get you back. Eugh, just don’t wanna…” He flails his arm ambiguously.

“No,” Craig says, automatic but he’s resolute. He doesn’t want to share this time with Tweek. This isn’t a fucking bonding moment. This is probably his fault. His parents probably got divorced because of what a problem child he was.

This contradicts his thoughts from earlier in a way he’s peripherally aware of—the idea that the issue was his father. That’s fine, though. He doesn’t need to think about these freaks. He needs to forget this is his fucking life for half an hour vaping in his car while this freak’s freak dad bangs out his mom. Tweek can fend for himself.

He jogs down the remaining stairs, leaving Tweek in his wake. It's cold out and Craig cranks the heat but still shivers as he tries to forget those little sounds of pain, the way Tweek already had his jacket on over his plaid pajama bottoms. He wonders what Tweek is like high. Maybe he was high on their way to the mall—how else would he muster the brazenness to tease Craig like that? Where does that urge come from? Why is Craig thinking about him?

There’s not a lot going on in Craig’s social life. He just needs for the parties to start up, and to get invited to them, and he'll be alright.


When he comes back inside and up the stairs, their parents mercifully seem to be done fucking, and Tweek is coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s too pale, an unhealthy gleam to his skin, but it’s the glinting on his chest that draws Craig’s attention.

“Where’d you get those?” he demands, staring at the silver rings encircling each peachy pink nipple on Tweek’s pasty chest.

“Huh?” Tweek squawks, an undignified sound. When he looks down and realizes what Craig is looking at, he covers his chest with an arm, and then has to hoist up his towel where it sits knotted around his waist because it almost slipped. If Tweek were one of his friends, Craig would’ve laughed off the predicament, but he’s stoned and he’s never seen Tweek like this before. His eyes drink in the sight against his will.

Of course, Tweek is right in front of him and can see him watching, and glowers at him. “My friend Kenny did them, and it’s none of your business! Stop looking at them!”
Craig lets out an irritated scoff and keeps it moving to his room. He only looks at Tweek as he heads back to his room too because of how noisily Tweek huffs and grunts. The dimples at his lower back are elegant and almost feminine and he hates that Tweek has them. He locks his door and ends up wasting the afternoon accidentally edging himself watching anal porn because he just happens to like blondes with no tits. Tweek’s even ruined porn for him.

He can’t get off in the end, so he watches old Star Trek reruns and vapes ‘til he’s sleepy, vowing to start running again next week so he can work off this pent-up energy. His fucking balls hurt.


The next morning Craig has to drive Tweek to school. They go to the same school so it wouldn’t actually be a huge imposition, except Tweek is taking beginning Russian which starts at 8 am every day. Craig doesn’t have a language requirement because he’s studying computer science so he’s just up awake for no reason. Tweek makes him go through the Starbucks drive-thru but he can’t really complain about it because Tweek pays for his drink too. He doesn’t even make fun of Craig for getting hot chocolate.

His afternoon class is canceled so he gets to come home early. Craig's glad to have some fucking peace and quiet, until “—augh, Kenny, fuck—” his stepbrother groans from the other room. He sighs deeply at having found himself in a similar predicament twice in one week.

“Is that good?” he hears another voice murmur.

“Yeah, nmph—fuck, fuck, right there,” Tweek whines.

“Mmm, you’re so sensitive. I love that,” the other man—Kenny—murmurs, and then he hears the disgusting squelching sound of them kissing. God, at least Craig hopes it’s from kissing.

The gross sound is interrupted by Tweek breaking out into a cry that Craig is horrified to feel shoot straight to his cock. It only gets worse when Tweek moans rhythmically like Kenny’s begun rolling in and out of him at a decent tempo. Not hard or fast which Craig would’ve preferred. That’s how he should be given it, his stupid bratty not-brother—a rough, hard pounding to shut him up. It sounds like Kenny’s “making love” to him instead. The whole thing’s pissing Craig off.


It must be pissing him off, because his face and body feel hot. When he reaches his hand down his pants, it’s with the intention of soothing the throbbing ache in his groin, just holding his straining cock til the feeling subsides. Instead, it has the effect of externally validating that he’s hard from listening to his stepbrother get fucked in the other room. Once that boundary has been trespassed, Craig’s not able to stop. He grips tighter and stuffs the collar of his jacket in his mouth so he doesn’t make a sound as he begins jerking off.

His eyes squeeze shut and the sounds Tweek’s making go to his head. Breathy moans, little pleas, oh Gods, oh fucks. Craig can’t fucking take it. He imagines that he’s the one coaxing those sweet noises out of Tweek, and he’s sickened by himself, the way they’re fucking so slow and sweet. That’s him in there calling him a good boy, only he would never. Tweek’s never been good to him; he’s a teasing, bratty little shit.
He's not gay but when Tweek begs him, “Harder?” in a meek little voice Craig’s never heard before, he can’t help but oblige him. He’s grateful his bed doesn’t creak as he fucks up into his hand imagining Tweek on top of him. Is that how they’re doing it?


Craig pumps lotion into his hand from his bedside table and pivots to envisioning Tweek before him on his hands and knees, taking him from the back; he yanks Tweek’s head back by his unruly hair and smacks him hard on the ass. Then he imagines missionary, and there’s something appealingly perverse about doing a guy in the butt in the most conservative, heterosexual position. His dad would be so ashamed of him and he hates Tweek, resents him so bad, because he doesn’t even care anymore. He wants to make the same mistake his mom did and hitch his wagon to that crazy in the other room, and all Tweek does is mock him.

He’s not even nice to him, but unlike his dad, he is cute, if Craig’s being honest with himself anyway. Getting frustrated with himself, he tries to stop thinking all these weird thoughts, tired of dragging it out. He listens to the dull thump of skin against skin from the other room and jerks himself tighter, faster pretending he’s shoved up inside his stepbrother’s ass as he whimpers and cries.

He manages to come around the same time Tweek does. It can’t be because his moans are more authentic and rawer than anything Craig’s heard in porn or real life. It’s something else. Shame, maybe. His partner comes with a shaky groan a few moments later and Craig’s back to full-on disgust mode. Tweek has tricked him somehow—that’s how he got him to jack off to the sound of him getting fucked, coming on this stranger’s dick. Kenny was the one he said did his nipple piercings, wasn’t he? Disgusting slut probably fucked him in exchange for the piercings.


In the next room, Kenny murmurs things in a low voice and Tweek titters, all fucked out and stoned sounding. Craig lies there, cum congealing on his hand, tying to pick out specific words, but he can’t. After a few minutes, there’s movement in the other room, then the sound of a door opening, and heavy footfall on the stairs.

After another minute of no sound coming from Tweek’s room, Craig tells himself he must’ve gone with Kenny or fallen asleep and he bolts to the bathroom to wash his hands. In the mirror he catches a glimpse of himself, pink-cheeked and hair ruffled. It’s disgusting, embarrassing. When he exits the bathroom, wiping his wet hands on his sweatpants, he’s met with the sight of a half-naked Tweek, glowering at him with his arms crossed over his skinny chest.