Sunny drew me this quite adorable fan art (or just a doodle really, haha) and so this long awaited chapter is in dedication to them! (: The tinypic link is on my profile. I think its quaint and simple and I am thoroughly flattered by the overall cuteness.

Little kids draw pictures of the ground, the sky, and space in between. If you ask them what the in-between space is, they say, "That's where we are."

—Ed McCullough

Tweek's point of view:

"Alright. So where do you want me to start?"

"Whoa there, buddy." Giggling, I laid my hands against Craig's back and rubbed his shoulder blades. "Don't get t-too hasty on me. You haven't even put your apron on yet."

He gave me a look from over his shoulder. "I've never been more ready in my life."

I snorted at his eager certainty. "Craig, I don't know cars and you don't know c-coffee."

We were standing behind the counter at the coffeehouse in front of the espresso machine. Both of us were on shift. He's never been more ready and I've never been so excited. I've had dreams of this day before. I guess I'd just forgotten to mention them when we'd had that conversation about "hot and steamy" fantasies.

But of course none of them were going to happen. We weren't allowed to be promiscuous in my house and we definitely weren't allowed to be promiscuous at Tweak Bros.

Especially while I was working.

"Are you kidding me? I've listened to you talk about this kind of stuff for hours. I know exactly what I'm doing."

Clucking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I backed away and held my hands up to let him show me just how well he'd listened.

The first step he took was to fill a compartment of the espresso machine with cold water and place the cap on top. "M-make sure it's secure," I warned. My mouth closed as he gave me another dead stare, grabbing the filter holder that the coffee grounds would go into. I watched him pack in the correct measurement, unable to withstand saying, "Do it lightly."

Craig sighed as he brushed off the excess grounds and set it inside the machine. He grabbed a cup that he put beneath the spout and turned the machine on. As the coffee steadily shot into the cup, I leaned closer to see if there was a brown foam brimming the dark liquid. I was pleased when I saw that there was, and suppressed a smile when Craig had to ask, "When am I supposed to stop?"

"When the foam turns white," I chirped. Except it already had, and Craig quickly jerked his hands away. His speed kept me smiling as I turned the espresso machine off and took the one ounce shot from him. The sip I took was bitter, sharp and satisfactory. As I nodded my head, he grinned at his accomplishment.

"What was that about me not knowing coffee?" He teased, finally taking the green apron off the counter and slipping it over his head.

My brows rose. "What was that about asking me if I could get Stan to bring over some of Kenny's clothes?" Before he could say anything, I added, "What? What did you just say? That you're a wuss?" I made a sound like ah. "It's okay. I already knew that."

"The next time anything of the sexual kind transpires between you and I" —he stepped closer, looming above me— "I'm giving you blue balls."

"Not if I give them to you first," I chided, lips curled into a malicious grin. "Craigifer."

His lips pursed and for a few seconds, all he did was stare. Neither of us noticed the bell above the door sound, signaling the arrival of a customer. We were too consumed in battling each other with our eyes, and even though it hurt to look into his frozen irises, to see myself reflected in his enlarge pupils, I didn't break contact.

"Boys?" My dad inquired. I jolted at his voice and swung around to face him as inconspicuously as I could. In no way had I just been flirting with Craig in front of him. He jut his finger in the direction of the door, the one I should've been paying attention to. "Have you been gone for so long that your hinges are rusty?"

I murmured "N-no, sir," and turned to face the front of the store. One of our weekly regulars had come in, gaze focused on the menu above. She always ordered something new.

Leaning into me, Craig whispered, "I could grease up those rusty hinges if you'd like."

"Shut up." I elbowed him in the stomach, idly aware of his avoidance of my limb as the woman who frequented the coffeehouse looked at me and smiled.

Her eyes shifted toward the massive shadow behind me. "New employee?" She asked, taken aback. The only kind of workers here were Tweaks.

"He's just pretending." Craig pinched my back. "He sucks at it." He pinched harder and I had to smile through the wince on my face. "I'd fire him if he actually worked here."

