The Craig Tucker Hate Club

Howdy, lovely readers! I'm really excited to share this story with you :)

I wound up making a companion playlist for this fic - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4bYAwk61aciY4vlO3dFrHK?si=2a9ad5f7d8a54ef6. Listen along whilst you read, or after, or before, or never. I'm not the boss of you. Anyways, enjoy the fic...

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If Kenny's being honest, he had been hoping for something more... low-key this evening. Just a nice dinner, nothing fancy. A few candles, a little wine, that kind of vibe. Maybe they'd even dabble in a romantic pre-made Spotify playlist (he hadn't imagined Craig would make one himself, because he's cautiously hopeful, but not an idiot). That's the sort of thing that he had pictured when he received a text from his boyfriend promising 'a nice surprise' waiting for him at Craig's apartment when he got off work this evening.

"Fuzzy handcuffs?" Kenny holds the pink fluffy abomination at arm's length. "Really, Craig?"

"I thought you would like them!" Craig huffs and pushes his hair back from his face. He has hair like a nineties heartthrob, dark curtains framing his face with dead centre parting. At the start of their relationship, Kenny thought that was cute—and to be fair, he still does—but it gets on his nerves when Craig does this now, like even when they're arguing he's still trying to show off.

"Why would you think I would want this?" Kenny groans.

"I don't know!" Craig throws his hands up. "I just—heard things, you know."

Kenny's lip curls. "Heard things from who?"

"No one in particular. Just... around."

Kenny scoffs and throws the handcuffs down on the bed. It's true that he's used stuff like this before, and he'd probably do it again, but it's more the fact that Craig knows this without ever bothering to ask him that ticks him off.

"Hey, babe! Babe, don't be mad." Craig takes both of Kenny's hands in his own. "I'm sorry, okay?" He kisses each of Kenny's knuckles one by one, then looks up at Kenny through lowered lashes. Craig has eyes like a lost dog, deep brown, tilted slightly downwards. He pulls the same puppy dog trick every time, and like a fool, Kenny falls for it just the same. He hates himself for that. Among other reasons.

"I'm not mad," Kenny says quietly.

"You are," Craig says. "You're mad because I got you the wrong gift."

"No, that's not it!" Kenny says. Isn't it? He jerks his hood up over his head, self-doubt starting to creep in. "I just wish we could have talked about it together, you know? I feel like this should have been a two-party decision."

"What's the point of a surprise if you already knew about it?"

"I don't even like surprises! You know that!"

"Of course I know that!" Craig says. "I just thought it would be nice for our two month anniversary. Sorry for trying, I guess."

Kenny's frustration is momentarily assuaged by his surprise. "You remembered our anniversary?" His face lights up a little.

The corner of Craig's mouth quirks upwards. "Of course I did, babe. How could I forget?" He pushes the hood off of Kenny's head, then traces a thumb down his cheekbone, an area which Kenny's particularly self-conscious about at the moment because he thinks they're too high and too poky, and make his face look sallow. Craig's made some comments recently that suggests his anxieties may not be unfounded.

When Kenny's pulled into a kiss, that's what he's thinking about, his god damn cheekbones. His skin crawls until Craig swipes his tongue over Kenny's lower lip, and then that's what he's thinking about instead. Craig pushes his hands up Kenny's t-shirt and then down his pants, cupping his ass. Kenny pulls back.

"Can we eat before sex? I'm kind of hungry."

"Oh." Craig's face falls. "I mean, if that's what you want."

Kenny feels a pang of guilt and does his best to smother it. "Well, is that gonna be a problem?"

"Of course not," Craig says. He wrinkles his nose. "Why are you being an asshole this evening?"

"I'm not being an asshole!" Kenny says. "I'm—am I?"

Craig shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his black ripped jeans, which is impressive, considering how tight they are. "I mean, kind of, dude. That's the vibe I'm getting."

"Well, I'm not trying to be one!"

"If you say so," Craig says dubiously. "Look, have you been facetiming Kyle again? You know he riles you up."

"I've not talked to Kyle in, like, two weeks."

"Did you guys have a falling out again?"

"No!"

Craig raises an eyebrow like he doesn't believe Kenny, and whilst his suspicions are absolutely correct, Kenny's not about to give him the satisfaction.

"He's just busy with college stuff, and I'm busy with... not-college stuff." Kenny sighs and leans against the wall. It's a boring grey, just like everything else in this place. It makes his orange hoodie look practically luminescent, like a walking highlighter pen. "I'm sorry, okay?" Kenny grinds his teeth and looks at the floor, relenting. "I get that you were trying to be nice. I guess I am kind of being a jerk about it."

"That's okay, babe." Craig snakes an arm around Kenny's waist. "We all have bad days sometimes."

Kenny melts into his affectionate touch, something which he's always got an appetite for. "Look, how about I blow you and then we order a pizza, yeah?"

"I feel like City Wok, actually."

"We can get that instead."

"Great." Craig kisses Kenny on the cheek, and then the mouth, a little firmer. "Love you, babe."

"I love you too," Kenny murmurs, and he might have had something else to say, but Craig's already on him then, getting his hands back under Kenny's clothes, this time with the mission to get them out of the way. Kenny steps back to watch Craig pull his t-shirt over his head from behind, because weirdly that's his favourite part. There's something endearing about watching Craig grapple to fist the fabric in his hand before he gets enough of a grip to tug it upwards, a rare moment where he's not oozing confidence. What's underneath the shirt is pretty nice, too.

They kiss on the bed for a little while, until Craig complains about being cold, and so Kenny pulls the covers over them both. He melts into Craig's warmth, his security, his solid, smooth skin. His desperate desire to fuse his body with Craig's isn't even sexual, but with Craig, everything is made sexual.

He's so invested that he doesn't even hear the front door unlock. Not the footsteps either. But the "Guess who's flight landed early!" from down the hall is impossible to miss.

"Shit," Kenny breathes. "Tweek still has a key to your place?"

Craig's entire body goes rigid. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes dart frantically around the room, like he's assessing escape routes in the event of a fire. Just the one door, unfortunately, so they'd be roasted alive.

"I picked up some City Wok on the way here," Tweek says, voice growing louder as he advances. "I hope you're hungr—" He cuts himself off when he opens the bedroom door. The white plastic bag slips from his grasp and lands unceremoniously on the floor.

For an excruciating moment, none of them say anything. Tweek's gaze pinballs between Craig and Kenny, like the second he starts staring at one, the other might just vanish. "What the fuck?" Normally, everything Tweek says is just slightly too loud, but right now his voice is so quiet it's scarcely recognisable.

"Tweek," Craig says in a strained tone, like he's just walked in on a business meeting, and not foreplay. "I wasn't expecting you back today."

"Yeah," Tweek says, letting out a shaky, hysterical sounding laugh. "Evidently."

"I'm sure you have questions."

"Sure do," whispered Tweek, like he's afraid talking too loud might trigger an avalanche. He staggers back a step, grabbing the doorframe to keep himself upright. "Number one: What the fuck? Number two: What the actual fuck? Number three—"

"I don't know how you want me to answer those."

"I don't want you to answer any of them!" Tweek shrieks, avalanche embraced. "I want you to not be fucking cheating on me!" He grinds his forehead against the heels of his hands. "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!"

Something clicks in Kenny's brain, like a dislocated joint shoved back into place. Agony. He looks at Craig in horror. "I thought you and Tweek broke up!"

Tweek makes a noise that might have been a laugh but sounds closer to choking. "You're cheating on both of us?"

Kenny can't believe this is real. He can't. The idea that this isn't some sick and twisted joke is incomprehensible. "You cheated on me with Tweek?"

"No, I..." Craig pauses. "Cheated on Tweek with you."

"Is there a difference?"

"You weren't wronged?" He sounds uncertain, and looks to Tweek, as if for confirmation. "Right?"

"No, not fucking right, Craig!" Tweek snaps.

"Okay, babe, let's not overreact—"

"Overreact? Overreact!" he squawks. "Don't you dare tell me not to overreact!"

"Okay," Craig says, "so do overreact."

Tweek fists his hands in his hair and lets out a shaky scream.

"Look, I can explain everything—" Craig begins, but Tweek cuts him off.

"I don't want to hear it!"

"Kenny and I were just messing around—"

"Just messing around?" Kenny gawks at him. "Craig, we've been dating for two months!"

Craig cringes. "Well, okay—"

"Two months?" Tweek shouts. "This has been going on for the entire time I was gone?"

"Not the entire—"

"I just—Fuck." He puts a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob and bolts from the room. The slam of the front door echoes throughout the little grey apartment.

"I cannot fucking believe this," Kenny says, but he can now. It had all been too good to be true. He stares at Craig after a moment's silence. "Aren't you going to go after him?"

"He obviously doesn't want to talk to me right now," Craig says. "If he did, he would have stayed."

Kenny shakes his head in disgust. "Fuck that," he says, slithering out of bed to grope for his underwear. "Fuck you."

"Seriously?" Craig says. "Oh, come on."

"Don't you 'oh, come on,' me, man," Kenny says, moving on to his paint-splattered jeans. "What, you still think I'm gonna blow you after that shitshow?" He finds his t-shirt and pulls it on. Finds his hoodie and does the same. "Whatever twisted little game you were getting off on is over. I'm going to go talk to the only other decent person who was roped into playing it."

"Wait, Kenny—"

"I'm done with you." Kenny grabs his backpack, and then the bag of City Wok off the floor in one final gesture of 'fuck you' before he's out of there. He almost takes the fuzzy cuffs too, but they're on the opposite side of the room, and it would ruin his dramatic exit.

Slamming the door on Craig Tucker would be satisfying if Kenny didn't have all these itty bitty pieces of his heart rattling around in his chest.

Out in the corridor, Kenny jabs the button for the elevator so hard his knuckle cracks. He hops from foot to foot, waiting for it to arrive, but he's too impatient to stomach more than a few seconds of idling. He bursts into the stairwell instead, and takes the stairs two at a time, egged on by the image of Tweek having already driven off in tears by the time he makes it outside. Does Tweek have a car? Does he even know how to drive? Fuck if Kenny knows.

Craig lives on the fourth floor of the apartment block, so by the time Kenny makes it to the lobby his lungs are burning. But he still doesn't slow down until he's flown out of the main doors. The building is located in the sweet spot between the edge of town and the start of the suburbs, amounting to an odd aesthetic combo of smooth concrete parking lot encircled by towering pine trees. Kenny stands on the porch, chest heaving, scanning the area for any sign of life. The sun set a few hours ago, street lamps illuminating the courtyard with their ghostly glow. There's nothing visibly out of the ordinary. But the bikes in the bike shed seemed to be making a suspicious sort of sobbing sound which they've never made before.

Kenny makes his way towards the noise. Craig calls it a bike shed, but it's really more of a bike shelter, a 20 foot rusty iron roof over pillars in the ground for people to chain up their various two-wheeled wonders to. Kenny ducks inside and drifts down the aisle in between the rows until he reaches Tweek, who's sitting on the raised edge, face buried in his knees.

"Hey," Kenny says.

Tweek's head snaps up. "What are you doing here?" It's dimmer under here, but there's enough light to make out his blotchy face, glistening in the places where tears have been smeared.

"I came to make sure you were okay."

