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“Where do you want this one?” Thomas Tucker asks, clutching an oversized box to his chest. His meaty arms bulge and tremble slightly with the weight of it, and if he’s honest, Craig is really kind of impressed with. He may have inherited his dad’s height, but he certainly didn’t get his natural bullish strength. With any luck though, he won’t inherit his dad’s high blood pressure either, so it’s sort of swings and roundabouts.
Tweek’s rushed over before Craig has much of a chance to react or worry about his dad having a heart attack, circling his arms around the other side of the box. “Be careful, Mr. Tucker! It’s heavy!” He gasps, already breathless. For a second Craig laments the fact that neither he or Tweek are particularly buff, a fact that would probably get them ostracised from the gay community if either of them ever bothered to be a part of it.
“Tweek!” Thomas says around a good-natured laugh. “For the last time, you’re twenty-two years old now. Call me Thomas.”
Tweek flushes, smiling. To Craig’s trained eyes, it’s a gentle, placating sort of smile. The kind of smile Tweek wears when he isn’t quite sure, or doesn’t quite agree, but will try to go with the flow to avoid confrontation. He’ll agree -not for the first time- to call Thomas by his name, but they all know that by tomorrow he’ll be back to ‘Mr. Tucker’ again.
Craig doesn’t quite get it. He started calling the Tweaks’ Richard and Helen back in his senior year. But then, Tweek is an over-analyser, so goodness knows what conclusions Tweek has reached over calling Craig’s mom and dad by name.
“What have you got in here? Bricks?” Thomas puffs, still a worrying shade of tomato-red.
“Coffee machine,” Tweek replies, having the good grace to blush. His parents had bought him an industrial coffee-maker for Christmas last year at no small cost. It was one of the few things that Tweek was adamant about bringing to their new home. Not that Craig would have even thought of pushing back. Whatever makes Tweek happy (and if it happens to be a good emergency asset he can flog on eBay, that’s good too.)
“Ah,” Richard Tweak says with a dreamy smile. He’s apparently assumed the unofficial role of supervisor, generally standing in the way, sipping coffee and passing the odd, inane comment. No one minds though. Richard Tweak is the definition of good intentions providing the path to Hell and his presence is often headache-inducing. He continues after a gulp of coffee, “that machine is pure quality. It purrs like a kitten.”
“Well right now, it’s made of pure weight, Rich,” Thomas shoots back with a good-natured, but confounded chuckle.
“Sorry!” Tweek gushes, starting to walk backwards. “We can just put it on the side for now.”
Craig jerks into action, noticing the stray box just before Tweek knocks into it. With a smooth motion, Craig steps in, hands going to Tweek’s shoulders to pause him as he sweeps the box aside with his foot. It slides across the wooden floor with a quiet hiss where hopefully it won’t cause an unscheduled trip to the ER.
Tweek looks over his shoulder at him in surprise, even as Craig releases his grip. “All clear,” Craig says, stepping backwards and returning to where he’s left their new Ikea coffee table on its surface like a three-legged dying animal on its back, begging for a final leg or just to be put out of its misery. That or Craig is projecting again. He really, really hates flat pack.
“Good save there, son,” Richard says with a fond nod of admiration. “If that machine had fallen on Tweek it could have crushed his spleen, or worse: his spine. That would be unfortunate. You’d have to make so many adjustments to the new apartment.”
Tweek stops dead from where he’s sliding the box into place on their new kitchen counter, eyes going wide on his moon-pale face. “What?” He shrieks. “I could have died?”
“Or paralysed. The world really is a dangerous place. Did you know most fatal accidents happen in the home?” Richard asks, his relaxed smile directly contravening the bleakness of his words.
Craig struggles to hold back a waspish, sarcastic comment. He doesn’t hate Richard, but he’s much better in small doses, and better still when he’s not feeding Tweek’s paranoia. It’s not worth getting into an argument today of all days, but Craig will be more than a little pissed if their first night together in their new home together is marred by Tweek having nightmares about being paralysed.
“Yes, well. It’s down now and we’re all fine,” Thomas says, patting Tweek on the shoulder, practiced from many years of unpicking the damage that his friend and fellow dad has done. “Right, Richard come and help me bring the sofa up.”
