Author's Note: Another South Park fic? What is this madness?! I blame schrod1ng3r. It's all her fault. Blame her!! (pfft cos this is secretly for her, legit.)

I might've been listening to FOB while I wrote this… Maybe. I'll never tell.

South Park belongs to Matt and Trey, those geniuses.

Better Off As Lovers

What had ended such a close friendship? Tweek wasn't even sure anymore—Craig got mad and told him to just leave. They'd been at Craig's house when a fight ensued, but for the life of him, Tweek couldn't remember how it started, or who started it, or what it was even over… But it had ended with him tearing from Craig's house, terrified. Craig Tucker wasn't someone you crossed. You just didn't.

It had been… how long now? He was eighteen, and they hadn't talked for… four years? Yeah, that was it. Though… Craig always came into the Harbucks where he worked to order a coffee… And that exchange was always horribly awkward. Except for today. Something was different when Craig came in—well, he was walking with a limp for one, one eye was black and his shirt was stained with—Tweek hoped that wasn't blood.

A hand was placed on the counter and Tweek's eyes lingered on long fingers before moving up to look at Craig's face—a brief moment of eye contact and Tweek looked away.

"Ngh--! H—how can I—gah!—h-help you--?" The usual question, his gasps and little yelps included. Hazel eyes glanced to Craig again and it looked as though the other male was leaning over—no, he was falling, trying to hold himself up and failing. "C—Craig?" Concern for the man who was once his best friend—

Craig fell to the floor and Tweek was certain that stain on his shirt was blood-- Craig needed help and now. Before he even realized it, Tweek was dialing 9-1-1 on his cell phone, sliding over the counter to sit by Craig's side. One of the other customers had screamed another fainted — W—Why is no one else helping?

No, someone nearby had taken Tweek's phone to talk to the dispatcher—But Tweek didn't know what to do. Something about stopping the blood flow—His hands went to Craig's stomach, applying a jittery pressure. Hazel eyes darted to Craig's face to find stormy gray eyes watching him and Craig… was Craig smiling? Sirens in the distance and Tweek watched as Craig's eyes closed. But he was still smiling. Why-? Tweek felt a lump in his throat and he was scared—

"Ngh—C-Craig—" He gasped, almost whimpering. He felt the trouble maker's hand grasp his shirt and the next thing he was aware of was…busted, swollen lips against his own and the blood rushing to his face, eyes wide. And then Craig's hand dropped and he'd fallen back down and Tweek didn't know what to do—He was certain he whimpered that time—the paramedics were there, taking Craig from him and he was shaking worse than his usual jitters and he felt sick to his stomach. He noted the blood on his hands—yes. He was going to throw up—but. . . Craig kissed him. He hadn't imagined that—And at that thought, he didn't feel sick anymore—instead, he yanked off his apron and ran all the way to the hospital. Ex-friends, ex best friends—it must've—he'd have to ask—it had to be a ruse—four years--? No…

He didn't know what to think as he made it into the hospital and asked for Craig Tucker—a nurse told him he'd have to wait… So Tweek, twitchy and jittery, excited and scared, sank into a chair in the waiting room, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt nervously. He'd forgotten about the blood on his hands—Craig's blood on his hands-… He'd have to wait for Craig to be okay—Craig, please be okay. Please be—ngh—okay—He prayed silently, tugging at his shirt. Time passed slowly—Oh Jesus, how long is this going to take--? Or so it seemed. What felt like hours upon hours later (when barely one hour had passed), a nurse came to Tweek and led him away from the waiting room. After giving him a spare shirt (while saying something about "you shouldn't walk around in a bloody shirt"), she took him to the room where Craig was laying in the bed… rather peacefully. And then she was gone.

Tweek approached the bed slowly—Craig looked so… so… He didn't know what to think. He was still and quiet and didn't look at all like himself. I—Is this really Craig? He jumped slightly when Craig's hand twitched, but the other man was still out… Tweek hoped it was for medical reasons and not due to his wound… But Craig was going to be okay, right? That… that eased the knot in his throat and pain in his stomach, but Tweek had begun to cry quietly. A twitchy hand grasped Craig's as he sat beside the bed, sniffling and crying and speaking quietly to the sleeping man.

It grew dark outside… Tweek wasn't planning on leaving. Instead, he scooted the chair closer, leaned over and kissed Craig's cheek briefly, then settled back. He didn't have to worry about being uncomfortable sleeping wise, as he probably wouldn't sleep. He rested his head on the bed beside Craig's shoulder, hazel eyes watching the still, damn-near flawless face. Well, as flawless as it could be… Craig's nose had been broken a few times, Tweek recalled, though one really couldn't tell… His face was relatively smooth, though there was the fact that he had a black eye… and a cut on one cheek. And he found himself thinking about how beautiful the other was, forgetting all about their previous issues… It didn't matter, as long as Craig was okay.

And Tweek fell asleep.