He rubs his eyes with balled-up fists. "Well, I'm not."

"Oh." Kenny shifts from foot to foot, feeling uncomfortably tall as he towers above Tweek. "Well, then I came to share in your not-okayness."

Tweek looks up at him quietly, a puzzled expression on his face. "You're breathing weird," he says. His voice is back to being a little too loud again.

"I ran."

"You ran?"

"I didn't want to miss you."

Tweek screws his eyes up tight. A tear still manages to squeeze its way through the inner corners. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing!" Kenny says. "I just, uh..." He looks down at the bag he's clutching and thrusts it towards Tweek awkwardly. "You left this."

Tweek peels an eye open to see what he's been presented with. "I'm not hungry anymore."

"Oh," Kenny says, "yeah, okay. Of course you're not." Sick of hovering, he asks, "Can I sit down?"

"It's not my bike shed," Tweek says. "Sit wherever you like."

Kenny perches on the curb next to Tweek. He sets the bag down but keeps staring at it. Tweek may not be hungry, but Kenny sure as hell is. Still, it feels kind of wrong to take it right now. It's not even his food.

"I didn't know," he says softly, redirecting himself to the matter at hand.

Tweek doesn't say anything, just keeps his head lowered, so that all Kenny has to go by is his hair, a cloudy blond puff that curls around his ears. It would probably find some semblance of curls if he tried even one of those expensive products that Craig slathers his own hair in.

Kenny keeps speaking, compelled to fill the silence. "It's—I bumped into Craig at a bar a few months ago, and when I asked why he was alone, he said it was because you two broke up. I guess I should have been more sceptical, but—I mean, you guys were pretty much joined at the hip in high school. Your absence seemed proof enough." He grimaces. "Obviously, it wasn't."

"It kind of felt like we were," Tweek says unexpectedly. His voice is hoarse, like a blade on grindstone. "Broken up. For a while. Not officially, but we did have sort of a rough patch over the summer. But I thought we were getting better. I really thought we were."

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Kenny asks cautiously.

"No," Tweek says. "Maybe. I don't know. I feel like you're the wrong person to tell."

"Oh," Kenny says, trying and failing not to be hurt. Sure, the two of them were never exactly close in school. Orbiting separate social stars, rarely crossing paths. They've not spoken to one another at all since graduation, four months ago, but he did bump into Tweek outside of school a few times in the early half of the summer. Passed each other in the street, down an aisle, at a traffic light. Brief eye contact, a slight nod of the head, maybe even a stiff half-smile, but never more than a few words exchanged between them. Two parallel lines, forging forward but never converging.

And yet here they were. Converging. Much to their dismay.

"I mean, you don't want to be burdened with my hysterical ramblings," Tweek mumbles. "Because you and Craig—I'm sure you're not in the mood to hear the person who just ruined your relationship complain."

Kenny frowns. "You didn't ruin anything. That was Craig's fault. And mine." He sucks in air through his teeth. "Also mine."

"But you didn't know we were still together." Tweek raises his head to look at him with eyes the size of saucers, glistening with tears. "Right?"

Kenny nods emphatically. "Right."

"Well, that's alright then. If you did nothing wrong and I did nothing wrong, then there's nothing to be upset by," Tweek says in a high tone, and it takes Kenny a second to realise that he's joking. He laughs awkwardly.

"I guess that only leaves one person who did do something wrong."

Tweek glances back at the apartment block. "I guess that does." He goes quiet, and Kenny can't think of anything else to say, and so he stares at the bag of food and wills it to teleport into his stomach. But that's never worked before, and it doesn't now. He tears his eyes away and distracts himself with Tweek instead.

He's a very distracting thing to study, decked out in olive green corduroy dungarees with a sunflower embroidered on the chest pocket. Beneath that is a form-fitting coffee coloured turtleneck, the same shade as the freckles across his nose. Tweek's always been more fashion-conscious than Kenny, who's defaulted to obnoxious neon hoodies his entire life.

Apparently, Kenny isn't as subtle with his staring as he thought, because Tweek catches his eye and quickly covers his face with his hands.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"For what?"

"I'm an ugly crier."

"That doesn't matter. Everyone is," Kenny scoffs. "It's pretty criers that you've got to watch out for. You can never trust them."

"I guess that authenticates my honesty," Tweek says. He mimes waving a little flag. "Hooray for me." He sniffs and scrubs his nose with his sleeve. "How come you're so calm?"

"I'm not." Kenny grins at him, the glint in his eyes bordering on manic. "I'm freaking out. This is undoubtedly one of the worst days of my life. I don't think I'll ever love again."

"That's the spirit." Tweek smiles, and even though it's a pathetic one, Kenny feels a bit better about himself.

"Guess how long it's been since I cried?" he says.

"How long?"

"Guess."

"A month."

"Three years."

"Three years?" Tweek rears back. "Boy, your life must be hunky-dory."

"Something like that."

"I think I cry more than most people," Tweek muses. "Not just when I'm sad, but when I'm happy, too. When I'm angry, which I hate, because it always ruins arguments. Even when I'm hungry. It's like it's just my neutral state. Sobbing."

"That's not so bad," Kenny says. "Together, we average out into two emotionally healthy people."

Tweek snorts. "I don't think that's how that works."

"I'm confident that it is."

Tweek sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "I almost was, you know? That's the worst part. How close I was.

"Close to what?"

"Being emotionally healthy, or whatever. School fucked me up and getting out of school gave me a chance to... un-fuck up. Just a bit. But it was a start."

"That's a thing you can do?" Kenny says. "I thought people just went through life getting more and more fucked up, and then one day they died." He means this as a joke, but from the look on Tweek's face, it apparently isn't received as one.

"Dude," Tweek whispers. "You really think that?"

"No!" He chuckles uncomfortably.

"That's kind of sad."

"I wasn't being serious."

"Weren't you?"

Kenny huffs and glares at the ground, irritated to have his bluff called. He tries to think of something else to say, to change the topic from his issues and back to Tweek's, but his stomach takes the initiative to do the talking for him instead. It lets out a low rumble, and Kenny clamps his arms around it, embarrassed. "Shit, sorry."

Tweek smirks. "I suppose I should have asked whether you were hungry."

"Don't worry about me," Kenny says. "I'm fine."

Tweek digs in the bag and pulls out a takeaway box with the City Wok logo printed on the side. "Here." He offers it to Kenny. "It's not as if Craig's gonna get his hands on this now."

"Thanks," Kenny says, trying not to sound too relieved. He opens up the pot, and yep, that's definitely Craig's order, because he always goes for the most bland, tasteless things on the menu. But Kenny's not in a position to be picky, and so he snaps the wooden chopsticks apart from each other and digs in.

He makes it through four mouthfuls before he realises Tweek has been watching him eat. Kenny looks up and, through a mouthful of food, asks, "You good?"

"Yeah." Tweek blinks rapidly. His ticks have calmed since he was younger, or perhaps they're just more concentrated in one area now: his eyes. Kenny observes that they're honey brown, with little flecks of gold around the iris.

"You have really nice eyes," he says.

Tweek's fingers fly to his face, as if to check. "Thanks," he said. "I wish I could say they were that way by design."

"I just thought you should know." Kenny shrugs. "I think people should know, if they have nice eyes."

Tweek squints at Kenny. "Your eyes are nice too."

"No they're not," Kenny snorts. He knows this because he's checked.

"Blue is a nice colour for eyes."

"It's an unremarkable colour."

"That's not true," Tweek says. "I've remarked on it."

Kenny can't think of a retort, and so he goes back to eating, and Tweek goes back to watching him. After a while of unbroken staring, Kenny meets his gaze again. "There's another box, if you're hungry."

"I feel kind of ill," Tweek says. "I'm not sure I could handle more than a few bites."

"Well, here." Kenny offers the chopsticks to Tweek. "Have a little of mine, and then see how you feel."

Tweek hesitates, and then takes one of the chopsticks. He skewers a few faux-chicken pieces, pulls back his lips and rakes them off the stick with his teeth in one go. Kenny hastily dismisses all inappropriate thoughts that subsequently surface. Not the time. "So, how do you feel?" he asks.

Tweek frowns as he chews, assessing the situation. "Like I could have a bit more."

"Well, here." Kenny hands him the box. "It's pretty plain, so it won't upset your stomach. Pick out the bits you feel like eating and leave the parts that you don't."

"Okay," Tweek says slowly. "That makes sense." He digs in the bag and produces a plastic fork for himself. "Want my portion instead?"

"Yes, please."

It turns out that Tweek has excellent taste when it comes to food. Kenny gorges himself on katsu curry, welcoming something with an actual kick to it. For a while neither of them speaks, both preoccupied with their food. This means Kenny is left to his own thoughts, which is never a good thing.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters.

"What?" Tweek wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Nothing," Kenny says, not having meant to have voiced any of his concerns. He stuffs his empty box back into the bag, and Tweek follows suit.

"It's obviously not nothing."

"Sorry, I just—I just realised something. But it's not important."

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Kenny, I want to know!"

"It's just..." He trails off and licks his lips nervously. "I was the side ho."

Tweek winces. "Oh. I mean, I guess so."

"Fuck." Kenny grinds his teeth together. "I never thought I'd stoop that low."

"But it was unwittingly," Tweek says. "You didn't know."

"I should have guessed. I should have been more attentive—"

"It's not your fault for trusting him." Tweek says sharply. "Or, if it is, then it's my fault too."

There's a sad sort of silence that stretches for about a minute too long.

"If it's any consolation, side hoes are always hotter," Tweek says.

"No, they're not," Kenny scoffs.

"Yes, they are!"

"Says who?"

"Says everybody! That's how it always is."

"Bullshit."

"It's true! Otherwise why would he have cheated?"

"Because he's lowlife scum, that's why." Kenny says.

Tweek huffs. "I don't deny that." He stares at the ground. "It's remarkable how quickly you can go from loving someone to hating them."

"Did you love him?"

"I don't know," Tweek says. "I thought I did. Is there really a difference?"

Well, Kenny doesn't know the answer to that, so he just hops up off the curb. "Come on," he says. "Let's go for a walk. I don't want to hang around here any longer. I can smell his stench from all the way down here."

Tweek stands as well. "Where to?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," he says. "Not home. Not yet."

"Then we'll just wander," Kenny declares. "See where our feet take us. Find out what the night has in store for us."

"Okay."

They trudge down the path together, footsteps echoing across the empty courtyard. Tweek chucks the remnants of their food into the garbage can and joins Kenny on the street, who's looking up at the stars, and wishing he'd bothered to learn something about astrology. Now would be a great time to make some sophisticated sounding comment about the so-and-so constellation being out tonight. Only being able to point out the big and little dipper is hardly stunning stuff. He lets his gaze drop back down to earth and falls into step beside Tweek.

"For the record," Kenny says after they've made it about twenty yards, "I'm not hotter than you."

"Yes, you are," Tweek mumbles. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not just saying anything," Kenny says. "I call 'em how I see 'em. You're cuter than me, and you're sure as hell cuter than him."

"Cuter than Craig?"

"Yeah, dude."

"That's not true."

"Have you looked in a mirror recently?" Kenny says. "It's hotness galore. Blinding radiance."

"Stop trying to make me feel better," Tweek whines.

