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Chapter Text

Moving to Denver had been the best decision of Craig’s life. It had been the fresh start he had needed after feeling stuck in the slow crawl of small-town life. For once, he did not feel that his every movement was captured under the crushing gaze of the magnifying glass that is small down hearsay and gossip. Denver was loud, unpredictable, and alive. 

He had thrown himself into his coursework with a quiet determination that surprised even him. Mechanical Engineering. The major sounded cool enough to justify all the restless nights. Though most of those nights were spent squinting at equations and simulations until words blurred together to form foreign symbols.  

Craig Tucker was not a nerd. Sure, he was probably a little too thin for his own good, a little too into astronomy, and wore glasses when his eyes started to ache. Those stayed imprisoned in his dorm room, never to see the light of day- but that did not make him a nerd, and whoever said anything otherwise was a fucking liar.

While usually, his nights were dictated by due dates, one particular Thursday left him unoccupied. He actually had some time to kill.  It seemed that all his classes were at a sort of slow spot. Assignments were caught up, the sky outside was clear, and his dorm room was all too quiet. It was too early to sleep and too late to start a new project, so he grabbed his jacket and keys. Maybe a walk could calm his restless mind. 

The streets outside were teeming with life and buzzing with excitement. Laughter spilled out of open doors, and the smell of street food and cigarettes wafted through the air. There was no plan for where he was going, just that the cool breeze felt good. Less oppressive than the musty air of his university-issued dorm. In fact, his feet seemed to know where to turn before his mind ever made a decision. 

That's when he heard it. A baseline, deep and vibrating through the rubber of his shoes, reaching from down under the concrete he stood upon. Craig's pace slowed to an exacting halt. His eyes narrowed, following the culprit down a narrow staircase tucked between two brick buildings. The music was muffled above ground, but even from where he stood, he could feel the life poured into each chord. All this was mixed with the sound of shouting and laughter. 

Craig hesitated at the top of the steps. This was not his usual scene- not by a long shot. He should just proceed away to continue the path he was taking. However, there was just something about that sound. It was magnetic. It was like each strum was reaching out for him. Before he could talk himself out of it any further, his feet were already set in motion to descend the cracked stairs. 

The black metal door swung open to reveal utter chaos. Flashing lights, heat, the smell of beer and sweat, and electricity floating through the air. The basement was absolutely packed. There were people, so many people, crammed shoulder to shoulder and moving to the beat. For now, Craig chose to linger near the back to try and give himself a chance. to take it all in. A smaller band had just finished their set, and the event staff were switching instruments out on stage. 

It took a couple of minutes to shuffle through the aggressive crowd, but he managed to get through, not paying any mind to who he pissed off along the way. That's when it happened. 

The lighting shifted, and a new figure stepped out through the fog. The spotlight hit the silhouette to reveal a young man no older than Craig himself. The light caught on streaks of blond hair sticking out in every direction. His clothes were back and torn, and his face was streaked with smudges of warpaint that made him look half-feral and half-divine. He grinned like he owned the room.   

“YOU F-FUCKERS READY TO ROCK?!” he yelled, and immediately the crowd went wild. They screamed back in reply, and Craig, despite himself, felt his heart jump. The first chord hit like a punch. It was loud, fast, but precise. No matter how loud the instruments were, though, the singer's voice tore through all the same. It was beautiful in a way that did not make any sense. Craig found himself solidly planted to the floor, watching as the man on stage moved like a force of nature. 

“So cool,” he mumbled to himself for no one else to hear, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks.

The set continued relentlessly. Each song bled into the next. Craig was mesmerized- even when people bumped him or spilled their drinks near his shoes, he could not look away. His ears were ringing by the end, and his chest buzzed with adrenaline. As the final song faded out of existence, the nameless blond leaned forward. For a brief second, maybe just in Craig's imagination, their eyes met. That made the raven’s heart skip a beat. Had he noticed him staring? Could he even see into the crowd, and was it all a coincidence? 

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the singer sent his guitar pick into the crowd. It arched through the air and, by some miracle, landed against Craig's chest. He snatched it before it hit the floor. 'Paranoia Fixation,' it read, embossed in silver letters. 

Against any rational thought, Craig's lips twitched upward. He turned the pick over, feeling the faint texture of the indentations against his thumb. Promotional material, probably. Still, his heart was buzzing more than it should have been. 