“Hmm? Oh. Of course,” Richard replies in his usual, breezy way. As he follows Thomas out, he cuts a comical figure, dwarfed by Thomas’ height and width. Craig knows though that if he’s anything like Tweek, he’ll carry that same, sinewy strength that Tweek used to have, coming from years of hauling heavy bags of coffee beans.
“Want a drink?” Tweek calls out as Craig watches their fathers disappear through their new front door. He focuses on the 23 that hangs there in gold letters, the 3 carrying a tiny scuff that Craig’s eyes fix on every time. “Craig!” Tweek shouts.
Craig blinks, returning his attention to the fourth leg of the upturned coffee table. He swears softly when he realises that he’s put one on the wrong way before shrugging and flipping it onto it’s feet. Tweek won't notice. Probably.
“Sure,” he calls back. “I’ll just have juice though.”
“‘Kay.”
“No, fuck it. Give me a beer,” Craig says after a moment’s reflection.
Tweek pauses, swiveling his head to give Craig a considered look. “Already?” He asks, looking a little dubious.
“Don’t judge me,” Craig replies, unfolding to his full height and stretching with a small grunt. “I told you before, I fucking hate flat-pack.”
“Oh yes,” Tweek chuckles, opening the fridge door and ducking down. For a moment he’s obscured from view, but the promising clink that follows reassures Craig that Tweek has come through for him. “I still remember building that desk you bought in your second year of college. So funny that you happened to get it on the weekend, when I was visiting,” Tweek says, smirking.
Craig smiles back, reaching for his beer over the counter surface. Tweek pulls his hand away at the last moment, pulling the bottle safely out of reach and leaving Craig’s hand to flail uselessly. Still wearing that smirk like the sexiest attire he owns, Tweek pulls the bottle up to his lips and takes a long swig, licking his lips when he’s done. Then, casually he leans against the surface on crossed arms, breaking the flirtatious moment after a second slinks past, breaking into a playful grin.
“I’d appreciate not having a boner whilst our parents and a number of tools are around,” Craig replies dryly, swiping up his bottle.
Tweek laughs at that. “No boners in my kitchen. This is germ-free zone.”
“So no pushing you up against that surface and having my wicked way with you?” Craig snorts, taking a deep gulp of beer.
To Tweek’s credit, he doesn’t even flinch. “Absolutely not. Now stop being such a baby and help our moms build our bed. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you took the coffee table.”
“Honey, come on. We needed a coffee table,” Craig argues back weakly.
“It’s a piece of wood with four legs, Tucker,” Tweek replies with a dramatic roll of his eyes. His smile is fond though and it makes Craig’s heart give a stupid throb. “Shoo.”
“What are you doing then?” Craig says, letting a small chuckle slip past his lips.
“I’m making sure that we have stuff in places,” Tweek says with slightly pouty lips.
“Considering that I’m the tidier one of the two of us, are you sure that’s the best idea?”
Tweek flicks his hand up in a graceful gesture and gives him the finger. “Well would you prefer me to be holding a hammer?” They share a laugh at that, neither one of them wanting a trip to the emergency room today.
In a way that both complements and drives them both crazy, Craig and Tweek are total opposites when it came to untidiness.
Tweek likes to live in chaos with his possessions scattered about. Nothing has a permanent home, living wherever Tweek casts it aside when he’s done with it. If Craig moves whatever it is to another spot, Tweek will immediately bemoan the fact that the thing is lost forever. Clothing lives on the floor, toothbrushes live on the sink, and remote controllers live on the back of the sofa. The exception to the rule is the kitchen, where everything is order and adheres to process, but after studying culinary arts, it’s likely that Tweek does it out of necessity rather than true desire.
Craig -naturally tidy- likes all things up have a permanent home. He prefers minimalism; he’s almost spartan in his approach. Tidiness helps preserve his state of mind where chaos makes his stomach roil. Tidiness means that he can find things quickly and easily. Craig likes easy. He revels in it.
It’s fair to say that they clash over the tidiness issue, but at least they’re going into this shared home ownership with their eyes relatively open.