"If you were around in ancient Greek times, a war would have been started over you, dude. Aphrodite would have thrown a fit. That's how pretty you are."

Tweek snort-laughs, and Kenny feels a surge of satisfaction, for managing to get even a tiny happy sound out of Tweek. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a flask. "Want some?"

Tweek's shoulders slump with relief. "God, yes please."

Kenny hands the square silver bottle over, and Tweek takes an eager swig. He pulls a face as the liquid hits his tongue and jerks back. "Jesus Christ," he coughs. "What have you got in there?"

"Whiskey."

"What are you, some kind of grizzled private-eye?" Tweek thrusts the flask back at Kenny, who takes a sip himself without any trouble. "Are you going to monologue about how dark and twisted this world is through a web of convoluted metaphors?"

"Maybe I will," Kenny says indignantly, though he doesn't actually think he'd be able to. "What else did you expect to be kept in a flask anyway?"

"I don't know! Vodka?"

"You'll drink vodka straight, but not whiskey?"

"I thought you were here to comfort me, not judge my drinking habits."

"I was only asking," Kenny says. He takes another mouthful, and though it burns on the way down, he manages to scrape together a watery-eyed smile. "Delicious."

Tweek purses his lips. "Okay, new plan: Locate some superior alcohol."

"I know a store that will serve us."

"Really?" Tweek's eyes light up. "Lead the way."

"Aye aye, captain." Kenny solutes with his free hand. They cross the road, and he takes another gulp. Tweek watches him out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh, give me that." He snatches it back again. "There is no way I'm staying sober if you're not."

They pass the flask back and forth in silence at first, as Kenny picks back over the past two months of his life, recontextualising them for the horrible freak show that it turned out to be. "Grim," he says.

"What is?"

"This. All of this."

"Oh. Yeah," Tweek says. "Pretty grim."

"How come I never saw you at all?" Kenny asks. "During my whole fling with he-who-shall-not-be-named."

"I was away," Tweek says.

"Away?"

"There was a vertical expansion of the coffeehouse," he says, and Kenny nods like he understands what the hell that means. "Dad wanted to improve our image of sustainability and ethical production, so he bought up a coffee plantation down in Brazil. He sent me down there to oversee the transition of ownership."

"Wow." Kenny raises his eyebrows. "That's a lot of pressure to put on someone who's only just finished surviving high school."

"You're telling me!" Tweek huffs. "I mean, I've been working in the coffeehouse since before I knew how to pronounce 'child labour law violations,' so it's not like I'm a newbie at how businesses function. But it's one thing to take stock and test supply, and another to be put in charge of managing all that and more."

"Do you even speak Portuguese?" Kenny asks.

"I did by the end of my trip," Tweek says. "I took lessons before I went, and whilst I was there. A few of the workers spoke English, but I figured if I was going to be sitting in on all of these meetings then I should at least be able to understand what they're saying. But I'm much better at listening to it than actually speaking it myself."

"That's still cool, though!" Kenny says. "I've never been able to learn a second language. The closest I got was when I got my Duolingo French streak up to 205 in competition with Kyle. And I didn't even win – he made it to 206."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tweek says in mock sobriety.

Kenny shakes his head bitterly. "I would have made it further, but the little green bastard stopped sending me notifications. I take no responsibility for my failure."

Tweek pats Kenny's shoulder sympathetically.

"But enough about my tragic past. How was the venture?"

"It was stressful, at first," Tweek says. "And it carried on being stressful the whole way through. But I was lucky enough to be surrounded by people who knew a whole lot more about what they were doing than I did. To be honest, I think the main reason why Dad sent me was for the photo op. Something to plaster onto the wall, to send customers the right message, you know?"

"And what message might that be?" Kenny grins, because he already knows what's coming.

"A simple message," Tweek says, mimicking the soft and soothing voice of his father, "just like our simple coffee. Warm yet mild, we treat our workers with the care they deserve. Care, like the love a red-breasted robin shows his eggs on the first day of spring, singing in the early morning sun. You see, when my grandfather first opened our first coffeehouse forty years ago—" He cuts himself off with an eye roll. "I could go on."

"Don't," Kenny says, "it's making me sleepy."

"That's what the coffee's for," Tweek snickers. "That's how we get you."

"You've got me alright." Kenny yawns and finishes the last of the whiskey. "So how long were you in Brazil for?"

"It was only supposed to be for a few weeks," Tweek says, "but I ended up staying for three months."

"How come?"

"Dad wanted the plantation to join Fairtrade, but it didn't pass their regulations." he says. "I'm not surprised – the working conditions were terrible, and the wages were abysmal. It took a lot of restructuring to sort it all out. But I didn't actually mind so much, you know? We ought to put our money where our mouth is, I think. And it actually felt like I was working on something important, for once. Something that I cared about. And I've never actually cared about anything like that before! Except for—you know. Craig."

Kenny grimaces at the sound of his name. "I guess he didn't take you going away for so long too well."

"He was pretty pissed off." Tweek sucks in air through his teeth. "I called him every day, at first, to tell him how things were going. But he just sounded so bored that in the end, I just sort of... stopped calling."

Kenny runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. "So I was a revenge fuck?"

Tweek sucks on his lower lip, looking guilty. "It's possible," he says.

"Which is worse," Kenny asks, "a revenge fuck or a side ho? Which one should I be rooting for here?"

"I—Oh, I don't know," Tweek says. "Is that really so important?"

"Yes!" Kenny says. "If I've stooped this low, then I at least want to know what it was that I've been reduced to."

"You didn't stoop at all," Tweek snaps. "We're the victims here, Kenny."

"Well then I'd like to understand exactly how I've been victimised!"

"You were cheated on! We were both cheated on!" Tweek throws his hands in the air. "There's no point trying to find smaller, shittier labels for it. It doesn't get any shittier than this."

Kenny huffs and crosses his arms, leaving a defiant silence in place of a retort. He might have let it drag out longer if he hadn't noticed Tweek's soft sniffling. Kenny glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and then does a double take when he realises Tweek is crying again. "Shit, Tweek—I'm so sorry! I'm just—I didn't mean to—"

"It's not about you, Kenny," Tweek mumbles.

"Right," Kenny cringes, "you're right, of course it's not. I'm making this about me when I shouldn't." He shakes his head. "God, I always do that—"

"That's not what I mean," Tweek says. "I mean, it's not you who's made me upset." He wrings his hands. "And I'm not saying you're not allowed to talk about how you feel, either. But I wish you wouldn't beat yourself up so much. Just because Craig treated you—us like dirt, doesn't mean that's what we are."

"I guess," Kenny says. "But that doesn't stop me from feeling like dirt."

"I know," Tweek sighs. "Kenny, I... Yeah, I know." He presses the heels of his hands into his sockets. "Fuck, man," he whispers. "I wish I'd never come back."

"Hey." Kenny touches Tweek's arm lightly because it looks like he's digging in hard. "For what it's worth—which, granted, isn't very much—I'm glad you're back. I missed going into the coffeehouse and not seeing you there."

"You mean you miss not being served by my weirdo father instead."

"No," Kenny says, "I mean I missed you. I know we never really talked, but your presence... You're an integral part of South Park, dude. Without you, it's just another drab little mountain town."

"Whereas now it's a drab little mountain town with some miserable fucker in it."

"Make that two." Kenny wraps an arm around Tweek's shoulder. "We'll be miserable fuckers together."

The benefit of living in this drab little mountain town is that everywhere is within walking distance, no matter where you are. The yellow street lamps of the suburbs begin to melt into the neon lights of SodoSopa. Tweek looks around the grungy strip of shops that line the street on either side of them. "Jesus," he murmurs, "this place has really gone downhill since we were kids."

"Impressive, isn't it?" Kenny says. "And here I was, thinking it was already built on rock bottom." He takes a wide step over a puddle of what he hopes is rainwater, though the skies are clear. Everything in this place is damp and sodden. Gone are the shiny, clean days of Gentrification Station. "I like to think of it as returning to its roots, you know? Now a wage slave like me can thrive here once more."

Tweek presses a hand to his heart. "Nature is healing."

"What a beautiful thing."

They pick their way through the streets together. "God, I never even asked what you're doing these days!" Tweek exclaims suddenly. "Are you taking a gap year before college?"

"Nah," Kenny says, "I plunged myself into the gruelling capitalist hellscape years ago, so no point taking a break."

"Which poison did you pick?"

"I'm a decorator."

"And here I was thinking your jeans were a fashion statement."

Kenny looks down at his pants, which are splattered with splotches of paint. Mostly white, with a little cream and grey. "They are a fashion statement," he says. "The statement is that I couldn't be bothered to change before I went over to Craig's."

Tweek laughs. "What's it like being a decorator?"

"It's alright." Kenny shrugs. "Not exactly riveting stuff, but I work with my dad on most jobs, so at least I have someone to chat to."

"Oh," Tweek says. "I wasn't aware that he was... employed."

"It's hard for him to hold down a job," Kenny says, and his tone drops. "He's got pretty severe depression, so, uh. Some days he can't even leave the house. Or, like, even get out of bed."

"Oh, Kenny. I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Kenny isn't surprised by the visible discomfort on Tweek's face. His dad has been the butt of the whole town's joke for as long as he can remember, and the butt of his own jokes when he was younger, too. No one outside of his family understands the complications within it because everyone just assumes that they already get it. Stuart McCormick is a lazy, good for nothing alcoholic, and it's no surprise that his wife and kids left him two years ago. What is a surprise to them is that Kenny stayed. Everyone always assumed he'd stick with his sister, and he still looks out for her, but he has to look out for his dad, too.

The only person Kenny's ever talked to about this is Butters, who's his closest and only real friend now, considering the recent drama with Stan and Kyle. Butters is sweet, and a good listener, but he also got his own little apartment when he was sixteen and cut all ties with his family. He doesn't get the idea that sometimes you've gotta be the one to take care of your own parents, even if they never did a good job taking care of you.

"It's alright. Dad's doing better now, I think," Kenny says. "It's not so bad now that I get to be around him more often. I would have dropped out of school years ago instead of waiting this long to graduate, but he wouldn't let me."

"Well, I'm glad you stuck around until the end," Tweek says. "I liked your presence."

They make it Kenny's liquor store of choice: a scummy little low-lit joint known only as The Rubber Ducky, for stupid reasons that he's never bothered to learn. Something to do with those gay puppets from Sesame Street that Karen used to love.

Tweek eyes the place warily, hesitant to enter, but more reluctant to remain outside alone, and so he trails behind Kenny with his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He's stopped crying now, but his eyes are still pink and puffy.

Kenny doesn't waste any time pretending to peruse the wares – he's been here enough times to know where the vodka is. He grabs two bottles of Smirnoff and beelines for the counter.

"Hey, Kevin."

A dirty-blond head whirls round to face him. "Hey, shitface!" Kevin grabs Kenny's head, pulling him into a headlock. Tweek makes a squeak of alarm until he realises that it's only so that Kevin can ruffle Kenny's hair.

Kenny pulls himself free and fixes his hair. "Hey, asshole."

"Who's your friend?"

"I'm Tweek," says Tweek.

"I bet you are," Kevin says.

Tweek laughs with nervous confusion, and Kenny sets the bottles down on the counter before his himbo of a brother can say any other stupid things.

Kevin scans their barcodes. "You two going to a party?"

