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It was one of those long, empty afternoons after school, when the day felt stretched too thin and the silence started to bother Craig.
He’d already done everything. Homework done. Game beaten twice. Stripe fed and sleeping in his cage.
But there was still that itch of boredom. That quiet that made him think too much.
So, naturally, his mind drifted to Tweek.
He opened his messages and started typing.
Craig: hey honey
Craig: what r u doing
Craig: you home?
Craig: baby?
Craig: tweek
He waited.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
He frowned. Normally, Tweek would’ve answered within seconds, usually with something like “busy!! coffee spilll everywhere!!” or “can’t talk rn!! parents!!”
But now..Nothing. Not even the seen mark.
Craig sighed, fingers hovering before typing again.
Craig: you okay?
Craig: hellooo
Craig: babe??
Craig: answer or I’m walking over
Still nothing.
He sat up, staring at the screen. His chest felt heavier than boredom now, something else started curling there, quiet but sharp. Worry.
When the silence didn’t break, Craig grabbed his hoodie and headed out.
The Tweaks’ house was bright and smelled like sugar and espresso. He knocked on the door and Mrs. Tweaked answered in a chipper voice
“Oh, Craig! How nice to see you, sweetheart. Here to see Tweek?”
“Yeah,” Craig said, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. “He’s not answering his phone.”
She smiled, unfazed. “Oh, he probably left it somewhere again. Go on up, honey.”
Craig nodded and headed for the stairs.
At Tweek’s door, Craig knocked gently.
“Tweek? It’s me.”
Silence.
He frowned, leaning closer to the door. “Babe?”
Then he heard it, ragged breathing. Quick, uneven gasps that didn’t sound right. And something else, a small, broken whimper.
Craig’s stomach dropped.
“Tweek?” He pushed the door open.
Inside, the lights were dim. Tweek was on the floor, knees tucked up, fingers buried in his hair. He was shaking all over, his breath coming too fast, too shallow.
Craig’s voice softened immediately. “Hey, hey-hey, look at me.”
No response. Tweek’s eyes were wide and unfocused, his fingers still tugging hard at his hair.
Craig crossed the room quickly, dropping to his knees beside him. He gently caught Tweek’s wrists, pulling them away from his head and holding them tight.
“Stop, babe. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
Tweek trembled, trying to pull away, breath hitching in little gasps.
Craig kept his voice steady, even. “Tweek. Look at me.”
It took a moment, but eventually, Tweek’s eyes flickered toward him. glassy, full of tears.
Craig squeezed his hands a little tighter. “Take,” he said softly, slow and sure.
Tweek’s lips parted. “T-take…”
“Deep.”
“D-deep…”
“Breaths.”
“Breaths…”
Craig inhaled deliberately, slow and controlled. He exaggerated the rhythm, making sure Tweek could follow it.
“In… and out.”
He repeated it with him, patient, calm, until the frantic edge started to fade.
Tweek’s breathing slowed, still shaky but less jagged.
Craig leaned in closer, one hand sliding up to the back of Tweek’s neck, grounding him. He pressed their foreheads together, their noses almost brushing.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“I.”
Tweek’s breath trembled out. “I…”
“Am.”
“Am…”
“Safe.”
“Safe…”
Tweek’s tears spilled, but he wasn’t gasping anymore. He blinked, focusing on Craig’s eyes, blue, steady, unwavering. The kind of gaze that didn’t move until he knew Tweek was really back.
“You’re safe,” Craig murmured again, softer now. “You’re home. I’ve got you.”
A weak, watery laugh bubbled out of Tweek, half a sob. “S-sorry,” he whispered. “I-I didn’t mean to freak out.”
Craig shook his head. “Don’t apologize for that. You don’t need to.”
He kept one hand on Tweek’s cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. The other hand stayed around Tweek’s wrist, keeping him grounded.
They sat there in silence for a while. Just breathing.
Eventually, Craig guided him gently toward the bed.
“C’mon,” he said quietly. “Let’s lay down.”
Tweek let him. His legs were unsteady, but Craig supported him, keeping an arm around him as they sat on the edge of the bed. Tweek leaned into him, his head dropping against Craig’s shoulder.
Craig didn’t say anything for a minute. He just held him there, Tweek’s heartbeat against his side, his breathing finally evening out.
When he spoke, it was quiet. “Was it one of the bad ones?”
Tweek nodded, rubbing his face against Craig’s sleeve. “Y-yeah. I don’t even know why… I was just sitting here and my heart-god, it started racing. I couldn’t breathe.”
Craig’s hand rubbed slow circles on his back. “You don’t need a reason,” he said softly. “It just happens. I’m glad I came over.”
