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“You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise–”
“How? How can you say that? You know everything’s gone to shit, Craig, this isn’t some kind of–”
“Because I know you, and I know how badly you want to be okay again. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”
“Everyone lies, Craig. Even if they don’t– agh– mean to–”
“I can’t really remember a time I’ve ever done it on purpose.”
Craig was beginning to feel like he was spreading himself too thin.
Their day had started out fine. Really, truly fine. He’d woken up with his boyfriend at his side, the blonde’s breathing steady and his arms wrapped around one of their shared pillows as he slept silently next to him. Craig could easily recall how long he had sat there, gazing down at the one man he’d always known had come into existence just for him like nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing really did, at that moment. Not with him by his side.
He’d let his boyfriend rest, instead choosing to get ready for the day and slipping out the front door in search of a morning caffeine fix. Tweek had found some kind of hybrid coffee shop on one of their trips out to Denver, around the time they were still young and in search of a place to belong, and had easily determined it was his new favorite spot. He’d even gone as far as to demand Craig find them a place nearby, just so he didn’t have to spend money on gas trying to make his way over. Naturally enough, Craig had done as he was asked without question.
The barista was familiar enough with them by this point in their lives. Tweek was still fighting his way through college trying to get a proper degree, meaning Craig had the pleasure of occasionally attending some of his almost daily study sessions. Eventually they both had come by enough times for them to be recognized, and now he could hardly get through the front door of the shop without receiving a volley of cheerful greetings.
Craig had the habit of remembering the first few times he’d come in alone. The baristas would joke about the lack of Tweek and his habit of sticking himself directly to his boyfriend’s side, then begin making their orders without question. Craig had the pleasant experience more than once of being able to inform them that his boyfriend preferred decaf nowadays, seeing as he was working on trying to get over the lifelong craving for caffeine.
After spending the typical ridiculous amount of money he tended to shell out on every visit to this establishment, Craig had made his way back to their apartment. Tweek had been awake for long enough by the time he walked through the front door, and as he moved to close the door behind him, Craig was met with deep, sparkling green mere inches away from his face as hands stretched out to grasp at the cup of coffee in his hands.
The morning had been fine. Good, even. Craig just couldn’t quite recall what made it all go downhill.
Maybe it was the accidentally sarcastic comment he’d made deep into the afternoon, thrown into the open air as his boyfriend worked through making dinner. Maybe it was the intense, immediate drop of their hearts simultaneously sinking into their chests as they evaluated their grocery budget for the week.
Or maybe it was just a rough day. Craig had learned early on in his relationship with Tweek that such a thing just happened sometimes.
Either way, the gentle cusp of darkness later that evening found the two of them curled up on top of the covers of their shared bed. Tweek shuddered violently, his hands grasping at the blanket covering his ivory skin as he metaphorically bit at Craig’s heels, while Craig sat across from him and tried desperately to keep himself together.
It wasn’t like it was hard. Craig knew how to control himself, and his emotions, and the gut feeling rooted deeply in the recesses of his ribcage every time he caught Tweek reveling in the calm before the storm. He could manage himself just fine; which only meant he could be stronger for those who needed him.
What Craig didn’t know was just how far he pushed himself to be that strong. And as he watched Tweek crumble before him, tears slipping down his cheeks and teeth digging into the skin of his lower lip, he couldn’t help but feel like he needed to go just a little bit further.
Craig attempted to reach out again. He lifted his fingers from their previous position of digging into the covers, moving to instead wrap his hand gently around his boyfriend’s wrist. “Tweek–”
“Don’t–!” Tweek recoiled harshly, so much so to the point where he nearly fell off the side of the bed. “Don’t touch me right now, I– I’m gonna hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me,” Craig insisted. But he stayed put, straightening his back slightly and attempting to keep his expression steady. He couldn’t quite figure out why something typically so easy became so difficult now.
Tweek exhaled sharply, a soft hiccup escaping him in his attempt to breathe. He glanced to the floor behind him, then back at Craig, his eyes wide with a volley of emotions Craig couldn’t even begin to decipher.
“But– but I do!” Tweek then scrambled closer, practically climbing into his boyfriend’s lap as he grasped at his shoulders. “I hurt you, all the time, and I– I hate it. You just don’t get it, Craig. It hurts me to– to hurt you!”
“But you don’t.” Craig’s eyes narrowed. He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at the blonde now seated firmly in his hold. “I really don’t understand where this is coming from. You’ve upset me, sure, but you’ve never hurt me.”
That was apparently the wrong answer. Tweek’s eyes darkened, a thick fog dimming his typically brightly colored gaze, and Craig took a quick breath as the grip on his shoulders only tightened.
“I do! I do hurt you, and you just– you just let me!”
Craig didn’t even get a chance to respond. Tweek continued on, seemingly growing more and more confident with every word thrown out from his lips and into the air. “You think I– aaa– can’t tell? You’re always the strong one, Craig! All the time! And it’s so frustrating, because you–”
Tweek froze. He almost seemed to choke on the air he was supposed to be breathing, and Craig immediately moved to drag him down further into his lap and wrap his arms around the back of his shoulder blades. It was the only way he could think to keep them both grounded– a sense of familiarity, of warmth. Craig typically wasn’t so selfish, but he really couldn’t help it. Tweek was spewing sentences he still couldn’t quite understand, and as he tried desperately to rack his brain and determine what all of it meant, he felt the blonde slump in his hold.
