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“craig- please.” tweek murmurs, gurgling between sips of water. “‘m not even drunk.” he protests. he’s a big fat liar. he’s drunk enough for craig to notice that he was giggling far too much with bebe, and he watched the way he was staggering and walking around like a newborn calf. ( clyde said he looked like bambi, which tweek had, in response, snapped back at him all grumpy).
which subsequently resulted in craig gently coddling him, keeping him encased in his arms on the couches in clyde’s dorm (craig tries to ignore the story of how clyde got them whenever he chooses to sit on them), and letting tweek nurse on a bottle of cold water.
it is fair enough. craig didn’t mind taking care of tweek ever. craig hates when people find excuses for obnoxious parties, but he always finds himself attending anyway. and it only makes it enjoyable when he has something to busy himself with— which typically is this. but, it is always less ideal for circumstances to include shuffling on his knees to bear his weight over tweek to press him over a toilet, while tweek’s head merely lolled grossly into the toilet bowl, spitting up all down his chin and getting vomit in his hair. so he’s trying to sober him up as much as possible.
before anyone even arrived, tweek and clyde were taking shots in the kitchen to pregame— as if that was even necessary. the biggest consistency between all these parties was that everybody brought an unnecessary amount of alcohol. tweek was taking shots back to back until he accidentally shot the salt instead of the tequila. that’s when craig cut him off initially.
then, people started to show off. and bebe stevens, for some reason unknown, shows up to parties with plates of cute little cocktails like she isn’t going to a sweaty dorm party. she offers tweek one too many. he really has no self control. or, he’s just nervous. probably both. and she also supplies some glittery cocktail mixture of god knows what.
so after pulling tweek by his fighting hands, they’re here. and, eventually, tweek didn’t seem to mind. he seemed awfully content despite how much he was continuously complaining; his body limp and sprawled right into craig’s lap, limbs sagging against him- save for his one arm weakly pushing at the water bottle to no avail.
craig stares down at the mess of limbs in his lap, trying his best not to give in and show the faintest hint of amusement. tweek’s protests have softened into meek grumbles. his head lolls against craig’s chest and craig runs through his hair, ignoring the gross added sheen of sweat.
“you’re being very stubborn,” craig muses, tipping the water bottle toward tweek’s pouty lips. “drink it, babe. you need it. won’t hurt you.”
tweek scrunches up his face distastefully. “i don’t wanna,” he whines. it’s already hard enough to hear period over whatever shitty music they have. the denver edm scene hit took its influence early on in these parties and craig can’t say he’s really a fan.
eventually, he lets out a slow sigh but not without pressing the cold bottle against tweek’s flushed cheek enough until he squirms. “fine,” craig says, his voice exaggerated with annoyance. “fend for yourself tomorrow.” but craig knows damn well he’s gonna be there in the morning right for him.
tweek’s only response is a soft hum, then his body comes sinking further into craig’s lap.
“seriously,” craig prods, cupping his face, “why do you insist on being stubborn ?”
tweek blinks up at him, his eyes are all glassy and they catch on the very dim lighting of the room. he thinks for a moment and it looks like he’s going to answer, but he just smiles.
“‘cause.” he mumbles, he leans in to kiss him but craig cups a hand over his face.
“nuh uh. save it for midnight.” he stifles a laugh and tweek just whines long at him. eye contact is held all up until tweek lurches and his throat very visibly bobs.
“alright, up. party’s over.” he says with some fondness. he tries to not make as big of a fuss, knowing tweek particularly does not like throwing up.
tweek weakly mewls as craig shifts him up off his lap and holds his sweaty hands to get him onto his feet. his limbs prove to be very uncooperative, craig keeps a steady arm around his waist.
craig soothes and shushes his little protests as he half drags him down the hallway to the bathroom. tweek very famously makes himself miserable when he’s sick just to avoid throwing up, and craig always feels awful for him when he does. he was anticipating this, though, and he tried his best to keep him from going through this.
no time, now. he firmly pushes down on tweek’s shaking shoulders and gets him to be level with the toilet bowl. he fights tweek’s neck pushing back and subsequently tweek’s arms give out and he’s leaned uncomfortably, but good enough to not have him vomit everywhere. craig keeps mindful to not have tweek directly in contact with the seat- he grew up with clyde. he can’t even leave it up to the imagination as to what happens in here.
“come on, tweek, you’ll feel better.” craig stays knelt behind him, he has an arm bracing him gently by the shoulders while the other runs circles into his back. the shitty music down the hallway is quieter, now, but the bass is obnoxious enough for the reverb to muffle tweek’s strained breathing.
it takes him a second to register that his poor boyfriend is sobbing. craig feels terrible. “oh, honey.” he murmurs softly. “you’re okay. i’m so sorry.”
tweek makes a miserable little sound in response, clutching the rim of the bowl and curling in on himself even further. his cheek presses against the cold porcelain for comfort— so much for the being mindful thing.
tweek’s entire body wracks trembles under craig’s steadier hands. he plays with tweek’s damp hair soothingly, and craig wonders silently how tweek managed to get this far into the evening without keeling over. he’s impressed. he’s pretty sure he drank his body weight in alcohol with only a side of two cheese and cracker fixings from a charcuterie board. craig unhelpfully supplies to himself that this should be an easy expulsion for tweek, at the very least.
it finally happens. craig doubles down on the rubs and supplies comfort as tweek gurgles up and gags, sounding awfully like it hurts. when it’s finally over, tweek slumps forward, completely lax and exhausted, so craig moves quickly in catching him before his head can thunk against the toilet.