The fantasy bubble of living together had popped last year in Craig’s final year of college. They’d found the limitations of only seeing each other on weekends during the year prior to that a strain. Tweek had finished his catering qualification at his liberal arts college a year before Craig was due to finish and so they had packed up Tweek’s things and sought a house share in Denver whilst Craig completed his degree. It hadn’t taken long for Craig to understand why his parents bicker so much: living together is hard. There’s a lot of compromise, a lot of seeing each other at the most grouchy, and a lot of routine. There’s also limited room to calm down after a fight when the world around them both is filled with the other. There’d been a couple of occasions in the last year where Craig had been fairly sure that they’d been over. Luckily, they hadn’t -far from it, really- and Craig had been comforted that Tweek had thought the same and, like Craig, had refused to give up.
With hindsight, Craig now considers those blow-ups to have been entirely normal. Just a part of growing up together. Annoying, yes, but normal. It’s given him an entirely new and fresh admiration for his parents, still married, still flipping each other off, still in love.
Reminded of his parents, Craig casts his gaze about for sight of them. His dad and Richard still aren’t back, which doesn’t bode well for their already battered sofa. He grimaces at that and takes a slug of beer from the bottle. He knows he should probably go and help, but he doesn’t feel like getting caught between the patriarchs of the Tucker and Tweak clans.
Tweek has since turned his back to him and begun scrubbing down the sink. Craig has to give him his dues: he’s as messy as a small tornado, but he’s not unclean. He bothers about germs and hygiene more than Craig does by a long-shot, which is good because Craig cares less than he probably should. Living with him is probably the reason why Craig finds himself able to breathe better through his nose these days.
Craig takes a self-indulgent moment to appreciate Tweek, watching him as he scrubs in silence, back to Craig but aware that he’s still there. Tweek often does this for him, leaving him to his own thoughts, appreciating that Craig needs these quiet moments of reflection from time to time.
At the age of ten, Craig had had to take a crash course in anxiety disorder. He’d taken it as seriously as a young child could: reading and researching whatever he could on google, trying to make up for his lack of life experience. He’d thrown himself into it with everything he had. In hindsight, it had been a big ask for a child, especially when the adults around them struggled with it, but Craig hadn’t thought twice about it. It had been hard (it still was at times) and a steep learning curve. The internet couldn’t have ever prepared him for the nuances: being woken up at ungodly hours, always having to remember to grab a coffee en route to rescue missions, odd occurences in town going to work on an already over-active mind. Tweek has always given him thanks for it, and Craig has always done his best since to understand as much as logic can allow him. But it took him a much, much longer time to realise that his efforts aren’t one-sided.
For a long, long time, Craig hadn’t noticed or appreciated that Tweek makes up for what he lacks in cool logic with a rich emotional intelligence. It was even later still that Craig recognised that he doesn’t really possess it himself.
It had been a mind-blowing revelation at the time. That Tweek can observe someone, accurately gauge how they’re feeling, and alter his own words and actions around it, all with the same natural ease that Craig can detach himself from a situation and subjectively assess and solutionise. Worse still, Tweek had beaten him to the punch way before Craig had figured it out. Worked out Craig’s ticks: how he needs to withdraw and reflect on things, how he means no harm when he tries to jump to solutions rather than listen to the problem fully, how much he values fact, how he gets frustrated when he doesn’t understand something, how he’s not confident so much as he doesn’t value what others think of him, how he struggles to connect with others because of that trait. Tweek had learnt all of this, and adapted to it before Craig can remember. Craig hadn’t even really figured it out until he was halfway through high school.
A younger Craig would have thought it a useless skill, especially compared to being factually correct. Older, wiser Craig thinks that it’s hugely valuable and makes their relationship even stronger. They make each other better people. He’s convinced of that now.
“Craig?”
Tweek’s voice pulls his attention away from the blurry focus he has on his bottle. “Hm?”
Tweek regards him with a soft look. “Why don’t you go and help our moms build our bed?”
Craig groans, putting emphasis on it for comedic effect. “Fine, you must hate me if you’re sending me in to build more flat pack.”
“Mmhmm,” Teeek hums dismissively.
With a grumble, Craig heads into the sole bedroom (technically the other room is a “box” room, but Craig thinks the only bed that would fit in there is one that’s standing up) and nods when both his and Tweek’s mothers look up.
“Nice of you to join us, Craig,” Laura Tucker says in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Oh now, I’m sure they boys have all been working hard,” Helen Tweak replies in his airy voice, so chillingly reminiscent of her husband’s.