Craig and I were walking back to my place from the coffeehouse. It was within walking distance, something that I usually took advantage of since cars tended to activate my anxiety. The weather was growing temperamental, a stronger breeze and a colder bite. There were clouds in the sky every day casting constant shadows over the town. It was dim outside, an odd sort of dusky dimness that made me feel as though we were in an alternate dimension. Things were almost gray.

Objects were more vivid in this lighting, nature seemingly in focus where it hadn't been before. I almost felt like I'd put on a pair of glasses that I hadn't known I'd needed. Even the little animals scampering around had more definition to their feathers and fur. The color of the atmosphere stuck to Craig in the same way, dramatically enhancing the obsidian shade of his hair and highlighting his pale eyes.

They were the strangest and one of the most captivating parts of him physically. There was no outer ring to his iris, no difference in color. It was a true pigmentation, alienesque in how singular the icy color was. My own eyes were quite translucent but even I had a darker, mossier outline for normalcy and emphasis. He needed no embellishments, though. His eyes were striking enough as they were, and I liked them like that. The oddity attracted me and related to quirks of my own, comfortingly so.

I stepped closer to encase myself in his warmth, jealous of his hoodie but fond of him in general. The fabric of my shirt was thin, a simple plaid button up done to the top. Variations of color and pattern were what I wore to work most often. It was tucked into my jeans, the legs of which were cuffed, exposing my slender ankles.

"S-so how was it?" I asked, referring to the day at Tweak Bros. He'd been grumpy at me a majority of the time for not letting him make any beverages. I'd had to bargain with him to get him to drop his attitude, eventually satisfying him by allowing him to finish off nearly every coffee with toppings. His favorite had been the caramel drizzle because when no one was looking, he'd eat it. He also gave everyone extra cocoa powder, chocolate syrup, or cinnamon.

"Eh," he said. I pouted and bumped my shoulder against his arm. He had his hands in his pockets, at ease with walking down the sidewalk of his hometown. I wondered if he remembered walking Stripe down these streets, if he felt nostalgic at all. "It was alright, I guess. There's this kid that works there and he's pretty much the cutest thing ever" —I see what you did there, I thought as we approached my house, blushing profusely— "but he's a big bag of dicks."

My laughter was instantaneous. He was so butthurt and it was hilarious. He'd called me the cutest thing ever, though.

"Oh yeah?" I giggled. Craig nodded his head. "That's funny, because there was this new guy that s-showed up today."

"I don't like him."

"Thanks for ruining it!" He ignored my pointed look, so I said, "I guess I won't tell you my honest opinion on the new guy then."

He gave me a look of his own. "I already know your honest opinion on the new guy."

"Craig!" We stumbled to the side as I shoved my whole body into him. It was the only way he'd budge. But I had this problem where once I became a klutz, there was no saving myself. That's why it only made sense for me to fumble over my own foot and then snag one of Craig's. Right outside my poor front door.

The bastard had the decency to save himself and not me. He let me hit the door and smack my face against it. It wasn't a hard hit, more self-consciously painful than physically, but then he turned the knob and watched me trip over the threshold.

"I'm not the only b-bag of dicks," I muttered, steadying myself against the wall. All he did was stick his thumbs up as he passed, heading for the stairs. Obviously he was still sour about the limitations he'd been forced to settle with earlier, and hastily I followed, distracted as I searched for my mom while I thought of a way I could make it up to him. A way that he would like.

There was no sign of my mom downstairs, though her car was outside so she had to have been home. Craig was laying face down on my bed when I entered my room. I was still unsure as to what I should do, but we had about half an hour before it was time to leave, and that was really the only thing that I knew.

Just as I was shutting and locking my door, my phone buzzed as it received a text message. Removing my phone from my pocket, I looked down at the screen and saw that it was from Stan. When I pulled it up, it read: We're going to have some company tonight.

My brows furrowed. He couldn't have been shitty enough to invite Cartman. I didn't think Craig would stick around if that was who our "company" happened to be. The two disliked each other and I wasn't on much better terms with the guy. He constantly nagged me for my sexuality. Sometimes I liked to blame him for Craig's disappearance four years ago. Maybe if he hadn't been such a douche bag our whole lives, South Park would've been more bearable.