"A party of two," Kenny says.

"Rock on!"

Kenny gives an exaggerated eye-roll. "Just because you were born in nineteen ninety-nine doesn't mean you get to use nineties slang unironically."

"Huh, that's funny," Kevin frowns. "I'm feeling a strange and unusual urge to ask for a form of ID. I might be overcome by it at any moment."

"Alright, alright!" Kenny puts his hands up. "You're well within your right to embarrass yourself however you want."

Kevin punches a few buttons on the till. "That'll be twenty five dollars."

"Twenty five?" Kenny grabs a bottle and jabs at the label. "It says right there that they're ten each!"

"I've got to cover my costs."

"What costs?"

"Costs in case I need bale for selling to underage squirts like you! Plus," Kevin gives him a gap-tooth grin, "I'm investing in earplugs for whenever you're around."

"Kevin," Kenny says. "With all due respect, fuck right off."

Kevin narrows his eyes. "It's thirty now."

"What!" Kenny squawks.

"Inflation's a bitch, Kenny. I don't control the economy."

Kenny lets out a strangled scream.

"Okay!" Tweek says in a high, tight voice. "Here, Kenny, why don't we split the bill, and then we only have to pay fifteen each. That's less than you were gonna pay to begin with."

Kevin gives Tweek a quick once-over. "Well, if you're the one buying, I'll just give you both for ten."

"Really?" Tweek's eyes go wide. "Wow! Thank you!"

"Why does he get a discount?" Kenny sulks. "I'm your own god damn brother!"

"Because he's a polite young man." Kevin accepts the ten dollar bill and shoves it in the register. "And he looks like he could do with it." He hands Tweek the bottles. "Whoever she was, she wasn't worth it, man."

"Thank you," Tweek mumbles.

"He," Kenny snaps. "And for your information, he broke both of our hearts. So there." He snatches one of the bottles from Tweek's hand, flicks the lid off, and drinks, all whilst maintaining eye contact.

"Then you'll be needing this." Kevin chucks a packet of gum at Kenny. It hits his chest, and he fumbles to catch it. "May your rebounds be plentiful and totally babe-ilicious."

Tweek nods his head meekly and says "Thank you" for the third time whilst Kenny mutters more anti-Kevin slander.

Kevin beams at Tweek. "Why can't you be more like your friends, Kenny?"

"Fuck you." Kenny shoves the gum into his pocket. "I hope you stub your toe in a social situation where it's inappropriate to swear."

Kevin smiles with his tongue between his teeth. "You think that's gonna stop me?"

"Well then I hope you fall in a hole and immediately die."

"Love you too, little guy."

Kenny scoffs and stalks out of the shop.

Tweek is hot on his heels. "Jesus," he hisses as they loiter outside. "I guess you won't be going back there any time soon."

"What?" Kenny looks up from checking what flavour the gum was. Strawberry. "I'm in there all the time. Kevin's a riot."

"But he was horrible to you! And you were horrible to him!"

Kenny raises an eyebrow. "You're an only child, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah."

Kenny smirks. "That checks out. So, where to next?"

"We could go home, I guess," Tweek says. "My parents are up in Denver for a conference at the moment, so they're not gonna get at us for drinking."

"Is that what you want to do?"

Tweek chews the inside of his cheek. "Not really."

"Then let's stay out a little longer." Kenny scratches his head with his free hand. "Hey, do you remember that playpark we used to go to as kids?"

"The one near Stark's Pond?"

"Yeah. We're not too far from there."

"Are you sure the gate won't be locked by now?"

"Tweek, the fence is probably, like, thigh height by now. I don't think a little padlock is gonna stop us. Besides, it's not as if there's gonna be a hoard of kids to judge us at—" He checks the time on his phone "—eleven thirty. Jesus, is it that late already?"

"Let's do it," Tweek says, sounding slightly giddy. He unscrews the lid of his vodka and takes a quick sip, shivering a little.

"To the playpark we go!"

"I felt so claustrophobic back in that store," Tweek mumbles as they trudge off. "It was like the walls were too close together."

"It's the colour," Kenny says. "A sort of mangy brown. I keep begging Kevin to let me paint them. I think a nice light blue would really open up the place, and the old coat is already half peeling off the walls by itself."

"I guess so," Tweek says. He looks deep in thought. "Did you mean what you said back there?" He scuffs his feet on the sidewalk. "About Craig breaking your heart?"

"I mean... kinda." Kenny swallows, and looks away. "It's not a big deal. People do it all the time."

"Is that... a common occurrence for everyone?" Tweek looks unsure.

"No," Kenny says. "The frequency is just a me thing."

"I guess that's the plus side of staying in the same relationship since Freshman year of high school," Tweek says. "You only get your heart broken once."

Kenny's eyebrows shoot upwards. "This is your first heartbreak?"

"I didn't have a chance to get it broken before then," Tweek says. "It was like, the moment I start thinking maybe I was interested in dating – bam! Craig just sort of... asserts himself as my boyfriend."

"See, that's the joy of hitting puberty at ten," Kenny says. "Suddenly, you're loaded with all these weird fucking... feelings," he grimaces, "and none of them make any sense, and no one else feels that way yet. So there's no option but to just break your own heart, again and again, and each time hurts worse than the last. And that's a hard habit to break."

"Oh, Kenny," Tweek says sadly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "That's really awful."

"But, hey," Kenny musters up a smile, "it's not so isolating now I have someone else to wallow in despair with."

"I'll drink to that," Tweek says, and he does.

Kenny joins him, their bottles clinking together in commiseration.

"You know what really annoyed me about Craig?" Tweek says. "Whenever there was a toast, or a cheers-ing, or whatever you call it, he would never let his glass touch. He just sort of wafted it at you, like he was afraid he might catch diseases if he came too close."

"He's the one who's diseased, dude," Kenny says. "A chronic case of never-fucking-showering-itis."

"Right?" Tweek says. "It's like, when's he gonna learn that layering on Axe deodorant isn't going to cut it!"

"It's gross," Kenny agrees. "Anyone who wears that stuff beyond middle school should be neutered, for the good of humanity."

Tweek snickers. "But it's like—he's convinced that since he's so attractive, everything he ever does must be attractive. And so then if you dare to criticise him – or even mildly suggest an alternative – he makes at all about you and how bitchy you're being."

"Yes, fuck!" Kenny throws his hands in the air, booze sloshing over the rim of his bottle. "Every time you call him out for being shitty, he convinces you that actually, no, you're the one being shitty."

"God, he used to do that to me all the time," Tweek says. "Make me question my own mind. It was like I couldn't trust my own thoughts."

"You wanna know what he did tonight?" Kenny says. "Before you made your grand entrance?"

"Something heartfelt and terribly romantic, I'm sure," Tweek snorts.

"I wasn't even going to go over, and then he texted me saying that he had a surprise planned, which—I don't even like surprises, by the way, and I feel like I definitely told him that before. Why would I not want to know what's about to happen? Where's the benefit in that? Surely anticipating something tangible will always be more thrilling."

"Surprises from Craig are always a sex thing." Tweek scowls. "I used to get really anxious whenever he promised a surprise, because being unprepared for the unknown majorly freaks me out, you know? But then after a while I realised that 'surprise' was just code for 'me having sex with you is a gift.'" He wrinkles his nose. "I've got quite a narrow frame of reference, but I'm fairly fucking confident that it isn't."

"I have a... fairly wide frame of reference," Kenny says. "And, yeah, he's hardly mind blowing in bed. I'd label him average at best. He's such a fucking selfish lover. He'd undoubtedly forsake all of humanity for an identical clone of himself to bang. Or, like, a robot with pre-recorded dialogue to provide him with never ending mindless praise."

"Oh." Tweek's gaze drops to the floor. "So did you two... uh." He trails off.

"Yeah." Kenny rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry."

"No it's—it's fine." Tweek's smile is closer to a grimace. "I guess I should have known. I can hardly imagine him accepting a sex-free relationship for more than a few days."

"I wouldn't have even minded that," Kenny mutters. "A break to catch my breath would have been nice."

"Anyway." Tweek straightens up again. "You were gonna tell me what happened tonight."

"Oh, right. So I went over after work, thinking—well, not thinking, but hoping that maybe he had a nice dinner planned, or something."

Tweek chokes back a laugh. "Sorry, I just—I'm sure that seemed like a very reasonable expectation at the time."

"Yeah, well." Kenny shoves his hands in the pockets off his jeans. "I can see how more seasoned Craig-sperts might have a more accurate insight into the night ahead."

"And that being?"

He looks Tweek dead in the eye. "Fuzzy. Fucking. Handcuffs."

Tweek blinks. "What?"

"You heard me." Kenny's gait has morphed from walking to storming down the street. Tweek struggles to keep up with him. "To be honest, I'm surprised he waited this long to present them. Most people just chuck it at me right before our first time. Or during."

"And you... you didn't like them?" Tweek asks timidly. "The, uh, cuffs?"

"No, Tweek," Kenny says through gritted teeth. "Despite whatever rumours you might have heard, I'm not into that shit."

"I've never heard any rumours!" Tweek says quickly, but from the colour his cheeks are turning, Kenny knows he's lying. Not that Kenny blames him – he's lying too. He is into that stuff, and he's down to experiment in general, but not when it's demanded or presumed. He knows his reputation precedes him, but it would be nice to have a sexual partner who actually cares to ask him what he'd like.

"Yeah, well, apparently Craig had heard things 'around,'" Kenny grumbles. "Not exactly the candlelit dinner of my dreams. I only agreed to blow him 'cause he pulled the classic Craig 'No, you're being a bitch' Tucker move."

"Kenny," Tweek frowns, "that's—that's not okay. That's, like, coercion or something."

"I guess," Kenny mumbles. "But, I mean, didn't he ever guilt you into doing shit?"

"I'm—I don't know." Tweek's eyes dart back and forth. "Probably. It's not like that makes it any better."

"I know," Kenny says. "But, I mean, sex and guilt are like... fucking peanut butter and jelly, or whatever. They just go together."

"No, they don't," Tweek frowns. "Guilt is like the least sexy thing ever."

"Not always," Kenny says. "Catholic guilt can really liven things up from time to time." What he really means is Mormon guilt, but he's not about to out Gary right now. He's not one to kiss and tell. That's always the other guy.

They reach the play park in a significantly more sombre mood than they started in. The place looks pretty desolate at night, streetlamps casting long, crooked shadows that would have made them screech in terrified glee as kids. It's deserted, as Kenny predicted, and it looks like no one even bothered to lock the gate. He jumps the fence anyway, just because he can.

Tweek does not. "God, it's pretty dismal here, huh," he says, drifting towards the monkey bars. They're blue, but in this light, they look closer to silver. He picks at the chipped paint, revealing rusted iron beneath. "Sometimes it feels like this whole town is falling apart."

"I think it's always been like this," Kenny says, "it's just that when we were kids, we didn't know any better. Everything's new and exciting when you've not been alive for very long. All that's changed is that we're harder to charm."

"Maybe," Tweek says.

A gust of wind whistles through the park, setting the swings rocking back and forth with an ear-splitting creak. Tweek winces and covers his ears. "Okay, they definitely didn't do that before."