He waited around for a while longer, pretending to be watching the next band play. His thoughts, however, were held fully captive. His mind kept running back to that blond. Maybe he would come out to mingle with the crowd or get a drink. Then maybe Craig would bimp into him, casually say something cool, and pretend it wasn't a big deal. 

He didn't. 

Disappointment weighed heavily than it should have. Craig finally traversed his way through the sweaty mountain of people and climbed back into the cool night air. The lively streets of Denver somehow felt strangely quiet after the cacophony of noise he had just left behind. 

Craig snaked back through the crowd and dejectedly walked back home to his apartment for the night. He moped through his living room and into his bedroom until he plopped down on his bed.

Exhaustion had set in by the time he reached his apartment, but his mind refused to slow down. He kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket over his desk chair, and plummeted face-first onto his bed. Staring at the fibers of his comforter, the singer's voice replayed in his head. Rough, powerful, and beautiful. 

"God, get a grip," he whispered, rolling over, "You don't even know his name." 

What did it matter when he was never going to see him again? Craig was frowning to himself, thinking until he unexpectedly remembered something.

The pick. He reached over to his nightstand, turning the pick in his fingers once again. The band's name gleamed under the light. Curiosity tugged at him. Just one search, he told himself. Just to see if they were actually local. 

Searching the band’s name on his laptop, he was able to find his answer. They were. The band played intimate venues all around the city, some of which were already sold out.

Scrolling further, Craig was greeted with many pictures, including grainy fan photos and candid backstage moments. And there he was again. That singer. Craig felt his throat tighten slightly. The camera barely did him justice. Still, there was something magnetic about him. Charisma radiated in every frame. 

Transfixed, he kept scrolling, not realizing how long he had been staring. His stomach twisted, pink scattered across his cheeks. 

Okay, definitely aroused.

He groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Seriously?" But the thought was there now, persistent and frustrating. He stared at the ceiling, debating. Was it wrong to think about someone he had never met this way? Was it pathetic? Probably. Still, the memory of that voice and the impossible moment when they might have shared a look. It all came rushing back, and he could not believe what he was about to do. 

Chapter Text

“Fuck it,” Craig groaned not able to ignore that uncomfortable sensation anymore.

Not closing his laptop, Craig began to rummage through beside table grabbing both a toy- a blue silicon dildo and a bottle of lube.

Almost frantically, he pulled his clothes off until he was completely nude and laid back down on the bed. Without his clothes, his jow free half-hard cock laid comfortably against his thigh.

Craig could feel his member harden in his hand as leisurely stroked it, a small bead of pre-cum building at the tip.

With his free hand, he brought it up to his chest and teased one of his nipples, his breath hitching when twisting it.

Taking his hand off from his cock, he reached over to grab the previously discarded bottle of lube, coating three of his fingers with the substance.

Craig leaned forward on his knees, spreading his legs. He swirled his finger around his hole, teasing himself. As he was pushing it in, he noticed his eyes wander over to his laptop, catching a glimpse of the sexy guitarist.

”F-fuck,” he whimpered out, moaning at the familiar feeling and buried his finger to the hilt. Keeping his eyes on the screen, he worked himself to two fingers, scissoring them inside of his hole.

As he worked himself to three fingers, Craig’s mind quickly began to drift from reality to fantasy with the blond. Craig pictured Tweek bending him over and taking him until he was a withering mess underneath the other. He was sure by now he sounded like a whore, but he couldn't be bothered to care right now.

Pulling his fingers out, he whined at the lost feeling. Desperately, Craig grabbed the silicon toy off of his mattress and held it under himself. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the toy, moaning loudly for ”Tweek” to fuck him as the bulbous head opened him up.

As good as his fingers felt, when comparing it to the silicon piece this stretched him at much further. Craig was too far gone to hear himself, but he the gasps and moans leave his throat, yelping in pure pleasure when he brush against his prostate.

The toy continue to hit against his prostate, turning himself into an wreck. Craig had become completely undone. To create change of pace, Craig held the toy still and steady which allowed him to ride the peice. The raven found himself bouncing up and down on the silicon cock that he imagined belonged to the mysterious band member.

Whimpering, he pleaded to be able to cum. He yearned for that release so desperately; he needed it. Getting so close, he grasped his own member, jerking it back an forth animalistcally until he came on his stomach and hand. Pleasure rushed through Craig’s body and he was a moaning wreck.