Tweek gave a small, weak laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”
Then he looked up a little, eyes still wet. “You’re… really good at this.”
Craig raised a brow. “At what?”
“Helping me,” Tweek said, voice fragile but honest. “You always know what to do.”
Craig shrugged lightly. “Just don’t like seeing you hurt.”
That made Tweek smile faintly, the kind of small, tired smile that meant everything.
He exhaled, slow, the tension finally melting from his shoulders.
“Stay?” he asked quietly.
Craig nodded without hesitation. “Always.”
He leaned back against the headboard, pulling Tweek closer until the smaller boy was tucked against his chest. Tweek’s hands clutched at the fabric of Craig’s hoodie, holding on like if he let go, the calm might disappear.
Craig rested his chin against Tweek’s hair. “You okay now?”
Tweek’s voice came out sleepy and soft. “Better. A lot better.”
They sat there in silence, listening to the hum of the espresso machine downstairs, the faint chatter of Mrs. Tweak, the world slowly returning to normal.
Tweek’s breathing grew slower, deeper. His hands loosened, his body finally relaxing completely.
Craig whispered into his hair, “You did good, babe. You came back.”
A small hum was all Tweek could manage before he drifted off, still holding onto Craig’s sleeve.
Craig stayed awake a little longer, tracing small circles against his arm, letting the quiet fill the room again, only this time, it wasn’t empty.
It was calm. Safe.
⸻
The light in Tweek’s room was soft in the afternoon, the kind that crept slowly through the curtains. It dusted the edges of everything, his desk, the stacks of notebooks, the half-drunk cup of cold coffee.
Craig woke first. He always did.
For a moment, he didn’t move. He just stared at the ceiling, still half-asleep, feeling the weight pressed against his chest.
Tweek was curled up against him, face tucked beneath his chin, a tangle of pale hair brushing Craig’s neck. His breaths came slow and even now, soft little exhales that tickled against Craig’s hoodie.
Craig tightened his arm slightly around him, careful not to wake him yet. The world outside felt far away, muted in that slow, safe way morning sometimes could be.
Downstairs, the faint sounds of the espresso machine came alive again. The Tweaks were
downstairs, but they didn’t come knocking. They never did when Craig was over anymore. Mrs. Tweak always smiled a little too knowingly, and Mr. Tweak just nodded, handing him a muffin on the way out the door.
Craig’s fingers brushed over Tweek’s shoulder, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing. It was steady, peaceful.
He thought about how small Tweek had looked last night on the floor, hands shaking, and then how he’d calmed when Craig had held him. The difference between then and now made something twist quietly in Craig’s chest.
Tweek stirred a little, eyes still closed. He made a small, sleepy noise, shifting closer until his head rested more securely against Craig’s collarbone.
“Mm…”
Craig smiled a little. “Hey babe.”
Tweek hummed but didn’t open his eyes. “M’not ready to get up.”
“You don’t have to,” Craig said, his voice low, still half caught in the quiet of the room.
For a while, neither of them said anything. They just stayed there, tangled in the blanket, the air warm and still.
Tweek finally blinked his eyes open, squinting a little against the light. He looked up at Craig with that slow, soft gaze that came only after sleep, unguarded and gentle.
“Hey,” he mumbled, voice rough.
Craig brushed a bit of hair off his forehead. “Hey.”
Tweek blinked again, then tucked his head right back down, nuzzling into Craig’s chest like it was instinct.
Craig let him. He didn’t say anything about last night, didn’t mention the panic, the shaking, the tears. There was no need.
Tweek knew.
Craig knew.
That was enough.
The morning stayed quiet, wrapped in that easy silence.
Tweek’s fingers found Craig’s sleeve and held it, playing with the edge of the fabric absentmindedly. His heartbeat was steady now, no rush, no panic, just that familiar rhythm against Craig’s side.
After a long stretch of silence, Tweek muttered, “You’re cold.”
Craig’s mouth quirked slightly. “You steal all the blankets.“
Tweek let out a faint laugh, small but real, and that sound alone was enough to make Craig’s chest ease.
A few minutes later, Tweek sat up halfway, rubbing his eyes. His hair stuck out in all directions, messy and soft.
Craig leaned up too, catching his wrist before he could fidget too much.
“Stay a little longer,” Craig said quietly.
Tweek hesitated, then nodded. He sank back into his arms again, letting Craig pull him close until their legs tangled and the blanket covered them both.
Outside, the street was full of chatter. Cars passed, the faint sound of chatter drifted in through the window. But inside, it stayed still.
Craig closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of Tweek’s head.
Neither of them said another word. They didn’t need to.
The calm between them said enough, that after all the chaos and panic, this was what they always found their way back to.
Warmth. Quiet. Each other.