“Working hard drinking beer,” Laura Tucker says, eyeing the bottle in her son’s hand. She leans down and chucks an Allen key towards Craig, only narrowly missing his head. “Make yourself useful and tighten all the screws. Helen and I will start feeding the slats in.”
Craig lets out a sigh. “Sure.” Leaning down, he places his beer out of kick range and moves back into a crouch, slotting the key in and tightening the fittings. It’s tedious work, but when he stands back up again, he’s face-to-face with a fully assembled bed.
His and Tweek’s bed.
“Okay, let's lay the mattress on it,” Laura says. She pauses when she notes Craig’s distant stare. “Craig?”
Craig stirs himself from his wandering thoughts. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”
He heads out of the room and into the corridor to fetch the mattress propped up against the wall next to the door, rolled up like a roulade and waiting to be released from its airless captivity. Craig hikes it up in a smooth motion, penguin-waddling back into the bedroom and lowering it over the slats. Laura and Helen move in immediately, wiggling it into place and donning it with a fitted sheet in a blur of lightning-fast muscle memory that only boy-mothers could possess.
Craig is honest to God impressed. He’s always been good at staying on top of laundry, but even he isn’t that proficient in changing a bed.
In no time at all the bed looks like a proper bed ready for spending hours of their lives in. They’d agreed on a simple olive green bed set since Craig doesn’t generally like loud colours (that phase with the pink in Elementary school was just that- a phase), and Tweek doesn’t like colours that stress him out. It’s not a bad colour, especially since the rest of the room is pretty beige. Craig honestly doesn’t really give a shit though. So long as the bed is comfortable, he’s happy.
When Craig, his mom and Helen leave the bedroom, they find Tweek standing in the living room, commenting as their dads move the sofa this way and that.
“Craig!” Tweek perks up at the sight of him. “What do you think? I’m not sure.”
Craig scans over where their old, brown sofa sits against the back wall. Then he shrugs. “So long as we have a good view of the tv, I don’t care. You do what you gotta do to make the room zen and stuff,” He says, dipping to kiss Tweek’s temple.
Tweek sighs and swats him away. “Thanks, but I mean it, I can’t decide. You decide.”
Craig looks it over again. His dad shrugs back at him. “Yeah,” Craig says with a nod. “There’s fine.”
“You don’t have to commit to it, son,” Thomas says. “When your mom and I moved in together, we moved practically everything around before the first month was over.”
Tweek makes a stressy noise at that. Craig steps in for the both of them. “As long as everything is in the most efficient place, I’m good.”
“Efficient is good, isn’t it, honey?” Richard says breezily. “Anyway, I think the sofa was the last of the big things. There’s a few more boxes left and then I think we’re done.”
Craig nods, feeling relief seep in. He’s hugely grateful to both sets of parents for being so supportive of their move, and so helpful during the physical aspects of it. They’ve been an absolute godsend between packaging, transporting, carrying and building, but if Craig is totally honest with himself, he’s getting to the point where he wants to relax in his new home. Relax together with Tweek and take in the fact that this is theirs. Their home. They’d done it, finally, after so many years together.
It’s not the first time they’ve lived together. During Craig’s first year of university, back when he’d still thought that commuting was a viable option, not much had changed, except he didn’t have as much time for Tweek as he’d anticipated despite them both still being at home. Between the travel time, the studying, engagements on campus, and Tweek’s work, they’d seen almost as little of each other as if Craig had just moved in the first place.
Moving to Denver the second year had been hard. His decision had been -at least in part- influenced by Tweek changing his mind about further education and enrolling into a catering course at a community college in Colorado Springs. The increased burden of travel times and Tweek’s own studying had led them to a frank conversation. It had been tense and emotional. They’d taken off the kid gloves and taken a more somber, adult look at their relationship, asking the very real question of whether they were really supposed to be together in adulthood, or whether it was a childish circumstance that needed to finally come to an end.
It hadn’t been a nice conversation to have. Tweek’s anxiety had kicked in and he’d taken it as an opportunity to list his own shortcomings and why Craig needed to move on. Luckily they’d managed to agree that, regardless of the ridiculous circumstance in which they’d got together, the last nine years had meant too much to let go of.