Craig got met with a feeling of satisfaction as he let himself fall forward onto his shoulders and pant in exhaustion. He took the toy out from inside of him, and a sleepy smile plastered his face.

As sleep started to wash over Craig, he only knew one thing-- he needed to find another one of their shows.

Chapter Text

For the most part, Tweek had gotten a lot more confident since he was younger- music could really be thanked for that. Over the past few years, he had grown into someone who finally felt real. Not a bundle of caffeine and nerves strung together by trembling fingers. Still, nothing could compare to the adrenaline that surged through his body while performing. Somehow, it was only in that chaotic refuge of sound and light that he felt like the truest version of himself. Authentically loud and unfiltered. 

Music had, in a sense, always been there for him, even when no one else was. Back in elementary school, he had learned piano at his parents' discretion. He had hated it at the time. What kid wished for their fleeting hours of freedom to be whisked away to be imprisoned behind keys? The discipline stuck, though; it taught him how to listen and how to lose himself in repetition until regular life stopped feeling so impossible. 

By middle school, he had saved enough money to buy his first guitar. It was cheap, a second-hand model with scratches sewn over the body. He joined jazz band, then concert choir, then anything else that would have him. In his upperclassmen years, his music teacher had practically begged him to join the spring musical. That was when the shift happened. The first time, he had been known for something other than being the neurotic, weird kid with shaky hands. The applause and attention all felt like redemption. For once, they were not looking at him like a bad train wreck they couldn't keep their eyes off of. They were looking because they wanted to. 

"Tweek."

Then, after graduation, he took a chance by moving into the city. Sure, it was probably a stupid idea. Who actually has a shot of making? Still, it was just a chance he had to take, a moment in time in which he had to seize. He felt as if he owed it to the music that saved him to not just give up on it out of nerves. 

"Tweek!"

The shout jolted him out of his thoughts. He blinked, realizing that he had been staring at his guitar case without moving for- what, two minutes? Maybe more? He spun towards the source. The stage manager stood just a feet away. "Sh-shit what?"

She didn't even answer. No words, just jabbing her finger toward the stage. The lights beyond the curtains had already shifted. That was his cue. 

"Crap, Crap crap-" he stammered under his breath. He adjusted his mic pack and darted for the wings. Tweek slipped past a couple of crew members and into the god, inhaling the artificial haze. From here, he could feel the warmth that the stage lights provided. 

She just points out the stage, revealing that I had been cued to go on stage and didn't even notice. I mentally cursed myself before slipping out conspicuously to get behind the fog. I may have been late, but I'm fairly certain I can get the same effect from the audience's point of view. He was late, sure, but maybe that would just add to the overall effect. It wasn't like anyone in the audience knew any better. 

The beat that lived in his chest synced with the muffled roar of the crowd. Then, when the second lighting cue hit, he stepped forward. The spotlight hit the silhouette to reveal him. 

“YOU F-FUCKERS READY TO ROCK?!”

A rumble erupted from the crowd. The wall of noise was hitting his square in the chest, and for a brief moment, he had to bite back a grin. He could not break character now. He nodded toward his drummer, who gave him a short count-in before launching into the opening rhythm. One by one, the rest of the band joined in. Any nerves that were present were instantly dissolved as noise became music. 

He fed off of every note, riff, and scream of the crowd. This was his element, pure unrestrained energy. No thoughts could tear him away from it. Not the mistakes he may potentially make or anything that may have happened before he entered that stage. It was just him and the music. It felt damn good. 

A few songs in, Tweek leaned into the microphone. "Th-thanks for making it out tonight!" His rough voice called out, mixed with a few pants. The audience echoed his sentiments with a cheer. This gave the band a few seconds to grab a swig of water and breathe. As Tweek tilted his bottle back, his eyes wandered over the sea of faces- that's when he saw him. 

A guy was standing alone near the barrier. Dark hair, face flushed, wide eyes, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even under the harsh light, Tweek could see the color in his cheeks. It looked like he had been caught doing something that he shouldn't have.

That sight made something twist in Tweek's chest, something sharp and curious. He didn't know why, but he couldn't look away. 

They dove into the next song, but every so often, he was pulled back to that face. When the final chord rang and the stage lights dimmed, Tweek grinned. He had an idea. Surrounded by the eruption of cheers, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out one of the small black guitar picks he had made for the band. Silver print on one side. They usually tossed them out for fun and for promotion. Whoever caught one earned a nice little momento.

