Work Text:
Craig taps his fingers anxiously against the dark wooden tabletop, his muscle memory hard at work playing a song that his conscious mind can’t currently recall the name of. Every time he tries to place the musical pattern, the nervous knot in his stomach grows a little bit bigger.
Leaning back in his chair, he reaches up to slip his blue chullo hat off his head. As he runs a trembling hand through his dark hair, Craig surveys his surroundings for what feels like the trillionth time since he’s been sitting there. It all looks normal enough: various sizes of wooden chairs and tables scattered throughout the lobby, a couple of tall shelves full of merchandise up near the counter, a case of heavenly-looking pastries that immediately make Craig’s mouth water even though he has zero interest in eating any of it.
He’s equal parts surprised and not that this is where he’s meeting Tweek. A coffee shop is the last place Craig would have expected their reunion to take place, since the last time he had seen Tweek, the blonde hadn’t set foot in one in years; but it’s all too appropriate at the same time. He closes his eyes as the familiar scent of coffee grounds mixed with bleach from the sanitizer solution wafts through the air, bringing with it a painful feeling of nostalgia that envelops Craig’s entire body. He inhales deeply, letting himself live in the memories for a few moments before reluctantly opening his eyes again.
There’s a set of twin registers next to the pastry case, but both are currently unmanned. Craig’s brow furrows a fraction as he realizes that he’s entirely alone in this establishment. He isn’t sure if he should be worried or grateful for that fact, considering this is going to be the first time he’s talked to Tweek in…
Forever , he thinks with a shiver, his gaze falling to the chullo in his hands. A flash of dark red on the sleeve of his jacket catches his eye and Craig drops the hat onto the table, folding the fabric back to make a cuff around his wrist. He frowns, noticing a bigger patch of red on his t-shirt; shaking his head, he fumbles for the zipper.
That’s the last thing he wants to do, start off his and Tweek’s reunion with a panic attack. Things are already going to be complicated enough as it is.
Craig sighs, tilting his head up to look at the bright white clock on the wall. Two minutes. He slides a hand into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper; smoothing it out on the table in front of him, he reads the words again.
Tuesday, February 14th, 4:13 AM.
It’s a weird time, Craig finds himself thinking as he watches the second hand make its journey around the clock, each little tick echoing loudly in his ears. Four thirteen. Why not four fifteen, or four o’clock on the dot? Why does it have to be something as random as four thirteen? It’s just not like Tweek to be so random.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes still on the clock. He knows why it’s four thirteen, of course, but he does his best to ignore that thought. He doesn’t want the first thing Tweek sees to be him crying.
It doesn’t occur to him until a split second before the final tick of the clock that February 14th is Valentine’s Day.
Right on cue, the door to the coffee shop opens, the tiny bell above the door announcing the new arrival with a cheery jingling sound. The anxious knot in Craig’s stomach tightens for a second, and then it bursts like a balloon, sending tingles through every nerve ending in his body. He tears his gaze away from the clock and can’t help the gasp that escapes his lips at what he sees.
There, standing in the doorway, his body illuminated from behind by the nearly blinding light outside, is Tweek. Craig’s eyes are instantly filled with tears, but even through blurry vision, he can see that, but for a few little signs of age, Tweek looks exactly the same as he had the day Craig had said goodbye. His hands unconsciously clench into fists, his nails digging into the skin of his palms, as he notices the familiar, dark blue hoodie hanging loosely off of Tweek’s skinny frame. Craig’s hoodie.
He watches as Tweek lifts a pale arm up to his golden blonde hair, resting his hand gently against his head and wincing slightly. He watches as Tweek takes one unsteady, uncertain step into the coffee shop, a trace of confusion in his impossibly beautiful, emerald-green eyes as he looks around. He watches as those eyes catch sight of him, sitting at this table, and widen with both shock and recognition. Tweek sways slightly in place, his lips forming the word but no sound coming out. “ Craig? ”
Before he knows what he’s doing, Craig is already out of his seat and across the floor, reaching out and pulling Tweek safely into his arms just as the blonde’s knees give out beneath him.
“Tweek-” is all he can get out before his voice catches in his throat, and then he’s sobbing into Tweek’s hair, the scent of coconut and cinnamon so familiarly Tweek that Craig can hardly believe this is real. Tweek’s body trembles against his and he knows he’s not the only one who’s crying. Slowly, carefully, he lowers them both to the floor, not trusting his own legs to keep them both upright.
Tweek has his face pressed up against Craig’s shoulder, and he’s mumbling something into the fabric of Craig’s jacket through his tears. Craig lowers his head, straining to hear the words over the sound of his own weeping. “You’re here,” Tweek is repeating, over and over. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here …”
“I’m here,” Craig affirms, rubbing Tweek’s back soothingly, in a small circular pattern. “I’m here, honey. Just like I promised.”
It’s a small funeral, with less than ten people in attendance. Clyde doesn’t stop crying the entire service, and he’s still sobbing when Token and Kenny each take one of his arms and lead him to the parking lot. Nobody makes fun of him, not even Cartman; this is, after all, the second time in four years he’s had to come to a funeral for one of his best friends. And this one had been even worse than Craig’s, because at least when Craig had died from that car accident, his own parents hadn’t been too busy to attend their son’s funeral.
Hours after everyone is long gone, a slight breeze blows through the cemetery, sending a few leaves swirling over Tweek’s grave. For just a moment, the air is filled with the scent of cinnamon, and in the bright light of the setting sun, it almost looks like there are two figures standing at the very edge of the grave, holding hands.
Forever, you'll be right here with me...