With that, their relationship had shifted into a less full-on, more long-distance relationship, interspaced with weekend visits. What had followed was two very long years of adjustment with their relationship being in very real jeopardy at a couple of points, despite their shared commitment to making it work. As a pair of exceptionally touch-oriented pair of men, Craig’s go-to for conveying his feelings -physical touch over words- hadn’t been an option, and Tweek’s need for a reassuring hand from time to time hadn’t been there to ground him. Text messages had been easy to misinterpret, cancelled FaceTime dates easy to misconstrue. Craig had grown jealous of friends Tweek had made on his course, Tweek had grown frustrated with Craig’s divided attention. Some arguments had led to weekend visits being cancelled altogether, although the result had always been mutually unsatisfactory, both miserable and lonely and frustrated. Serious heart-to-hearts and little reminders that said ‘I love you’ had got them muddling through. Seeing each other on holidays and feeling like they had finally come home had made it feel worth the heartache. After two years they had come through the other side as a stronger couple than all of their peers, and in some ways had taught them a valuable lesson in learning some resilience.
After Tweek had completed his second year they’d wasted no time in agreeing that Tweek would move up to Denver and seek out work whilst Craig completed his final year of university. It had definitely been a better arrangement: Tweek coming to live in the house share that Craig had with a couple of other guys he went to College with. It had posed brand new challenges, sure, but generally it was much easier to resolve them in person rather than by text and FaceTime.
It had been a good practice run for this, but the key difference had been that Tweek had been moving into Craig’s home. Sure he’d made small changes here and there, but the bed, the bed sheets, the cutlery, the mugs, that had all been Craig’s. This time around, everything is theirs.
The thought makes a little bubble of excitement well up in Craig. He doesn’t even care if it shows on his face. It took a lot for them to get to this point: eleven years of dating, making it all the way through awkward fumbles, the horrors of high school, temporary break-ups, the stark realisation that neither of them are ever going to be with anyone else and the further revelation that they’re both fine with that, the awkward, rocky years of looming adulthood and the increased pressures of reality. Against all odds (and really, for boys who got together at ten, they’re pretty enormous odds) they’d made it. It’s almost enough to make Craig believe in soulmates, even if it’s illogical and unscientific.
“We should leave,” Laura breaks the silence, giving her son a knowing look. She’s always been perceptive. “Let these two settle in. We’re not far away if they need anything.”
“That’s true- Tweek if you struggle to find work, the offer is always there to work at Tweek. Bros. There’s always been a good bus service between South Park and Denver,” Richard says with a warm smile.
“Thanks, dad,” Tweek replies, clearly not particularly grateful. “But I could do with being -you know- paid.”
“Plenty of places will want you, Tweek,” Laura says, standing up and kissing his forehead. “You have a wonderful skill.”
“Much more useful than Craig’s,” Thomas agrees, laughing. When Craig sends him a sour look over the comment, Thomas laughs harder. “Son, I’m exceptionally proud of you, but have you tried Tweek’s pastries? I can’t eat calculations.”
Craig huffs in response, but delights in the way that Tweek seems to grow ten inches with pride. The Tuckers have always been better at building Tweek’s confidence than the Tweaks. It’s pretty sad, but it also makes him happy to see his his family have come to see Tweek as a second son.
“Let us know how you’re both getting on,” Helen says as she gets to her feet and pulls her handbag over her shoulder.
“We will, Mom,” Tweek says, leaning in as she kisses his cheek.
Thomas playfully ruffles Tweek’s hair and gives Craig a thumbs up. “Remember that Trish wants to drop by tomorrow.”
“Urgh,” Craig grunts. He doesn’t mean it though. He’s actually sort of looking forward to seeing her. She’s blossomed into an okay kid. She doesn’t expect anything from the world and feels like the world shouldn’t expect anything from her in return, which Craig thinks is kind of cool. Plus she adores Tweek, and Craig likes anyone who recognises that Tweek is the best person in any given room.
“Be nice to your sister, Craig,” Laura chides him as if he’s still nine.
Tweek slides up behind him, sliding his arms around Craig’s waist. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Tucker. I’ll keep him in line.”
“May I just point out that with those two ganging up on me, I should be the one you’re looking out for, Mom,” Craig says in a dry voice.
“Sure, hon’,” Laura says, waving her hand dismissively.
They all share a laugh, followed by goodbyes as both sets of parents spill out. And then the door is closed and finally, finally Tweek and Craig are alone in their new home.
Silence falls for just a moment. Craig isn’t sure what to say, but then Tweek breaks it by saying: “We did it!” around a huge, toothy grin.