This time, though, he had a target, and it landed close enough. When their eyes met for half a beat, Tweek winked. If he thought that guy's face was red before, this reaction now was priceless. 

After the set, the performance high still buzzed under his skin. Backstage was whirling, people shouting over one another. They were offered quick congratulations, and a drink was pressed into his hand. Normally, Tweek would have basked in the attention. Tonight, though, he desperately desired to get onto the crowded floor. 

At least half an hour passed before be finally managed to slip free. The venue floor was littered with empty cups and crumpled posters. His eyes scanned the place, searching for familiar dark hair with a wide-eyed expression. 

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt a little stupid for rushing now. The guy was easily long gone. Maybe he had gone home, this show but a distant memory that will soon be forgotten. Still, there was a hope that remained that maybe he hadn't.

Maybe... It's possible that he kept that guitar pick. 

Chapter Text

Since the night of the show, Craig had been a swirl of conflicting emotions-- Guilt, nerves, apprehension. However, above all else, he could not stop the gnawing feeling of curiosity that resided in his chest. What was it that pulled almost every thought of his back to that concert? Sure, he knew that he found the performer attractive, and that was all fine. There were plenty of nice-looking people who roamed the city. None, though, had brought on more than a second thought or a passing glance. Eyes glared down at the papers scattered across his desk. He had been slowly working on a project for his materials engineering course. For now, he would have to push all of these distracting thoughts out of his mind and focus on the task at hand. A crush, no, not a crush. It cannot be a crush if you have never even spoken or met. A... whatever cannot pull his focus away from his aspirations. 

Hours later, his research presentation began to take form into something he could be satisfied with. A light hum vibrated against his throat as he saved the final copy to his computer. Craig switched tabs to Canvas before submitting his midterm. He slipped off the glasses that he would only wear at home and placed them on his desk, and then closed his laptop. It felt good crossing such a consuming task off his mental to-do list. He could relax knowing that he only had a quiz and two discussion posts left for the week. Now he could start his nighttime routine, which would hopefully end in a restful night's sleep. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and changed into his pajamas. Blue and grey flannel bottoms with a grey thermal long sleeve.

He took this moment to go and check on his favorite contraband. He opened his sliding-door closet and lightly smiled at the long playpen filled with bedding, toys, hides, and his beloved guinea pig. "Hey there stripey-boy," he greeted. Craig still didn't know what was more unbelievable: how deep a university closet went, or that he was able to sneak in such an elaborate setup. He gave the creature one gentle pet and then placed a little plate of fresh bell pepper and lettuce that he swiped from the cafeteria into the pen. His study buddy deserved the extra treat.     

Finally, he could return to his bed. A haven away from all the responsibilities and expectations of the day. He began to scroll through Instagram, mostly seeing updates posted by his cohort from the small mountain town where he graduated high school, and a few targeted reels either about space or guinea pigs. Then there it was. That damned curiosity started creeping back in again. His thumb began tapping alongside the edge of his cell phone, creating a light set of thumps that filled the room. Craig's eyes also darted into all corners of the dorm, doing his best to avoid looking at the screen. Finally, he let out an agitated groan before typing into the search bar.

'Paranoia Fixation'

Well, there it was. Right at the top of the suggestion lists was the page for the band. Craig's thumb hovered over the words for a second before he clicked on the account. In return, he received an ambush of photos from past events. Highlights and snapshots of crowded venues- all bright and loud and full of faces he did not recognize. He found himself subconsciously scrolling, watching the chaos of color through his screen. Then, in a moment of unfortunately timed clumsiness, he dropped his phone onto his chest. 

"Fuck-- smooth," He muttered, picking the phone back up.

His stomach dropped after picking the phone back into his hands, now realizing what his little transgression had caused. The first story was a short clip from a live show, filmed in the middle of the crowd. Tweek stood beneath the blinding lights, strands of wild hair stuck to his forehead by sweat. His energy was untamed, but his voice was steady.

Craig swallowed.    

The story flipped to the next. A crumbled-up flyer for a Halloween party scheduled to take place at a local club. Suddenly, the realization of what he had done had finally sunk in. "Great," he grumbled, dread overtaking his body, "Real subtle, genius." The irony was not lost on him. Craig was not following the account, and he had been extra careful not to like any of the photos. He had made sure of that, telling himself it would have made everything less weird. Less noticeable. Somehow, though, he had done the most noticeable thing possible. 