"Well, we'll soon fix that." Kenny heads for the swings and beckons for Tweek to follow, who obliges hesitantly. Kenny shrugs off his backpack and digs around inside. "Aha! I knew I had some on me."

Tweek peers over his shoulder to read the label on the red-topped can. "What's WD-40?"

"Our ticket to bliss. Hold it a second, will you?" Kenny tosses it to Tweek and then puts one foot on the seat of the swing. The whole set whines in protest, but he ignores it and gets his second leg up as well. The swing rocks back and forth, and he grabs the chains on either side to keep himself upright. It's not very high off the ground, but he still feels a little unsteady. "Okay, I'm going to need you to hold the swing still whilst I do this."

"Not until you tell me what it is that I'm holding right now." Tweek is squinting at the fine print, trying to read it in the low light.

Kenny sighs. "WD-40's a lubricant." He watches Tweek's eyes grow wide and chuckles. "Get your mind out of the gutter, dude. It reduces friction. And loud angry metal squeaks."

"Oh," Tweek says, visibly embarrassed. "That makes sense."

Kenny hooks his elbow around one of the chains so that he can take the can without falling off. Tweek grabs either side of the swing and holds it as still as he can whilst Kenny aligns the spaghetti shaped nozzle up with the hinges at the top of the frame. First one, and then the other. "Okay, done." He hops down and tests the swing. Glorious silence.

"Oh, wow," Tweek says. "That worked surprisingly well."

"That's the miracle of WD-40."

"Let's fix the other swing, too." Tweek resumes his job as Official Swing Set Steadier whilst Kenny administers the oil to these hinges.

"Et voila," he declares, hopping back down. He wipes his hands on his jeans before plonking his ass down on the right swing. "A quiet little picturesque spot to get absolutely shitfaced."

Tweek grabs their bottles again and hands Kenny his, before taking a seat on the other swing. "Do you carry that in your bag all the time?"

"Yep. And duct tape, and whiskey," Kenny says. "There's nothing in the world you can't fix without something to make things move, something to make things still, and something to shut your brain up."

"You're a real handy man."

"Oh, I can live up to that title without any extra supplies."

They both snicker, even though that wasn't a particularly well executed sex joke. But by now they've progressed past tipsy into the kind of territory where you can get away with vague allusions to sex being attributed as coherent comedy. It's one of Kenny's favourite parts of being drunk.

For a while, they just sip their vodka in silence, half enjoying each other's company, half wallowing in self-pity. Every now and then, one of them will voice a hyper specific complaint about Craig, and the other will offer a hum of agreement. It's not until Tweek says, "You know, I feel much too old to be doing this for the first time," that conversation really picks back up again.

"Nineteen's not that old," Kenny says. "I spent my whole life waiting to get to this age, but now I'm here, I don't really feel like any less of a kid."

"But this," Tweek says, "this whiny misery over some stupid fucking boy – I should have been doing this five years ago." He's crying again, but quiet enough that Kenny decides not to comment on that.

"What makes you think it would be any better if you did?"

"Because then this wouldn't all feel so horribly new."

"Trust me, familiarity with this feeling doesn't make it any better."

"But at least you're experienced," Tweek sniffles. "At least you know what to expect. At least you know you'll survive it."

"Surviving it is the worst part," Kenny huffs. "Because here you are with this end of the world feeling. And you sit and sigh and you think to yourself, 'Nothing will ever be the same again.' And then you wake up the next day, and you know what?"

"What?"

Kenny swings sideways, closer to Tweek, and drops his voice. "The world carries on despite you, and everything is exactly the same. And there's nothing more devastating than that."

"Jesus," Tweek says shakily, taking another swig of vodka. "You're a real downer when you're drunk, you know that?"

"Hey, you're the one who wanted more experience. I'm just catching you up to speed."

"Well, thanks, I guess," Tweek mumbles.

Kenny watches a tear streak down his cheek and softens. "Hey, look, don't worry too much about who broke whose heart and when, okay? You've spent the last four years with the reassuring knowledge that you're lovable, that you're worthy of loving. That doesn't put you behind the rest of us, that puts you streets ahead."

"But everyone deserves to be loved," Tweek says.

"Sure," Kenny says. "But everyone deserves food on their plates and clothes on their back and a roof over their head. Doesn't mean we all get it."

"I think that's why I like rom-coms so much," Tweek says. "Because it's a little window into a life I've never fully lived yet."

"You like rom-coms?" Kenny does his best to keep the judgement out of his voice. He's never been able to stomach them, personally, but not because of fragile masculinity or whatever, and more to do with the fact that the so-called "happy endings" always make him feel kind of depressed. If he wanted to watch other people fall in love and break up and get back together again, he'd go back to school.

"I like 'em for the will-they, won't-they aspect, you know?" Tweek says. "That's my favourite part." He swings back and forth a little, feet still on the ground. "I never had anything like that. But it seems kind of exciting."

"Rom-coms are built on lies," Kenny says bluntly. "Spoiler alert: in real life, it always ends in won't-they."

"Oh." Tweek looks kind of crushed, and Kenny feels bad.

"Whatever. Don't listen to my ramblings. I'm just a cynic."

Tweek doesn't look particularly cheered. "Well, if not rom-coms, what do you like?"

"Um," Kenny screws up his face in thought. "I don't watch a lot of movies. But I like stand-up comedy. Mae Martin, Bo Burnham, that sort of crowd."

"I used to watch a lot of Bo Burnham with Craig in high school." Tweek narrows his eyes at Kenny. "You look kind of like him, actually. Bo, not Craig."

"What? No," Kenny says. "Really? No, I don't. That's—We're not the same. His cheekbones are different."

"Well, sure, you're not identical. But, like, the nose, or something. Maybe the jaw."

"Mine jut out more."

"What?"

"My cheekbones," Kenny says. "They—They, uh... I don't look like him."

"Okay." Tweek frowns. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"No, I know," Kenny says. "Sorry, I'm just talking shit. My tongue's too quick for my brain to catch up." There's something about the word 'tongue' right now that makes his stomach do a backflip. He says it again, slower, separating the syllables. "Tun-guh."

"Craig used to use too much tongue when kissing." Tweek wrinkles his nose. "It was like he thought the goal was to touch my tonsils. I had to teach him everything."

"How did you do that if you were no more experienced than he was?"

"Instinct," Tweek said. "And I read a lot of articles online. He does—Did he ever do that thing where he swipes his tongue over your lower lip?"

Kenny raises his eyebrows. "Uh... yeah."

"That was me," Tweek says proudly. "I figured out that move. I taught him everything he knows."

"Well then you're a good kisser, dude."

"Thanks," Tweek says, and then there's a brief moment of awkward silence where they both think about what's been said. "Have you kissed many people before?" he asks timidly.

"Sure, I guess."

"How many?"

"I don't know," Kenny says. He puffs out his cheeks. "Actually, that's a lie. I know exactly how many. It's twenty three."

"Is that including or excluding spin the bottle?"

"Excluding," Kenny says. "If I were counting that, then the number would double, at least."

"I've never played spin the bottle," Tweek says with remorse. "Craig wouldn't let me." He pauses. "I mean, I guess that was fair. But I always felt left out at parties."

"The game's only really thrilling when you're young or drunk," Kenny remarks. "Or if there's someone else in the circle that you're interested in. But that can also suck because there's no guarantee they're gonna land on you."

"And how many people have you... Have you, uh—"

"Nine," Kenny says sharply. "I've slept with nine people. Or—Had some degree of sexual exploit with them."

"Oh," Tweek says.

Kenny watches his throat bob as he swallows and wonders if Tweek thought it would be higher.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. That's—It's none of my business."

"No, it's fine," Kenny says, because he's too exhausted to explain why it's not, really. "Everyone probes me about it eventually."

"What's it like?" Tweek asks.

Kenny regrets emboldening him. He gives him a withering look.

"It's just—like I said. I have a pretty narrow frame of reference, that I'd maybe like to broaden. Unless porn is anything to go off of."

"Porn is nothing to go off of," Kenny snorts. "If you base your expectations on that, you will live your life sorely disappointed."

"I know," Tweek says, a little defensive. "I'm not that naive. That's why I'm asking you. You've got a bigger sample size."

"That's an interesting way to put it." Kenny crosses his arms, and then uncrosses them, because Craig once told him that it makes him look like a child.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to!" Tweek says. "I'm not trying to—to slut shame you, Jesus. I'm just curious."

"Well, I don't know what you want me to say." Kenny clenches his fists around the chains of his swing and kicks off from the ground. "Some of it was fantastic. Some of it was awful. That's just sex." He lets himself fall back to earth without bothering to keep the momentum going. "It's not inherently good or bad, it's just something to do."

"You don't sound particularly enthusiastic."

"Forgive me if I'm not exactly an advocate for true love right now." The muscles clench in Kenny's jaw. "In my experience, sex and love have little to do with one another. Sex can be a method of expressing love, but the two aren't intrinsically linked. Sex without love, love without sex. That's more common than both of them existing at the same time."

"So... are you sort of asexual, then?"

"No." Kenny shakes his head firmly. "I like both just fine. I consider myself a big fan. But I've never been able to find someone else who is too—At least, when it comes to their interest in me. It's pretty much always limited to sex."

"Really?" Tweek gives him a once-over. "But you're kind. And you're interesting. And you're nice to look at. Isn't that, like, the ideal partner?"

"Thanks, dude." Kenny smiles at him wearily, allowing himself a sip before he answers. "Now if I could just get the rest of the world to think so too, then I'd be all set."

"But you don't need the rest of the world to think that," Tweek says. "Just one person."

"And how am I supposed to find them?"

Tweek shrugs, and for another long while neither speaks.

"I feel like I've spent my whole life trying to prove to myself that I'm loveable," Kenny breathes. "And I never have."

"Not yet."

"Maybe never."

"Not never." Tweek's eyebrows pull together. "Kind and interesting people can't help but be loved. You won't be able to avoid it. Someone probably already does."

"I thought that someone did." Kenny's voice cracks. "It wouldn't have hurt so much if I hadn't allowed myself to believe that he did. Not even did but might. That there was a potential. A potential to be loved." He sniffs and touches his face. His fingers come back damp. "Shit." He tugs the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand and scrubs his eyes with it.

"Kenny," Tweek says gently. He tries to pull their swings together, but it doesn't quite work. Instead, he springs up, and hauls Kenny into an upright hug.

"Fuck," Kenny whispers, voice hoarse. "That's my three year record ruined. This is worst than when I lost my Duolingo streak." Tweek giggles, and Kenny can feel the sound vibrate against his chest. He smiles despite himself. "Don't laugh at that. It was a heart-breaking moment. You're not giving it the respect it deserves."

"I am giving it exactly the right amount of respect it deserves." Tweek pulls back and puts his hands on Kenny's shoulders. "Listen. Craig Tucker is a slimly little worm in the shape of a greasy little eyesore, and you are not responsible for him being a vile piece of shit."

"But it's not just him," Kenny says. "I mean, you have to look at the common denominator here, Tweek. He's not the one that fucked up all my other almost-but-never-quite relationships."

Tweek's hands trace down Kenny's arms. "It's not your fault that—"

"But it is!" Kenny snaps, breaking away from his grasp. "He's not the only one who's done shitty things, Tweek. I've ruined friendships with my futile quest to prove the impossible, and now I've ruined an entire real relationship, too!"