Craig swings around and gifts Tweek with a smile of his own. “We fucking did.”
Tweek lifts his hand, presenting it palm-up to Craig. Craig meets it with his own, slapping it lightly in a high-five. Then Tweek bubbles with laughter and reaches up to grip both of Craig’s cheeks, pulling him down into a firm kiss.
They keep it chaste, simply savouring in the feel of their lips pressed together as their arms wind like vines around each other's frames. When the pull back, they don’t let go, gazing at one another before allowing their eyes to drift around their new home, taking it all in.
“I vote for no more unpacking this evening,” Craig announces.
Tweek’s eyes drift back towards him and he nods in agreement. “Yeah, fuck boxes.”
Craig feels like he has never agreed with anything so passionately in his entire life. Yes. Fuck boxes. “Despite the fact that you’ve spent all day setting up the kitchen, do you wanna just order a pizza and veg’ out in front of the TV?” he says instead.
Tweek laughs and unravels himself from his arms. “Craig Tucker, I knew there was a reason they’d given you a degree.”
“Hey, give it another couple of years and they’ll be making me a doctor. Then I’ll be Doctor- Great ideas.”
“More like Doctor- Dipshit,” Tweek laughs good naturedly. “I’ll get the champagne out of the fridge, you go get Stripe and Dot out.”
Craig nods and heads over to the cage in the corner of the living room, dropping into a crouch and sliding the door open. He’s been periodically checking up on their pigs all day, making sure that they’re not too stressed from the movement and noise. They’ve spent most of the day hiding in their plastic house, and that’s exactly where Craig finds them now, huddled together and looking bewildered. He gently scoops each one up into his arms, resting them in the crook like he would a baby, hushing them as they twitch irritably.
They settle from his scent and voice, still nervous, but it’s not unexpected from the move. Craig trusts that they’ll settle soon. Stripe and Dot are the longest-lasting of all their guinea pigs, and by far the tamest. He and Tweek had bought them together at the age of sixteen and this time around, with the benefit of age and hindsight, Craig had addressed a lot of his earlier -albeit naive- mistakes. The first being to get a pair, and not keep a single one in lonely captivity. Other lessons had allowed him to finally take pet ownership with the gravity it was due. Tweek always said -still says- that he’s hard on himself, but Craig can’t help but reflect that, child or not, irresponsibility and ignorance had led to some short, and possibly unhappy experiences for Stripe’s predecessors.
At the age of five, Stripe #5.5 and Dot-First-of-her-Name are two of the pudgiest and most spoilt guinea pigs in the entire world. Craig hopes that somewhere out there, the guinea pig Gods (which he personally knows to exist) are appeased.
The dull clink of glass on wood distracts him from his reflections. It summons him back to the sofa where Tweek is already sat, pushing their special crystal champagne flutes out of knocking distance. When Tweek looks up, he flashes him a grin and totes the bottle of fizz.
“Wanna go and see what we can fire this at?” He laughs.
“Hell fucking yes I do!” Craig grins. “Let me just put these two down. Don’t want the sound to startle them.”
Tweek nods and reaches out to fuss Dot’s ear. “How are they? I checked on them about an hour ago and they look a little worried.”
Craig shrugs. “I think they’re grumpy more than frightened. They’ll be fine though. They perked up after a day or so when We moved them into the last house.”
Tweek hums in agreement and then steps away. “C’mon. Let’s go out to the balcony.”
Craig chuckles and drops to place the girls back into their cage. Then he follows Tweek out into their new balcony.
They take a moment to take in the view. It’s nothing magnificent, but it could be worse considering their budget. The lights of the city dull the stars in the night sky, which Craig laments, but the horizon is still zig-zagged with snow-capped mountains which, despite their adamance about leaving South Park behind, they both know they’d miss the sight of those distant peaks terribly if they’d moved elsewhere. They’re mountain boys through and through.
“Let’s try and aim for that tree,” Tweek says, pointing at one an optimistic distance away.
“Ten bucks say you miss,” Craig replies, though he moves to stand behind Tweek, curling his arms around his body and resting his chin on his shoulder.
“Fuck you, Craig. You’re meant to have endless faith in me,” Tweek says, but there’s no heat in his words.