“alright, alright, my love. sit back for a second, you’re okay.” he says softly, gently pulling tweek to rest against the bathroom wall and single handedly flushing what’s in the bowl. he dabs toilet paper over his tears and then finally to wipe at his lips, and tweek just lets him finally take care of him with no protest.
his cheeks are pale and tear-streaked. he looks even more sallow with the terrible bathroom lighting. but his breathing is starting to even out. craig places a hand to his shoulder, pressing for some pressure, steadying him as he sits back against the toilet. the air is thick and stale, it’s humid, he’s far too cramped, his back hurts being pressed how it is. but he pays any attention. he’s too busy studying tweek.
it’s hard to see him like this. he knows he tried. it’s too late now. they honestly shouldn’t go out anymore as is— they both don’t like it. he can’t wait to go home. he really doesn’t know why tweek of all people is such a victim to peer pressure.
craig exhales sharply, running his free hand through his own hair eventually. it didn’t matter, and especially not now. — he aches, but he feels content. anything that’s silly and hurts and spins his head feels better when he has tweek there, anyway.
“you’re okay, baby,” craig murmurs, his voice low. he breaks the silence. “i’ve got you forever.”
tweek’s lips twitch, he collects his breath. he leans his head back more to release some tension on his neck. his eyes flutter, heavy with exhaustion that hangs over him all over again. craig feels compelled to say something, but nothing comes out. he knows tweek feels what he has to say.
when tweek finally speaks again after all that, his voice is a little hoarse. when he’s drunk, his pitch increases weirdly. he talks all inconsistently- craig smiles. “you really love me.”
craig smirks, “i really do.” tweek blinks at him, dazed still.
he rubs tweek’s cheek “like, really love me.”
“yeah, tweek,” he huffs a laugh. “i really love you. you don’t listen to me very well. but i’m sorry, beautiful. do you feel better now?” craig watches tweek nod.
“i’m not beautiful. i’m really gross.” tweek whines pitifully. craig bites back a chuckle at the sheer circumstances of it all.
“hey. don’t talk about my boyfriend that way.” he rubs the inside of tweek’s wrist. it’s for some pseudo acupuncture thing tweek told him about once, to keep him from being nauseous. “you’re not gross— throwing up is gross, sure. but you’re still beautiful. you always will be.”
tweek smells awful, and his bangs are flattened to his forehead. craig looks him in the eyes and smiles. he thinks that he looks so lovely. he helps tweek up again to help him rinse his mouth out. tweek peeks back at him through his lashes into the mirror above the counter.
there’s a beat of silence before tweek’s lips part, his words stumbling. “are you gonna marry me?”
he turns tweek back to lean against the counter so they’re looking at each other. craig bites back a grin. “did you have some other plan in mind?”
tweek pouts, very forcibly. he turns his head from craig. “you hate me so much.” his words are still all slurred, and he’s drooling a bit too much.
“shut up, brat.” he grabs tweek’s chin and squishes his lips with a giggle. he’s trying his very best to calm tweek from the anxiety he just experienced. “of course i’ll marry you. i’ll marry you anywhere you want. then we can get a house outside of denver. then we can move somewhere super far when we’re like, fifty. or something.”
“i like that.” tweek mumbles, muffled. his eyes are big. he looks like a goldfish.
“yeah. we’ll home guinea pigs forever. we have to get at least a two bedroom so we can dedicate a room to them.” he lets go of tweek’s chin as hard as he is “but we have to have something else. for balance.”
tweek blinks and moves around his freed jaw. “i want a dog.”
“dogs are fun.” craig nods. “i can do that. but i think we’re already practically married. at least according to my knowledge of marriage.”
tweek shakes his head. “i can’t think that hard right now, man. i want to agree. i guess you do love me.”
“i love you. i do.” he confirms with a silly smile and he holds tweek nice. it smells weird in the bathroom, and the air is sticky and gross. he can’t even be bothered. he loves talking to someone who will enthusiastically listen. craig has his perfect match.
when people down the hall start yelling for the countdown, they lifted their pinkies and faux cheered them together (tweek whined something about no champagne. craig didn’t have enough time or willpower to punch him).
they kiss nice and perfect, finally, for the first time that evening. craig’s so glad to have his lips pressed against the filthy little ones he’s longed for all night. he can feel tweek smiling.
craig breaks away first, biting back a big smile. “happy new year, my love.”
“happy new year.” craig lets tweek pinch his arm all because it made tweek giggle for a good minute straight.
“they’re gonna think we’re having sex in here, craig.” tweek frowns as craig opens the door for him, ever the gentleman. craig waves it off with a laugh.
“no one paid that great attention,” he affirms lightly.
tweek shudders lightly and shakes his head as he steps into the hallway. “we have a track record, man.”
“i can’t argue you there.” he has none to make. he laughs. craig’s so content in being cursed with wanting him all the time.