The faint buzz of adrenaline from this transgression refused to leave. Instead, it lived quietly beneath his skin. He told himself that it did not matter. That Tweek probably would not even notice. Hundreds of people viewed these stories. Craig Tucker was just one of them. 

Off campus, Tweek sat on the couch in his dimly lit apartment, thumb lazily scrolling through his notifications. There was a mix of frequent fliers and strangers' names that he didn't recognize. Then a profile picture made him momentarily pause in his tracks. "Huh," he mused. It was that boy he briefly saw the other night. He blinked at it, unsure whether to laugh or stare.

He considered sending a message, something simple or maybe teasing. He clicked on the name only to be met with the dull grey of a private profile. "Well, that figures," he murmured just under his breath, annoyed that his plans had fallen through. Instead, he tossed his phone aside.

Back in his dorm, Craig lay there awake, eyes tracing the faint flow of his alarm clock. 2:13am. He sighed, rolling over. It didn't matter, he told himself again. Though somehow, the sound of that voice, even through a screen, would not stop replaying in his head.    

Chapter Text

Craig had not meant for this to become an obsession. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, one random show to serve as some much-needed breather from his master's program coursework. Still, ever since that first night, ever since that blond with the wild hair and sharp voice shouted into the mic, Craig's brain had even more living inside of it than normal.

It's just the music, he told himself. They were just a good band with powerful energy. This was a lie, and he knew it. After he finished his assignments and he could no longer be distracted by them in the dead of night. That's when he found himself scrolling through their socials and watching dimly lit videos filmed by fans just to catch a glimpse of the lead singer. 

He learned his name pretty quickly: Tweek Tweak. It was odd, sounded like a stage name or maybe a joke. However, the few interviews he was able to scrape online confirmed it was real. He was local, in his mid-twenties, and seemed to have been a part of Denver's music scene for a few years now. He wasn't famous, not yet, but enough of a regular fixture that locals knew his name. Comments were filled with strings of heart emojis and lustful declarations of "omg he's so hot." Craig opted to pretend that he did not agree with them. 

He wasn't even sure what he wanted to find with all this sluething. Each photo only made things worse anyway- Tweek adorned with barbaric warpaint, ripped jeans, mouth open mid-scream under red lights. He was chaos and control all at once, and Craig wished that he could look away.  

Now it was the week of Halloween, rendering Denver unrecognizable. Light glowing orange in apartment windows, decorations scattered all along the sidewalks. Every bar would be hosting some kind of event. He told himself that he would just stay in, study, and maybe catch up on a little sleep. Still, his thoughts crept back to the poster he saw when he accidentally clicked on the band's story. 

The venue was close. The tickets weren't expensive. He could just... go. Just for the music. Then came the guilt and overthinking. He was being ridiculous. He didn't even know the guy. He wasn't the type to chase musicians across the city like some lovestruck puppy. He had plenty of work to do: an engineering midterm to review, notes to take. He had no business wasting time on something as frivolous as this.  

"This is stupid," He grumbled, running a hand through his hair. "It's just a show, and you don't even like crowds." Craig paused in front of the mirror, glancing at his own reflection. His actions were far too antsy for someone supposedly staying in for the night. All week, he was adamant that he would be staying in for the holiday. Yet, the thought of not going equally filled him with an inexplicable ache. In one moment of weakness, he bought a black t-shirt with a vinyl-printed skeleton. It would be just enough to blend into the sea of costumes without actually trying.

He still meant to return that.  

If he went, Craig would just be another face in the crowd. That's it, that's all. He definitely would not try to talk to him, wouldn't make it weird. He would just listen to the show and leave. There's no harm in that. That's what he told himself as he changed into the shirt he intended to return. 

The line outside the venue reached down the sidewalk, full of witches, ghouls, and other creatures illuminated by the orange hue of the streetlamps. When he finally ventures down the narrow hallway, the warm wait immediately hits him. The space was already growing tighter with painted faces. Fake cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and jack-o-lanterns flickered on the edge of the stage.   

He needed a drink quickly and, with a gusto, clambered to the bar. It seemed that he had arrived at the event early. He had time to nurse down two drinks before the energy began to shift. 