“I have endless faith in physics,” Craig replies. “Love can do magical things, but my love for you won’t change the laws of physics. You’d need a lot more force in-”
“Craig, honey, don’t ruin our Disney moment with math,” Tweek interrupts him.
Craig’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Okay, babe. Aim for the fucking moon.”
“Yeah!” Tweek grins back at him. “That’s more like it. You’ll have to tell me if you see it up on there with your dorky telescope.”
“Alright, deal. I’ll give you ten bucks if I find it up there,” Craig agrees.
“Okay, here we go!” Tweek shakes the bottle. In that moment, neither of them care that they’re going to end up spraying dollars worth of champagne over themselves and their balcony. All they care about is seeing if they can shoot the cork all the way to the moon. In a rare moment if giddiness, Craig hopes with all his heart that they can.
When the cork shoots out with a noisy pop, neither of them bother to follow its trajectory, both dancing back away from the vigourous hiss of spray that explodes out of the mouth of the bottle like a miniature volcanic eruption. They laugh and curse and skip around as they wait for the fizz to calm down and by the time it has, Tweek’s hand and sleeve is soaked and nearly half the bottle has vanished.
They’re still laughing when they step back inside, Tweek tracking dribbles of champagne across the carpet as he darts back into their kitchen to dry off. Craig shakes his head, grinning in amusement and fetches Stripe and Dot back out, nestling them into his arms and moving to flop onto their sofa. Tweek rejoins him after a minute, tipping champagne into their flutes and chuckling.
“I think we wasted about twenty dollars of champagne,” he snickers, taking a seat beside Craig and lifting Stripe to take her into his lap.
Craig doesn’t comment on the fact that it wasn’t wasted if it made Tweek laugh like that, but he doesn’t. It’s disgustingly soppy, and Tweek probably knows he’s thinking it anyway.
Instead, Craig reaches out for his flute and lifts it, tipping it towards Tweek. Tweek smiles in response and mirrors the gesture, meeting Craig’s flute with a clink.
“To us?”
Craig thinks for a moment. “To our life together.” Tweek nods in response and clinks their flutes again.
They spend the rest of the evening chatting lazily and fussing the pigs with the television providing a droning backdrop of sound. Champagne makes way to beer, but they’re too drained to push for anything more than slightly buzzed.
By eleven, Craig stretches languidly and releases a huge yawn.
“Been a busy day, huh?” Tweek smiles.
“Yup,” Craig says. “I’m more tired than I thought I’d be.”
“Me too,” Tweek says. It’s surprising since it’s early for Tweek -ever the night owl- but considering the day’s events perhaps it’s not entirely unexpected. There’s been a lot of physical work today, but it’s been huge emotionally too. Earlier in the day Craig had fancied that maybe they’d have a lazy fumble on the sofa to celebrate -something they’d rarely been able to do in a shared house- but the thought had vanished hours before, replaced with pizza and conversation.
“Bed?” Craig asks. Tweek nods and gently lifts Stripe up, stirring her from her slumber. She lets out a little squeal of protest and wriggles when Tweek lowers her into the cage where Dot had been returned an hour earlier. Then he stands and surveys the room, nodding in satisfaction as Craig goes to double-check that the front door is locked.
Together they make their way into their bedroom and then further on into their little en-suite to wash up and get ready for bed. They stand side-by-side in the limited space, brushing their teeth and glancing at each other like they’re sharing some sort of secret. When they spit one after the other, they share a sleepy grin and Craig nudges Tweek playfully with his hip.
Blissfully tomorrow is Saturday. Craig won’t be in week, and Tweek isn’t going to start his job hunt until Monday. They’ve got the weekend to enjoy their new home and focus on each other, and that’s what they intend to do.
When they slip into bed -Tweek on the furthest side of the bed from the door- they both switch of any and every alarm they could possibly have and lay back simultaneously with a deep, contented sigh.
They’ll have a lot to figure out in the days and weeks and years ahead, but they’ll get through it together as a partnership.
“Goodnight, Tweek,” Craig says as he settles his head on his new pillow and inhales the scent of brand-new sheets.
“Goodnight, Craig,” Tweek answers, reaching out to flick the switch on their lamp off.
In the silence and the darkness, with the bed behind him dipped and warm from the presence of another, Craig closes his eyes and looks forward to saying goodnight to Tweek every night for the rest of his life.