If anything, it was probably Butters. Even though he didn't smoke, he enjoyed going to the hookah bar. Thomas had most likely planned it that way just to get us three gay blondes together. Maybe he wanted to see if there was the possibility of an awkward foursome between us and Craig. He was like my own personal Clyde in the way that he would totally do that. But Butters took naivety beyond normal limits, so I didn't think a foursome was going to happen.

It wasn't like I was going to share Craig, anyways.

Because of that, I was reminded of something Thomas had said just recently. "Don't let him see you naked. Tease him with it." Maybe... "Slip some skin by accident. Build up the tension." Maybe I could work with that somehow.

My thoughts pilfered through anything that I could use to revitalize Craig's mood, all of them incredibly sexual.

The issue was that we were in my room. In my house. There wasn't much we could do, that I'd let us do, but it had to involve skin because as much as Craig liked to think he was pretty much asexual, he was pretty much not. Anything that had to do with my body, he would like.


Had that just been a little chunk of confidence?

I had to pause and think about things after a conclusion like that, utterly startled by its unexpected appearance. Where did I even come up with these things? Craig really needed to stop getting boners every time we were together because it was clearly beginning to stroke my ego in places its never been touched. Bursts of self-esteem like that were unusual for me and I wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

This foreign emotion seemed to know what to do on its own, though. It contaminated my body and brain with a flirtatiousness I usually wasn't equipped with. It made me speak up on a topic I hadn't completely thought out. "Do you want to help me c-change my clothes?" I asked, shuffling backwards until my back met a set of folded closet doors.

"What are you? A baby?" Craig grumbled.

I rolled my eyes and said, "Fine. Don't take my clothes off." He sat up on his knees and looked at me with narrowed eyes like maybe I was lying. "What?" My question was reminiscent of his own from this morning. The one he'd teased me with while wearing nothing but a towel.

Suspicious, he investigated what must've been my questionable intentions, gaze like cold fingers digging into my eyes. As I attempted to hold our connection, I hoped he could see that I was sincere. Taken by surprise by my own forward recklessness, but sincere.

Only when he was satisfied with my honest motive did he allow his gaze to wander. I could feel it like I would his hands, slipping down my body from my neck to my thighs. He looked while I anticipated because he knew what I felt like and I knew that he wanted to. It was an exciting, suspenseful situation, one that made my pulse jog and breath quicken.

He took his time slinking off the bed, still assessing me with curiosity as he rose. His full height was overwhelming even from across the room, and as he sauntered over, I was both cautioned and captivated by the primal undertone of his walk. The vivacity in his eyes multiplied to the point that it was overbearing the closer he got and I was breathing heavy before he'd even reached me, palms pressed against my closet doors in expectation. I had only an idea of what was about to happen.

His proximity shadowed my figure as he stepped right up to me and raised a hand to fiddle with the collar of my shirt. Goosebumps spread across my skin, concealed by the fabric there. I was staring at his steady eyes that weren't looking into my own. They were looking everywhere else. I could feel them tracing over my limbs and following the curve of my thighs, causing my heart to stammer.

"You're going to let me undo all of these buttons?" He asked, voice surly with interest.

All I could do was nod dumbly as he started on the first one at the hollow of my throat. My gaze dropped to his mouth where his tongue came out and wet his lips.

"That's nice of you." His murmur was accompanied by the unfastening of my second button.

My thoughts raced to wonder if he could tell how fast I was breathing, whether the adrenaline coursing through my system was noticeable. He leaned closer on the third and dipped lower at the fourth, so that by the fifth he could maneuver his mouth around the button and pull it through the fabric with his teeth.

There was a catch in my throat at the undeniable attractiveness of his little stunt, but before I could even think in-depth about it, he'd nudged my shirt aside and ran his lips across my chest. His hands were framing my torso, locking me in place against his mouth, and he didn't let me fidget even when his tongue covered my nipple.

It was with wide eyes that I scrabbled to grab a hold of him, taking him by the shoulders. During my attempt to push him back, he'd started sucking and his teeth grazed my sensitive skin. There was a sharp feeling in my spine that made my back arch and stomach clench. My hands weren't forcing him away so much as they were tugging him closer now and I could feel him grin against my chest at my flimsy resolve.