As more people began to usher in, their bodies acted as a tide pushing and pulling Craig closer to the stage and further away from the safety of the bar. His pulse was already climbing, though he wasn't sure why, as nothing had yet to happen. The lights dimmed, accentuating the effect of a red strobe light resting on the stage. With everything else quiet, a heavy step echoed through the room. 

Tweek.

Craig's breath caught. He looked entirely different and exactly the same. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, his face paint present but creating stitches rather than his usual stripes. Dressed as Frankenstein's monster, Tweek's hair was spiked and messy, and two metal pieces lived on each side of his neck. 

"Denver!" He howled, voice just as sharp as Craig remembered. "Let's make this a night to fucking scream about!!!" 

The crowd must have taken that as a bet, because crazed screaming pierced through the air. Even through the insanity surrounding him on the floor, Craig could not look away. Every action Tweek made felt charged, like lightning in a bottle. Then there was Craig, who was never the one to lose control, began moving with the crowd. His heart was racing in time with the drums. 

Midway through the set, the songs paused. Tweek let a breathy laugh into the microphone, "You guys look absolutely insane tonight," he joked over the hoard of faces, "and I mean that in the best way possible." The singer lifted his hand and pointed seemingly towards the section Craig was in. "Especially you-yeah, you with the whole thing going on."

The crowd laughed, but Craig froze. That couldn't be directed at him. He was sure of it. Just a vague joke that was really about no one. The smirk that followed still made his stomach twist. A second later, the next song came crashing in. It was louder, faster, and heavier. Tweek sang and moved as if he were possessed. The notes hit every nerve in Craig's body; it felt real and raw and terrifying all at once. 

When the last song ended, everyone was screaming for more. Just like before, Tweek reached into his pocket and procured one of those branded guitar picks that Craig was all too familiar with. He tossed it into the audience, where it landed close enough that Craig could have sworn it was aimed right at him. 

Then he winked.

And Craig's heart stopped.

Some of the crowd dissipated after the show. However, others still stuck around to keep the party going as music played from the speakers. Craig hung back towards the bar, half hoping to see Tweek appear, half terrified that he actually would. It was time for him to leave, retreat to his room, and forget about the night's events. 

When he stepped outside, there he was again.

Tweek leaned against the brick wall of the club, jacket thrown over his shoulders. His hair was damp from sweat, and his makeup stitches were smudged. The performer looked impossibly real up close. This realization caused Craig to freeze in his tracks.

Missing his time to escape, Tweek looked up. "Hey," he spoke, voice softer now, but rough from the performance he just finished giving. "You were at our show before, right?"

Craig blinked, unsure that he was hearing right. He couldn't have been. "Uh- yeah. I think so."

A lopsided grin etched into the corners of Tweek's mouth. "Knew it. You're the guy from the front row. With the look." His eyes widened in response before narrowing in skepticism. 

"What look?"

That reply made Tweek laugh under his breath, "That look, like you're trying to figure out if I'm real or not."

Craig did not have a response for that. It was true, exactly what he had been doing. His throat felt dry. "Well, I guess you're kind of hard to forget."

"Good answer." 

There was a long beat where neither of them spoke, letting the noises of the street fill the silence. Without warning, Tweek rose from his hunched position, "You want a drink? They're doing some dumb themed thing at the bar, but I heard they weren't terrible." 

Craig hesitated as his brain screamed at him to abort. This was crazy. He didn't know this guy, and this was not normal for him. Still, the words slipped out anyway. "Yeah," he said finally, "sure."

That was met with a grin, "Cool. Come on then, Skeleton."

By the time they made their way back inside, the staff had already pulled some of its regular seating out of storage and into the main area. The festivities persisted, with people drinking and dancing along to the music. After each had grabbed a drink from the bar, they found a small table tucked into the corner. Tweek's makeup had smudged even more. 

"So," Tweek chimed, hands on his glass, "You going to all the basement shows now? Or am I special?"

He laughed softly. If only Tweek knew just how close to the truth he was. "I just liked the music." Craig paused before he continued, "It was kind of an accident that I ended up there last time." 

"Uh-huh," Tweek teased, "You looked like you were about to pass out during our first set."

Craig laughed despite the joke being targeted at him. "Y'know- you're different on stage."

Once more, Tweek leaned back into his chair. He looked up, eyes locking on Craig's. "Yeah, well. That's kinda the point. You can be whoever you want when you've got the noise to hide behind. You ever feel that?"

