Work Text:
Tweek Tweak isn't your typical teenager with a minimal amount of social anxiety and a fear of teenagers just like him. He is all that plus a few other neuroses. Just a little spice from the universe (or spite, if he's feeling extra pessimistic). His parents aren't sympathetic but he really doesn't expect them to be.
His mom, a woman with a beautiful face but eyes so vacant you'd think she was a doll, was just that. His mom. Tweek thinks of her in a slightly better manner than his dad, but that's not an accomplishment.
His dad, the elevator music to his mom's elevator eyes, was kind of like a ghost in his life. Barely there and if you blink, you'd question if you really did see him. If only he'd shut up about coffee and metaphors, Tweek might actually forget his father's existence.
Both neglectful but not present enough to make him miss them.
Tweek does miss them but it's more like he misses what they should've been and not actually them. He doesn't even need them to be the ideal parents; He just wants them to be parents.
Otherwise, they're just... Helen and Richard Tweak. His detached roommates who would probably make him pay rent or move out if they noticed his presence one day.
Coupled with the sheer amounts of paranoia and copious cups of coffee during his childhood, he can safely admit that: yeah, he's got issues.
It's not so bad. It could be worse. He has a list ready to go with what could be worse. In fact, he adds a new bullet point every day.
Still, Tweek finds solace in many things. Maybe it's a way to cope with his previously mentioned problems, but he's gotten into plenty of hobbies.
Art, boxing, baking, building models, playing music; you name it, he's probably dabbled in it at some point. It's a miracle that he stuck with some of them, because there was a brief period of time where he fell out of everything. Tweek just didn't have any motivation to do anything.
Truthfully, he owed a lot to his boyfriend of 7 years. Craig brushes him off when he says so but it doesn't make him any less thankful. If it wasn't for him, Tweek would have definitely found himself in a bad place with no hand to reach in and pull him out.
Craig Tucker. Tweek smiled at the name. The last name that he'll hopefully take as his own one day. Tweek jokes that Craig will have to suffer the burden of the Tweak lineage, but, after they laugh, Craig will whisper "Tweek Tucker" and cement it in his brain forever.
Speaking of Craig, Tweek can hear him snoring on the couch in the Tucker residence. He's there, of course, in the kitchen with a cup of tea and two bowls of Kraft Mac & Cheese. Tweek hasn't moved from his spot at the counter, though.
He'll have to reheat the mac and cheese on the stove when he gets done lamenting his life.
It may also be because he's listening to Craig snore and wondering how he could possibly compose that on the piano to evoke the same feelings of comfort and fondness. He doesn't think he'll be able to. There's something too intimate and private about it despite the thunderous sound of each breath.
Even if he could, Tweek wants it to himself. His slice of serenity. The unexplainable equanimity of Craig Tucker.
Tweek thinks that would make for a compelling book title.
Eventually, Tweek does reheat the pasta and downs the cup of tea, even if it has become unpleasantly cold. The food steams for a second time and carries a scent that only Kraft Mac & Cheese can create. Craig shifts and Tweek knows he will stumble into the kitchen any second.
The sound of sock clad feet reverberate on the smooth tile of the kitchen floor and Tweek doesn't have any time to open his mouth before Craig's arms are wrapped around his waist like two long snakes.
Tweek can feel Craig rub his nose in between his strands of golden hair and his state of tranquility is further amplified. Craig's arms are loose but the warm air against his neck is enough to keep him present. It'd be uncomfortable if it was anyone but Craig literally breathing down his neck.
"Mac and cheese," Craig mumbles against his nape.
"Kraft," Tweek says just as quietly.
Craig smiles and Tweek can hardly contain the urge to turn around and stare at the beautiful crooked teeth he knows are on display. At one point, Craig had been embarrassed about Tweek admiring his smile. He'd push his lips together and then his smile would fade into a flat line.
Tweek made it his mission to remind Craig how endearing his teeth were every day after that. He even said he'd paint him grinning one day; Just so Craig could see himself the way Tweek does. Craig smiled toothily at that.
The smile against his neck is turning into small kisses and Tweek feels his own lips pull into that happy curve. If Tweek wasn't careful, he'd probably melt into a sappy puddle at Craig's star patterned feet.
"Wanna watch old cartoons? They're usually on about this time," Craig offers as he pulls away to grab them some soda.
"Absolutely I do."
And that's how Tweek finds himself situated on the couch with his loving boyfriend. Popeye the Sailor Man is fighting Bluto on the television while Olive Oyl is shrieking on the sidelines, somehow in distress once more. Tweek loves this cartoon despite it being incredibly old-fashioned. There's something so entrancing about the style that he can't tear his eyes away.
He still shovels the cheesy pasta goodness in his mouth without trouble. The flavor is so fake that it transcends human taste buds and goes from outrageously bad to Michelin star worthy. The soda was already halfway finished by the time Tweek's made a dent in his food.
There's nothing quite as addictive as an early morning with Craig. He doesn't have to wonder if Craig will acknowledge his existence or if Craig will pour him a mug of coffee despite Tweek no longer drinking that forbidden nectar. He can relax on the couch with his lover in his real home.
The home he wasn't raised in but the home he hopes he'll be married in.