Craig's mouth then went one way while his hands did another. His lips were sidling up my torso, reaching for my collar where he ran his tongue along the bone, and his fingers skimmed the length of my waist before meeting in the middle to continue undoing the last of my buttons. My arms moved to coil around his neck and I tipped my head to the side as he trailed his mouth over the spot behind my ear, the one that made me lose my conscious mind and think only with sensation.

He made contact and I sighed, drawn into his touch and the feel of his mouth. I tangled my fingers in his hair, a shudder whirling through my body as his palms slid down my bare belly. His fingertips slipped between my jeans and skin. Their obvious and yet subtle presence made me bite down on the inside of my lip. A tightness fisted the pit of my stomach as he worked the button loose and undid my zipper. His hands retraced my sides and wrapped around my back, steady and warm beneath my shirt.

Rising onto the tips of my toes, I pressed myself closer and felt the pummeling beat of his heart against my chest. My opened jeans caused them to sag far down along my hips, and my breath quaked, ricocheting off Craig's cheek as I turned my head to align our lips. At the rough touch of his mouth, we tipped backwards against my closet doors. The action made my jeans slip a little further and I shook my legs impatiently to remove them entirely.

Something about that must've set Craig off because I was suddenly sandwiched between him and the wall with such little space that it startled me. He grabbed me by the hips, fingers curling tightly around the bone. One hand dropped to caress my thigh and it lifted in tandem to his touch. He hiked my thigh onto the ridge of his hip, hand shifting against the underside of my leg where his palm ultimately reached my butt. I parted my lips to breathe and entwined our tongues, clenching his hair tightly.

I felt the lift before I comprehended it, but once I'd realized Craig had me in the air, I constricted his waist with my legs and declined my chin to better access his mouth. His reciprocation was immediate. He massaged my thighs, dragging his hands down and then dipping them beneath the last remainder of my clothing.

Squirming in his grasp, I moved my arms to loosely surround his shoulders. Our mouths began to kiss in a slow, delicate rhythm. It was soft but involved, noticeably intimate with different levels of emotional attachment. There was absolutely no way Craig couldn't feel the same things that I was in that moment.

Breathing became harder, but the difficulty made my head feel good and light. There was audible panting between each separation of our mouths, and the sound of that coming from Craig made my stomach bubble excitedly. He pushed my back flat against the wall and shifted his hips, pressed them up and forward so they could rub against my own.

Although the pressure of his body was enticing, I turned my head away and reminded him that we were in my room.

"I know," he grumbled, kissing my lips again and lingering there. My back ached to arch at the second roll of his hips. "But the door is shut. Your mom practically isn't even here."

She practically isn't even here? The smirk I was wearing was because he sounded so needy, whiny even. "Be careful. You're s-starting to sound like you've got a little crush on me, Craigifer."

"I'll tell you that I am if you let me take my clothes off," he bargained, nipping at my bottom lip.

There was a slight plummet to my mood. I pulled my head back and looked down at him and said, "I want you to tell me that you have a crush on me because you mean it. Not so that you can give me an instant boner by getting naked."

Craig looked away from me and I might've thought he was ashamed, but sometimes I didn't know what to think when it came to him. I don't even think that he knew what he wanted to think.

"Okay." He put me down and readjusted the legs of my boxer-briefs. His touch tickled, but I had no laughter to expel. "Let's get you dressed and then we can go."

This time I sighed for a different reason. Craig just sounded so formal whenever I stopped us from...I didn't really want to call it fucking around, but "being intimate" came across as too strict. Was there a word that encompassed a little bit a both? I always stopped us from getting personal? I always stopped us from getting dirty? Fuck it—I always stopped us from doing all of those things and Craig always got this immediate, reclusive tone of voice with me.

He was in no way offended by my prude behavior. At least I didn't think he was. It was more like he became aware that he was being pushy and so he wanted to rectify his assertion by consenting to my bashfulness, but to an extreme. He went from wanting to take his clothes off—wanting to take my clothes off—to not even touching me. Like he was really trying to convince me that he understood and that we didn't have to go through this fast, which I appreciated—he didn't know how much I appreciated his ability to go by the slow pace that I unfortunately needed—but it was a withdrawn attitude that made me feel bad.