"You didn't mean to!"

"As if that makes it any better," Kenny scoffs. "The damage is done." He picks up his bottle of vodka stalks unsteadily off towards the slide, but when he gets there he realises that he doesn't actually have any reason to be here, and so he just slumps at the base and rests his head in his hands.

Wobbly footsteps on gravel sound behind him, and then the thump of them against metal.

"What friendship?"

Kenny looks up. Tweek is sitting at the top of the slide with his knees drawn up to his chest. Kenny answers because he has nothing left to hide.

"Huh?"

"What friendship did you ruin?"

"Oh. You know that big fuck off fight that Stan and Kyle had last year?"

"Yeah?"

"That was me. Because of me."

"Oh." Tweek adjusts his legs so that he's sitting criss-cross. "Do you want to tell me how that happened?"

Kenny doesn't really feel like he does, but he finds himself talking anyway. "Okay, so everyone knows they're, like, super best friends or some shit. Well, were. But after we kicked Cartman out of the group in junior year, I began to feel like a major third wheel. I think that was why I started hanging out with Butters more, because... Um." He stops and frowns. "Fuck. Where was I going with that?" He looks to Tweek for an answer.

"I don't know, man. I'm not inside your head."

"Good thing you aren't. It's foggy as fuck in there. I can barely string a sentence together, Jesus. I think I'm drunker than I realised."

"That's okay," Tweek says. "Start again."

"Okay," Kenny says. "Anyway, senior year rolls around, and I'm feeling even more like a third wheel, because it's becoming increasingly obvious that Stan and Kyle have big fat crushes on each other, even though they were too blind to see it for themselves. By that point I'd sort of... assumed the role of Cartman, I guess." He looks up at Tweek. "In terms of being in constant competition with Kyle. Not, like, being an actual fucking Nazi."

"I figured," Tweek says.

"I guess I did it because I wanted to feel like a part of the group again," Kenny mumbles. "Or maybe because I was jealous of what Stan and Kyle had. Or maybe I'm just self-destructive and hate myself. Probably all of that."

"But how did your bickering with Kyle ruin anything?"

"Because, okay," Kenny screws his eyes up tight, "somehow, I got it into my head that it would be an ingenious idea to challenge Kyle to see who could get Stan to kiss them first, or something. At the time, I thought it would be the kick in the ass that Kyle needed to make a move because it was pretty fucking clear that Stan wasn't going to. Only..." He stops to take a reassuring swig of vodka. "Only, me being me, I couldn't just let Kyle win. I thought I'd just pretend to try at first, but then this tiny voice in the back of my head said, 'But what if you could?' What if I could get Stan to kiss me, to fuck me, to fall in love with me? Surely then that would be irrefutable proof that it was possible. That I was possible to love."

"And you did it?"

Kenny kicks at the gravel beneath his feet. "Yeah, I fucking did it. And I fucking won. Because I wasn't a nervous wreck like Kyle was. Because I had the audacity to pretend that I didn't care desperately what Stan thought of me, about what anyone thought of me. But I did. I do. I care so much, all the time, that I think one day it might kill me." He rubbed his forehead. An ache was building behind it. "Either that, or I'll kill it. Same thing."

There's a pause, and then Tweek says, "I'm sliding down."

"What?" Kenny twists around to look up at him. Moonlight glints off the metal frame surrounding him, illuminating his face.

"I said I'm sliding down."

"You can't, there isn't any room."

"Too late!"

There's a painful collision of arms and legs that sends them tumbling into a heap on the ground, and drink sloshing out of the bottle. "Ow!" Kenny groans as Tweek rolls off of him. "Dude, my vodka! Why would you do that?"

"Because you looked like you needed it."

"I looked like I needed to be crashed into?"

"You looked like you needed a reminder of where you are." Tweek brushes his hand up against Kenny's and stares up at the night sky. "You're not there anymore. You don't have to be that person."

"But I am that person," Kenny says quietly. "I can't just pretend I didn't do that."

"Then you should fix it." Tweek sits up, a few leaves in his hair. Kenny sits up too, so he can pick them out. "Do you have Kyle and Stan's number?"

"Yeah, but neither of them are talking to me at the moment. Kyle goes through phases of pretending to be fine about everything and pretending to be angry at me for something other than ruining his shot with Stan, and Stan pretty much ghosted me after his fight with Kyle."

"Get out your phone."

"What?"

"Get it out right now." There's a feral look in Tweek's eyes that makes Kenny comply.

"Alright, okay, fine." He takes it from his back pocket and switches it on. "Christ, I've got like thirty texts from Craig."

"Seriously?" Tweek checks his own phone. "Shit, me too." He chucks his own phone away from himself. "Okay, no. I'm not checking that. We have to focus on the task at hand."

"What task?"

"You're sending Stan and Kyle an apology text telling them that you didn't mean to hurt them and they should totally get together."

Kenny cringes. "I am not saying that."

"Well, in your own words, obviously."

Kenny stares at him for a second, before relenting. He makes a new group chat with Stan and Kyle (they both left the old one) and writes a message. He deletes it. Writes it again. Deletes it. Writes it for the third time, and then squints at the phone, rereading it. "Nope!" he declares, deleting it all. "Nope, nuh-uh, can't do it." He drops his phone like it's scolding hot. "I can't—Not right now." He looks at Tweek desperately. "I don't have the words, my head feels so fuzzy—"

"Hey!" Tweek takes Kenny's hands in his own. "It's okay, you don't have to. It was just an idea. Don't freak out."

"I'm not freaking out," Kenny sniffles. He's stopped crying, but his nose is still stuffed up, an unfortunate symptom which he does not at all appreciate.

"But you understand that you can write to them, yeah?" Tweek says. "You can apologise at any time."

"But that doesn't mean they'll forgive me."

"No, it doesn't," he says. "But that's not what apologies are for."

"What are they for, then?"

"So that people know how you feel and that you care about how they feel. That's all it is."

"Okay," Kenny says. "Okay."

Tweek eyes his own phone, lying a few feet away. "I guess I should read those texts from Craig now, huh."

"No," Kenny says. "You definitely shouldn't."

"Neither should you."

"I won't if you won't."

They both stare at each other for a moment, and then lunge for their phones.

"Well, now I'm just disappointed in both of us," Kenny tuts.

"Shh, I'm reading."

Kenny skims the plethora of dramatic text messages that range from full length paragraphs to a plethora of expressive emojis. "Jesus," he mutters, "that's a lot of words to say absolutely nothing of substance."

Tweek looks up, his eyes the size of moons. "What did he say to you, exactly?"

"A lot of bullshit, mostly. Empty words."

"But what words?" Tweek makes a grab for Kenny's phone, who reflexively pulls it away, out of arms reach.

"Dude, what the fuck?" He rears backwards. "What did Craig say to you?"

"Just let me read your messages!" Tweek screeches.

"Woah!" Kenny puts his hands up. "Okay, chill."

"Don't tell me to chill! None of this is chill! God!"

Kenny takes a slow breath, because one of them has to. His main goal right now is getting Tweek to turn his volume down before someone hears them and calls the cops. "How about we swap, hm?" he says gently.

Tweek blinks rapidly as he considers this offer, and then thrusts his own phone at Kenny before snatching the other.

Admittedly curious to see what got Tweek so wound up, Kenny skim-reads the texts. He gets a nasty surprise. "What the fuck?" he whispers. "What the fuck? What the actual fuck?"

Tweek's eyes are glistening with tears again, unsurprisingly, lips pulled back into a snarl. Strange shadows dance on his face from the light of the phone. "Is it true?" he growls. "That you knew? That you knew we were together and you still—solicited him? Jesus Christ!"

"Of course it's not fucking true!" Kenny snaps, struggling to keep his voice at a reasonable level himself. "Why would you believe that?"

"Because I don't know you, Kenny!" Tweek grabs at chunks of his hair. "I don't know anything about you. I've lived in the same town as you for almost twenty years and this is the first time that I'm having a real, actual conversation with you! Why should I trust anything that comes out of your mouth?"

Kenny sits back, breathing hard. He shakes his head to clear the static in his brain. "Maybe you don't have a reason to trust me," he says. "But you've got one hell of a big reason not to trust Craig."

Tweek chokes back an angry sob. He throws his phone violently to the floor and buries his face in his arms. At least that muffles all the noise he's making.

Kenny cautiously puts an arm around Tweek's shoulders, and to his surprise, Tweek twists his head to bury his face against Kenny's chest. Kenny brings a hand up and hesitantly pets Tweek's hair whilst he wails.

"I thought I knew him!" His shoulders are trembling. "I really thought I knew him. I knew he had his flaws but, fuck, I thought he was better than this. Better than all of this."

"I know," Kenny says softly. "I know, I know."

They sit like that for some time: Tweek, crying, Kenny, trying desperately not to. Eventually he gives in and lets himself cry too. He can't say it feels good, exactly, but it does feel like letting go of a huge breath. One which he's been holding for too long.

"I really hate him," Tweek whispers. "I've never despised anyone more than I do right now. It's almost terrifying." His voice has gone all scratchy, it sounds almost painful. "I really, truly hate Craig Tucker."

"Pshh," Kenny sniffs, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. "Craig Tucker? More like Craig Fucker."

Tweek stares at him for a moment, as if he can't quite believe what he just heard. A smile slowly spreads across his face, until it reaches his pink, watery eyes. "Craig Fucker," he whispers to himself. Then he giggles, a hysterical, high pitched sound. "Craig Fucker!" He shakes his head, still giggling. "Jesus, I must be pretty drunk if I actually find that funny."

"I resent that statement!" Kenny says. "I am a well-established comedic genius."

"You're something, alright."

Kenny huffs and shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Artists are never appreciated in their time."

Tweek rests his head on Kenny's shoulder. "I appreciate you just fine."

"We should make a fan club for him, but, like, the opposite," Kenny says.

"A... hate club?"

"A hate club!" He pumps his fists in the air. "I hereby declare us founder and presidents of the Craig Tucker Hate Club."

"Huzzah!" Tweek cries.

"So, what's our first order of business, President Tweek?" Kenny asks.

"Why, President Kenny, I believe it is to hate Craig."

"Let's not waste any time," Kenny says. "I'll come out and say it: I hate his hair. He has stupid hair."

"All in favour of motioning that Craig has stupid hair?" Tweek says.

Two hands are raised.

"It's unanimous!" he declares. "Craig has stupid hair."

"Why would you get it cut so that it deliberately falls in your eyes?"

"Undeniably idiotic!"

They go back and forth, officiating other petty criticisms. His toothbrush is gross. He treats waiters like shit. He's terrible to watch movies with. He has an entirely different voice that he puts on when he's mad at you. The list goes on for quite a while, until it dissolves into unstructured conversation again.

"So, do you think Craig picked me specifically, because I didn't know you that well, or would he have just gone for anyone since you were gone?"

"Oh, Kenny," Tweek sighs, "again with this? It's not your fault."

"I'm not asking on behalf of myself!" Kenny protests. "I'm just thinking, now that we've escaped his clutches, who is he going to prey on next?"

"Well, I'm not sure." Tweek rubs the back of his neck. "It's hard to pinpoint what his type is when he's only ever dated two people. Assuming he hasn't gone behind my back before."