Tweek hesitated, then slowly curled himself deeper into the embrace. Craig pressed his cheek against the top of his boyfriend’s head, the cream colored curls serving as a respite for the lack of comprehension he felt pounding at the forefront of his brain.
After a moment or two, Tweek began to speak again. Craig could feel the heat of his words sinking into the sleeve of his shirt.
“You let it happen,” he murmured, burying his face into the crook of Craig’s neck. “You just– let me go too far. I’m too much sometimes, and you– you–”
“You’re not–”
Tweek’s fingers dug into his lower back, the action rather effective in causing Craig to immediately cease any semblance of a response he may have had. He continued on, refusing to look up and meet his eyes as he spoke.
“You go too far, Craig. You don’t let me or– or anyone be there for you. Even now, after today. I’m just dumping all my problems on you, and you just– don’t care enough to tell me it’s too much.”
Craig’s immediate response was to reassure him otherwise. But when Tweek finally pulled back to look him in the eyes, his own shimmering with the most gentle of iridescent tears, he could feel his mouth immediately run dry.
“This is a weird question, but– are you… okay?” Tweek blinked away a fresh wave of tears, keeping his gaze focused entirely on Craig. “Really, actually okay?”
And Craig, for once, didn’t have an immediate answer. It was never really a question he’d ever bothered to ask himself, and now that it was finally presented in front of him, he didn’t really know what to think.
Craig took a moment to think about it. Really, truly think. Then, his head drooped, and all his weight slumped over as he fell into Tweek’s chest.
He was okay. Really, he was. But sometimes there were those moments where he just didn’t quite know what to do–
Tweek moved to wrap his arms around him again, and Craig broke.
Sometimes it scared him, how little he really felt. Craig’s emotions had always been simple, in a way he couldn’t bother to describe to anyone else. He was happy when he got a good grade on a hard test; sad when his first ever guinea pig had to be buried in the backyard of his childhood home. He recalls being angry the easiest, just because of how rampant such an emotion had been as he forced his way through adolescence.
Tweek had been the first. The first to be the cause of that anger, only for it to blossom into something more genuine. Tweek was confusing, and how Craig felt about him quickly became nonsensical. And while sometimes it was difficult for him to manage, Craig was quick to realize just how much he loved his life not always making total sense.
Because without the controlled chaos of his everyday life, Craig would be boring. He would be boring, and probably alone, seeking the tiniest of thrills through his work without a care for exploring anything deeper. Tweek gave him something to explore– something to think about, to want to understand. Even when they were just kids, sharing angry glances at each other from across the lunch table after one of their spats, Craig couldn’t help but wonder why his typical simmering anger seemed to want to twist itself into something a little bit softer.
And while he adored how Tweek made him feel, he also sometimes struggled to truly understand what he could possibly be doing wrong. Craig almost felt responsible for him, at times, and with that overbearing pressure came the fear of his impending breakdowns. Craig was hardly afraid of anything, but when he was forced to watch his boyfriend melt into something incomprehensible because of something only he himself could genuinely understand, he couldn’t help but be scared.
Craig craved being the strong one. Because being the strong one meant he could help make things better. He hadn’t realized that, somewhere along the way, he’d only been making things worse for himself.
He liked being strong, but he also liked being stable. There was a balance for absolutely everything in his life, and he understood now that the scales needed to be tipped in his favor.
Craig slowly pulled away. Even in the darkness of night he could see the stains of tears he hadn’t even realized had begun to fall embedding themselves into the cotton of Tweek’s plaid sweater. When he tried to open his mouth to apologize, though, Tweek moved to cusp his face in his hands, and any sense of reluctance disappeared into thin air.
“I’m sorry,” the blonde whispered, his voice shaky but softer than the comfiest of cottons. “You were trying so hard to be there for me that– I didn’t notice I wasn’t really being there for you too.”
Craig shook his head slowly, silently choosing to forego speaking again. Instead he simply stared up at the man in front of him, eyes shimmering with unshed solemnness as he tried to catch every little detail. He needed to see everything that made Tweek Tweek, and his insistence carried over in the way his gaze flitted across every inch of his boyfriend’s face. Tweek stared at him in return, oddly patient as Craig took in the beauty that was this man sat comfortably in his arms, and when his little observation came to a close, the blonde slowly tilted his head down to press his lips to his.
Tweek was always so bright. So warm, even when his skin was cold to the touch. Craig had always found himself drawn to him, even before they were truly together, and it didn’t take long for him to realize why.
There was comfort in knowing you were strong. But there was solace in knowing you could be weak. Craig understood now why Tweek was so desperate to get his attention; to help him see through his own self imposed mental barriers. He hadn’t known he could let himself go, to actually let himself feel without fearing the repercussions. Tweek certainly had his moments, but sometimes Craig forgot he was allowed to have some of their own.
The kiss was dry. The air tasted salty between them as they pressed their lips together, but Craig could feel the sensation of something deeper. Kissing Tweek was like allowing pure sunshine to drape itself against his skin, and Craig could feel the chill of his own hesitation slowly beginning to fade away.