I hated being self-conscious and uncertain of myself because I kind of think that he really wanted this. I mean—not this. Just me. He really wanted me. Or, uh—my body. And I was perfectly fine with that. I wanted him to want my body. Craig was a good guy...he was a really good guy, and I wanted to put out for him. I just—fuck, I didn't know.

"Are you disappointed?" I asked, worrying my lip at his deflation.

"No," he assured me. "I..." We made eye contact where I watched him swallow before saying, "You don't think I'm pushing you, do you? Because I don't want to come across like I'm pretty sure I am." I had no time to tell him otherwise because he then added, "I just..." He scratched his cheek in what I knew to be a nervous gesture. My heartbeat staggered at this uncharacteristic hesitancy of his. "Hah, fuck. Uh. I want to do things with you." My brows shot toward my hairline. "And now I'm trying not to scare you by saying anything too straightforward. God."

Craig rubbed frustratedly at his forehead.

"Sexual things," he clarified. "And I'm not always suggesting that we go further to go further. Well, I am." He laughed at something unknown to me. "It's more like an offer. Because I don't know when you'll want to go...further." There was a lot of vague gesturing with his hands. "So I put it out there in case you do. Want to go further, that is." Oh god. This very unfortunate man. Listening to him attempt consolation or apology or whatever it was he was trying to do was painful. "And I know that you're uncomfortable with doing stuff in your room. Or South Park in general." Craig huffed and finished hurriedly. "I was just excited."

His hand moved to scratch the back of his head, and I smiled admiringly up at him. These unusual sides of him were the sweetest things. My voice was soft, understanding as it tread carefully around the fragility of his speech. "I didn't need an explanation from you, Craig." That didn't mean I wasn't flattered, though.

He wasn't embarrassed, but he did purse his lips and knit his brows before saying, "I just wanted to tell you."

As he stepped past me and tugged open my closet doors, I smiled even more and closed my eyes against the bright, intense feeling blaring inside my chest. It felt like the good version of bloated if there ever was one.

Craig is so cute. Turning around, I placed my hands on his hips and cradled his sides. I stepped up to his heels and pressed my cheek against his back, aware of the warmth seeping into my skin and reveling in it. A lilting hum drifted from between my lips and my arms curled tighter around his slender torso.

I knew what he was looking at. I had an abundance of clothes and their organization was impeccable. Not one piece of clothing was without a designated place.

There were my shirts on one side, my jackets on the other. Both were color coordinated and hanging to keep away creases and wrinkles. A tower of shelves divided the two articles. They were filled with my multiple pairs of shoes and boots. Beneath that were drawers full of jeans and trousers, some cut offs and others brand name shorts. My ties and bow ties were displayed on their own individual racks, coordinated by color as well as pattern.

My closet was the only personality that I had and I loved it dearly. It was the one thing that I purposefully allowed myself to obsess over. I was proud of it, so proud that I had wanted Craig to see it. What I hoped was that he would appreciate it, and I thought he would, because he knew good style and nice clothes.

Maybe he'd even be impressed.

"You're having me wear this to a hookah bar?" I asked, laughing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

I was just giving him a hard time. I actually liked what I was wearing.

He'd put me in tight fitting trousers and a slim, pastel colored button up. It was done up to my neck and tucked in at the bottom. I think he liked my bow ties because he'd had me try on nearly every single one before deciding on a polkadot pattern. My shoes were suede oxfords.

"Shut up," he said, standing behind me as he straightened out my clothing. "You look adorable. You're going to get hit on so many times tonight."

"Because I t-totally want that," I muttered, staring at his reflection with subtle approval.

Glancing up at me, he smirked then returned to fixing me. "You would if I told everyone that I was your boyfriend and to back off."

"Yeah," I cooed, smiling dreamily. "I would." When Craig started laughing, my smile turned more serious. "Would you really do that, though? If someone came up to me?"

"I know that if you were ever hit on, you'd probably shit yourself. So if things happen to get particularly flirty, I'll step in, sure." He put his hands on my shoulders and winked at me through the mirror. "Plus, I'd feel bad for anyone who'd be interested since you only have eyes for me."