"Well, what do you and I have in common?" Kenny asks.

Tweek narrows his eyes, and then slowly raises a hand to his head, patting his fluffy hair. "They say gentlemen prefer blonds," he murmurs.

Kenny wrinkles his nose. "Craig is a lot of things, but he's no gentleman."

"I think it's a solid clue!" Tweek says defiantly.

"Okay," Kenny says. "What else?"

"Um... how tall are you?"

"Eight foot eight."

"Kenny! Be serious!"

"Alright, alright," he snickers. "I'm five-ten."

"And I'm five-five," Tweek says.

"That's a pretty sizable difference."

"We're both shorter than Craig, though," he points out.

"Only by two inches!" Kenny says. "God, Craig used to get at me all the time about that."

"He did that to me too!" Tweek exclaims. "Calling me short like that was something to be ashamed of." He crosses his arms. "It's not an insult if it's just an observation!"

"And I'm literally average height. If anything, he's the real freak. Man, that guy really sucked," Kenny says. "We are so right to start this society."

"It's not a society, it's a club," Tweek says. "Societies are for distinguished adults."

"We're nothing if not distinguished! We're a distinguished club." Kenny holds up his near-empty bottle of vodka, and Tweek clinks his own against it.

"To sophisticated hatred," he declares.

They both drink.

"So, we're shorter than him and blond," Kenny says. "Is that all we have in common?" They stare at each other unabashedly for some time.

"I think so," Tweek says.

"You think what?"

"I think that's all we have in common."

"Oh, right." Truthfully, Kenny had got distracted by just looking at Tweek. He's a very fascinating person to study, all soft edges, and sharp movements.

"So, who do we know that fits the bill?"

There's a silence, and then they both draw in breath in unison. "Butters!"

"Shit," Tweek says. "What if Craig's already got to him? What if they've been at it for weeks already?"

"Poor Butters," Kenny moans. "He doesn't deserve a guy like Craig. He's too good for everyone."

"We should put a stop to it," Tweek says firmly. "On behalf of the Craig Tucker Hate Club. We cannot allow this—this tomfoolery to continue!"

"Should I call him?" Kenny fumbles for his phone again.

"Yes!" Tweek says. "In the name of justice and—"

"Okay, okay, shh! I'm calling him now. I'm—Tweek, shut up! It's ringing!"

There's a click, and then a groggy, muffled, "Hello?" from the other end of the line.

"Hi, Butters! We just wanted to make sure everything was alright."

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine." The sound of a stifled yawn, and the shifting of a duvet. "Are you alright, Kenny? It's, like, two in the morning."

"We're fine," Kenny giggles. "Aren't we?"

"Never better," Tweek hiccups.

"Who's we?" Butters asks. "Are you with someone else? Where are you?" And then, again, "are you alright?"

"I'm with Tweek," Kenny says. "Say hi, Tweek."

"Hi, Tweek!" Tweek says, then lapses into more giggling.

"Oh, Jesus, are you guys drunk?" The concern in Butters' voice sours into irritation. "Is this a drunk dial? You know I have class tomorrow, Kenny, this isn't very nice!"

"I know, I know," he says, "I'm sorry. I just--We wanted to call to make sure you're okay."

"I am okay," Butters says, and sighs like a weary parent whose kids express their love by screaming at the tops of their lungs. "Thank you for thinking of me."

"I'm always thinking of you, Butters!" Kenny says. "You're my favourite little buddy!"

"Thanks, Kenny. You're my favourite not-so-little buddy."

"I used to be Craig's favourite little buddy," Tweek whispers, face falling. Kenny has begun to realise that Tweek is somewhat of an emotionally volatile drunk, spinning from one mood to the next in a heartbeat.

"Well, hey," Kenny says kindly, "you can be my favourite little buddy now!"

"No I can't!" Tweek says. "That's Butters' role. I—I can't kick him out of the job!"

"It's alright," Butters says. "You can be Kenny's favourite medium-sized buddy."

Tweek sniffles a little and looks at Kenny. "Can I?"

"You sure can."

He smiles a little. "Okay."

"Well, fellas, if that's all you needed, I think I'm gonna get a little more shut eye," Butters says from the other end of the phone. "I'll call you again in the morning to make sure you're okay."

"No, wait!" Kenny says quickly. "There was something else--We called to say something else." He looks at Tweek wildly. "What was there something else? Jesus, my memory is awful when I'm hammered."

Tweek scratches his head. "Um... Oh! We called on behalf of the Craig Tucker Hate Club."

"That's right!" Kenny snaps his fingers. He turns back to the phone. "Butters, we called on behalf of the Craig Tucker Hate Club. Have you heard of us?"

Butters let out another sigh. "No, Kenny. I've not heard of the Craig Tucker Hate Club. But I have a feeling I'm about to."

"Well!" Kenny says. "You're in luck." He adopts his best infomercial presenter voice. "Are you currently aware that Craig Tucker cheated on me with Tweek?"

"He cheated on me with you," Tweek corrects.

"He cheated on both of us," Kenny says.

"Oh, no!" Butters says. "No, I was—I was not aware of that. Aw, jeez, I'm sorry, you guys. That's awful."

"No, but it's okay," Kenny says. "Because now we've formed the Craig Tucker Hate Club. So it's okay."

"Okay," Butters says. "Well, I'm glad that makes you feel better."

"But the main point of the club is to stop others from getting hurt by him!" Tweek blurts. "Well—Actually, the main point is to hate Craig. But protecting innocents is an important secondary point."

"Okay," Butters says again. "And so you called me because you were worried, he might... also cheat on me?"

"Yes!" Kenny says enthusiastically. "He's a serial cheater, Butters. You shouldn't trust him."

"Right," Butters says slowly.

"He has a thing for blonds," Tweek said. "We figured that out pretty quick because that's what Kenny and I have in common. And then we got thinking, who else do we know who's blond?"

"And shorter than Craig," Kenny adds.

"And shorter than Craig," Tweek confirms.

"And then I said Butters!" Kenny says. "Which is you! You're Butters."

"I am Butters," Butters says. "You are correct."

"So we called you," Kenny says. "And here we are, right now, still calling you, to warn you! Whatever you're doing with Craig—don't."

There was a pause. "Kenny," Butters says. "I'm not dating Craig Tucker."

"Oh," Kenny says. "Well, that's alright then. Keep doing that."

"I'm aroace, Kenny. You know that."

"I know that?" Kenny frowns at the ground until his eyes light up. "Hey, I do know that! You told me, and everything."

"And everything," Butters confirms.

"Oh, that's—that's fantastic, Butters! I'm so glad you told me. You're so valid. Isn't he so valid, Tweek?"

Tweek nods seriously. "Very valid."

Butters sounds like he's holding back a laugh. "I came out three years ago, Kenny. But thank you for your support."

"Anytime, man," Kenny says, "anytime." There's a tired little laugh from the end of the line, and so Kenny laughs along with it. Tweek joins in, jittery.

"Was that all?" Butters asks.

Kenny looks to Tweek for confirmation.

"That's all," Tweek says.

"Great," Butters says. "Well, thanks for your concern, Craig Tucker Hate Club. It's good, honest work that you're doing. I appreciate it, I really do, but—" He yawns. "You might want to consider changing your calling hours."

"Noted," Kenny says. "Night-night, Butters."

Butters snorts. "Goodnight. Stay safe." He hangs up, and for a moment Kenny lets the dial tone ring out. It sounds kind of pretty.

"What a great guy," Tweek says groggily.

"So great," Kenny echoes. "Man, I—I hope he knows how great he is."

"I think you told him."

"Did I?" Kenny says. "Oh. Oh, that's alright then."

"Everything's alright."

A wind whistles through the streets. Tweek shivers and scoots a little closer to Kenny.

"Are you cold?" Kenny asks.

"No," Tweek says.

"Then why are you shivering?"

"I don't know," he says, "that's just what you're supposed to say, isn't it? On a night like this. A guy asks you if you're cold and you say you're not cold, but he insists that you are, until you admit that maybe he's right, and then he drapes his jacket over your shoulders."

Kenny raises an eyebrow. "Is this your way of asking to wear my jacket?"

Tweek nods shyly.

"But I'm not wearing a jacket," Kenny says.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess you aren't." Tweek shivers again. "That's okay. Like I said, I'm—I'm not so cold."

"But you are," Kenny says. He chews on his bottom lip, then pulls his orange hoodie off over his head, t-shirt riding up a little as he does so. "Here. Take this instead. It'll probably be too big for you, but I guess that's part of the experience, huh?"

Tweek raises his eyes from Kenny's midriff. "But then you'll be cold!"

"Well, yeah," Kenny says. "But I don't want you to be cold either. If you'd rather I kept it—"

"No!" Tweek says. "I want it. It's just—That's part of the ritual, you know. Pretending that you don't."

Kenny frowns. "This all seems very complicated."

"But it's kind of exciting, isn't it?" Tweek's eyes are shining.

"Sure," Kenny says. "Here. Arms up." He helps Tweek into the hoodie. The hoodie's already on the bigger side for Kenny, and so as predicted, it swamps Tweek. The sleeves hang over his hands and the hem ends just above his knees. The colour brings out the warm undertones of his peachy skin. He looks unbelievably adorable.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Tweek mumbles, tugging at the hood self-consciously.

"I have to take some time to believe it," Kenny says.

"Believe what?"

"How adorable you are," he says. "It's unbelievable."

"Kenny," Tweek moans, tugging at the cloth.

"Sorry!" Kenny says. "I didn't mean—If I overstepped a line—"

"No," Tweek says quickly. "You didn't. I'm just... I'm glad you think so. That's the point of the ritual, I think. As an excuse for the compliment."

"Where did you learn all these rules?"

"I watch a lot of rom-coms, remember?" Tweek says. "They're very informative."

Kenny smiles. "I'll have to check them out sometime. I'm always on the hunt for a good education." He crosses his arms over his chest, trying to suppress his own shivering now. Goosebumps prickle on his bare arms. "I guess the other point of that ritual is to segue into the natural suggestion that we get out of this cold, huh?"

"I guess it is." Tweek lowers his lashes. "My place isn't too far from here if you want to warm up."

"I would like that very much," Kenny says. "Maybe you could educate me on those rom-coms of yours."

Tweek's face lights up. "Have you ever seen 'Isn't It Romantic'?"

"No, I don't believe I have."

"Well, you're about to." Tweek grabs Kenny's hand and hauls him out of the park.

The journey back to Tweek's would have probably only taken fifteen minutes if they had both been able to walk in a straight line. Instead, it takes closer to an hour, lingering at every lamp post to steady themselves.

"Fuck," Tweek says. "Why is the sidewalk so wobbly?"

"I think that's our legs, dude," Kenny mumbles.

By the time they make it to their destination, Kenny's arms are completely numb. Tweek can't find his key in any of his pockets, and so they have to take the spare one that his parents keep hidden under the hollow clay gnome round the side. "Fucking underpants gnomes," Tweek mutters to himself, and Kenny doesn't bother to ask what he means, too focused on getting inside right the fuck now.

Tweek lives above the coffee shop, and so there's a flight of stairs they have to brave before they can get into the sweet sanctuary of his apartment. In the end, they make it on their hands and knees, both groaning about how steep it is.

"Jesus," Kenny pants when they've made it to the top, collapsed on the floor. "I'm so exhausted. I don't think I can stay awake to watch a full movie, dude."

"Me too," Tweek says. "Let's just get ready for bed. We'll watch it in the morning instead."

"Can I sleep on your couch?"

Tweek bites his lip. "No, but you can sleep in my bed."

"M'kay." Kenny yawns and rubs his eyes, which sting from how much he's cried this evening. He gets groggily to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. "I've got overnight shit in my bag. Was gonna be for when I was staying at Craig's, but... fuck Craig, you know?"

"Fuck Craig," Tweek agrees. "No, wait. Don't fuck Craig. That would be bad right now."

"True," Kenny nods seriously. "Don't fuck Craig."

They brush their teeth in the bathroom side by side, alternating between who gets to spit toothpaste in the sink.

"Can I sleep in your hoodie?" Tweek asks. "It smells really nice. Like you."

"Oh," Kenny says, surprised. "Um, sure, man. I've got pyjamas with me anyway."

Tweek heads into his bedroom whilst Kenny remains to get changed. He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. His skin seems almost translucent in the cold, bright light, except for around his eyes, which are swollen and rimmed with dark bags.

"Looking sexy, McCormick," he whispers to himself. "Very lovable."

His reflection doesn't say anything back, which Kenny this is pretty rude.

He makes it into Tweek's bedroom without even falling over, a feat of which he is very proud. The place is small, but cosy, and full of books. The letters swim when Kenny tries to read the spines, and so he gives up and looks at other things instead. "I like the colour of your walls," he says. "Olive green is an underrated colour."

"Thanks." Tweek looks over from brushing his hair. "I chose it when I was ten."

"Ten year old you had good taste."

While Tweek may have kept the hoodie on, he's lost his dungarees and turtleneck, leaving most of his skin bare. Maybe Kenny's staring, because Tweek reassures him by mumbling, "I have got boxers underneath this."

Kenny doesn't know how to respond to that, and so he just says, "It's fucking freezing in here."

"Let's get into bed, dude," Tweek darts across the carpet and slips under the covers. "Conserve our body heat."

"I'm gonna pretend I understand what that means," Kenny says. Tweek scoots against the wall so that there's room for him in the double bed.

"Can you switch out that lamp?"

"Sure." Kenny rolls over to flip the switch, only to find it's one of those irritating designs where you have to twist your hand up under the shade and snap a lever right under the bulb. He does so with more effort than it should have taken, then slumps back onto the pillow. He was feeling shattered, but now that he's lying so close to Tweek, he can't quite bring himself to close his eyes. And so he stares into Tweek's instead. "You still have nice eyes," he says.

Tweek smiles. "So do you."

"Not really."

"Don't say that, man. If you can't love your own eyes, then... like, what's the point?"

Kenny exhales. "I don't know anymore."

There's a long lull in conversation whilst they continue to softly study one another. Eventually, Tweek asks, "Are you going to kiss me?"

Kenny shakes his head, hair rustling against the pillow.

"Oh." Tweek looks crestfallen. "Is it because I'm an ugly crier?"

"You're not an ugly anything," Kenny says softly. "But you're drunk. And I'm drunk. And our hearts are broken."

"So?"

"So we're not ready to make big, stupid decisions right now."

"I don't think that kissing you would be a stupid decision," Tweek mutters. "I think it would be nice."

"I'll tell you what," Kenny says. "If you still feel the same way in the morning, then maybe we can kiss then, okay?"

"Okay," Tweek reluctantly agrees.

"Alright."

"Are we too drunk to spoon?"

Kenny thinks about this. "No," he says. "I don't think so."

"Yay." Tweek smiles soppily. He rolls over and snuggles his back right up to Kenny, who raps his arm around him. And they fall asleep just like that, curled tightly against each other like they're afraid the other might let go.

Kenny wakes hours later to the sound of his phone buzzing. Light creeps in through the gaps in the curtain. Tweek groans and rolls over just enough so that Kenny can twist to grab his phone out of his bag. Butters' icon flashes up on his screen: a picture of them as kids in Hawaii. You can't see Kenny's face, because he's got his hood up, but Kenny can still remember how he felt that day. Happy. Happier than he's felt in a long time.

"Can you shut that thing up?" Tweek moans.

"Sorry." Kenny hits decline on the call and texts Butters instead. It's a struggle to get his eyes focused on the keyboard. At Tweek's. Am okay. Sorry for waking you, but I guess you just got your revenge. He slumps back down, not bothering to turn off his phone, because he knows he'll get an instant reply. He does.

sorry!!! sweet dreams!! love ya!! <3<3<3

Kenny smiles blearily at the screen. Love you too, little buddy. He drops his phone and stares at the ceiling. He's still a little drunk, but hasn't quite reached the dreaded hungover phase yet, and knows he should take advantage of this to go back to sleep. Instead, he gropes for his phone, opens his texts back up again and clicks his most recent draft. He rewrites it for the final time.

Hey dudes. Sorry for being a dumbass last year. I wanted to feel like part of the group again, and I was jealous of what you two had, and I guess I just also kind of hated myself. I made stupid choices which I regret. I hurt you without thinking and I'm sorry. I love you guys. I'm pretty sure you love each other, too. So don't throw that away just because of some insecure fucker like me. You deserve better than that. Okay bye.

Kenny hits send before he can think better of it, and then tosses his phone to the other side of the room. He turns back to face Tweek, who's gone back to sleep again. Kenny sighs, and lies down flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. It's a nice coloured. Cream.

The next time Kenny wakes, it's to the sensation of someone trying to split his head open with an ice pick. He cracks his eyes open, and they focus on Tweek, who is sitting up in bed, looking frightened.

"Tweek?" Kenny says blearily. "You okay?"

He shakes his head, hands over his mouth. "Gonna be sick," he mumbles.

Kenny hauls himself upright. "Shit, okay. Can you make it to the bathroom?"

Tweek shakes his head again.

Kenny lugs himself out of bed and grabs the trash can, which thankfully has solid walls to it. He deposits it in Tweek's lap just in time. Tweek makes a low moaning sound before lurching forward with a retch.

Kenny grimaces and averts his eyes. He doesn't usually throw up after drinking and doesn't want this unpleasant visual to push him over the edge. "I'm gonna go get us some water," he says, and staggers out of the room.

His hands are trembling so much that it's a miracle he makes it back without spilling both glasses right onto the floor. Tweek is clutching his sick bucket, looking shaken but otherwise unharmed.

"Feel better?" Kenny asks.

"No," Tweek groans. "Just emptier."

Kenny sets down one glass and swaps the other with Tweek for the bin, which he rinses out in the bathroom sink. When he drags himself out of the bathroom, he finds Tweek waiting in the hallway, his arms wrapped around his stomach.

"Sorry," he says. "What a horrible way to wake you up."

"S'fine." Kenny yawns and runs his hands through his hair. "You gonna be sick again?"

"I don't think so."

"Then I'll see you back in bed. I'm going to raid your kitchen."

Kenny locates a loaf of sliced bread, a jar of peanut butter and a bunch of bananas, which he takes back to Tweek's room like prizes from a hunt. Tweek is sitting on top of the crumpled duvet, and has pulled his knees up under Kenny's hoodie. His hair is even puffier after sleep, like a mushroom cloud. He must have brushed his teeth, because Kenny can smell the mint on his breath when he speaks. "I don't know if I can eat all that."

"Just have a little water for now," Kenny says, sitting down next to him. "We'll see if we can work you up to a banana, hm? Potassium is good for you."

Tweek nods, and sips at his glass timidly. "How are you feeling?"

Kenny massages his forehead. "Like shit."

"I meant about—about yesterday. About Craig. About everything."

"Oh." Kenny spreads a thick layer of peanut butter onto the bread. "Yeah, I'm sticking with 'like shit.'"

"At least we can feel like shit together," Tweek says, and then looks up at him nervously, like he's been too presumptuous. "Right?"

"Of course," Kenny reassures after he's swallowed his mouthful of food. "That's the main purpose of the Craig Tucker Hate Club. Comradery."

Tweek smiles uncertainly. He raises the glass to his lips, and then freezes. "Oh, fuck," he whispers.

"What?" Kenny says, praying that he's not gonna be sick again.

"Did I... Last night, did I try to kiss you?" Tweek cringes, the memory apparently only just now returning to him. "Jesus, I am so sorry."

"It's alright," Kenny chuckles. "You were very sweet about it."

Tweek groans in embarrassment. He stretches out his legs, and as he does so, the gum falls out of the hoodie pocket and lands on the duvet. Kenny stares at it for a second. Kevin's words echo in his mind: May your rebounds be plentiful and totally babe-ilicious.

"What kind of word is babe-ilicious anyway?" Tweek says. Apparently, his own thoughts aren't too far from Kenny's.

"A stupid one," Kenny says, and now he's feeling embarrassed. He swallows, throat dry, and looks up at Tweek. "I can go. If you want me to. Do you want me to go?"

"No," Tweek says. "Why would I want you to go?"

"Because, um... I don't know." He sets his sandwich down on his plate. "I guess I've served my purpose."

"Purpose?" Tweek frowns. "Kenny, you don't have a purpose. You're just my friend."

"Am I?" he says, voice hitching. "You don't know me. I don't know you. All we have in common is our hair colour and height and one mutual asshole ex."

"That's not true!" Tweek huffs. "Or if it is, then I don't care. I want to be your friend, Kenny! I want to get to know you! And, quite frankly, I'd still like to kiss you!"

Kenny blinks. "You—You would?" His voice comes out softer than he meant it too.

"I mean... yeah," Tweek mumbles. "But I'm not going to, okay? I'm not going to because I don't want you to think that I'm just looking for a rebound or a fuck buddy or a Craig 2.0."

Kenny swallows again, and takes a large bite of his sandwich to avoid saying anything that he'll regret.

Tweek keeps going. "I really like you, Kenny. I think you're kind. And interesting. And cute. And I think you would be a nice person to love, even if I'm not ready for that just yet, because of, you know." He moves a hand to tap the centre of his chest, where his heart sits. "But, um. Yeah." Tweek pops a piece of the gum into his mouth and shoves the packet back in his pocket. "There's your proof."

"My proof?"

"If someone who you've only had one long, drawn out conversation with you thinks that they could love you, then I reckon you'll be alright."

Kenny bites his lip, deciding whether or not to believe that. "You really think so?"

"Yeah."

Tweek smiles, and Kenny smiles, and they both smile at each other like bashful kids.

Kenny decides that maybe he'll consider the possibility of believing it. "You don't have to wait to kiss me," he says. "We could do it now if you want. For luck."

"Luck for what?"

"For what comes next. For surviving the world carrying on despite us, just the same."

"But it's not the same, is it?" Tweek scoots a little closer. "Because now we've got the Craig Tucker Hate Club. That's world-changing stuff."

"Ah, of course it is," Kenny grins. "How could I forget?"

"Will you kiss me now?"

Kenny nods. "I would like that very much." He cups Tweek's face in his hands and kisses him gently. He tastes like strawberry chewing gum, and Kenny suspects he tastes like his sandwich, but peanut butter and jelly go together just fine. When Kenny runs his tongue along Tweek's lower lip, he feels Tweek smile against him.