He didn't have an answer to give him right away. Craig thought of the mask he wore as he interacted with the world. Stoic demeanor, making sure to keep everybody at arm's length. He thought of the long nights spent at his desk and the way he built his life around predictability. He returned the gaze Tweek initiated. "Yeah," he replied, "I do."

For the first time in their conversation, Tweek's grin softened into something more contemplative. Almost vulnerable. He tapped the glass's edge and spoke, "Then you get it."

Tweek leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper, and began talking. He had changed the subject, but in the moment, whatever it was hadn't even registered. Craig had become distracted with the realization, or acceptance, that the pull he had felt since the first show was not about curiosity anymore. It wasn't even just about the music. It was him. 

With that acceptance, Craig knew that whatever this was, it wasn't over. It was only just beginning.

"So what do you think?" The inquiring voice broke him out of his trance.

"Yeah, you're right. That is crazy."

Chapter Text

Bright strands of light trickled in through the blinds of Craig's dorm. The malevolent glare pierced through his eyelids, pulling him away from his finally peaceful slumber. He woke up feeling groggy, unsure of the time or how long he had been asleep. Sitting up, he noted that his jacket was still half on, with the now-wrinkled skeleton T-shirt underneath. These clues brought back the events of the night before in blurred flashes. The noise, Tweek's grin under dangerous red lights, and that impossible moment.

It didn't feel real, none of it did. Without the dull ache in muscles from jumping along with the crowd, or the faint ringing still in his ears, it would be easier to believe that he had dreamt the whole night. 

Somewhere near his pillow, a series of muffled buzzes pulled him out of his train of thought. He twisted his body and reached out for the source. Craig glanced at his phone, taking in the two notifications that rested on his lock screen. First, a text from his friend to meet at the cafeteria for breakfast. Then there was a photo someone had tagged from the venue. 

The picture was grainy, as most crowd shots were, but the image showed Tweek mid-song, stage lights dancing around him. Then, only just visible in the front row- Craig. A pit forms in his stomach as he recognizes that same wide-eyed expression he had been taunted about the night before.

He quickly closes the tab before opening his texts. 

Craig:

[Text] sure, be there in 40

Clyde:

[Text] Sweeet!!!

[Text] See you there dude

Clyde Donovan was the only one in his cohort to take part in the great migration to Denver following their high school graduation. Some went elsewhere, but many stayed put. While Craig was solidly in his master's program now, Clyde was busy in the role of super senior in his business administration major. 

Without permission, Craig's thoughts floated back to that picture. He tossed his phone face down back on the blanket and sighed. It was barely a few hours that they talked, but his brain had become a broken record, looping his every word. 

"Good answer"

"Or am I special?"

"Then you get it."

Nope. He didn't care. He wasn't supposed to care. Rather than dwelling on the issue any further, Craig trudged his way over to the shower. The small bathroom filled up with steam. The hot water did not fulfill its duty in cleansing away the fatigue and indiscretions from the night. The reflection that stared back at him seemed worse for wear. Dark circles decorated his blue-grey eyes. He scoffed, ruffling his hair with a towel.

"Get it together." 

Once he reached the cafeteria, the smells of syrup and eggs hit him like a brick wall. Clyde was already there, bellowing and waving with an obnoxiously full tray of food. Craig made the journey across the room and finally slid into the seat across from them. "You could try to be less loud in public." 

Clyde gleamed, unwrapping his breakfast burrito. "Rough night?"

Craig responded in kind with a grunt, "Define rough."

Never the one to shy away, Clyde pried, "So, what's the story?"

"What story?"

"Don't play dumb! You got that look."

Craig frowned, "What look?"

"It's the 'I met someone way cooler than me' face. And I should know, as the coolest person you know." 

Craig was not willing to budge on this matter; luckily, he had way more skill keeping his demeanor collected when he wasn't in front of a certain blond. "Pretty sure that's not a real face." 

Unfortunately, Clyde has known him longer than anyone else. All Craig was accomplishing was nudging the brunet to persist harder, "It is now, you invented it. You oughta patent that." 

Stabbing his plastic fork into his food, Craig shot over a glare. "I went to a show. That's all."

This was just the little nugget of golden information Clyde had been after; he could work with this. "Ahh, a show, right," he sing-songed, "and how was it?"

"Good."

"Wow," Clyde took a sip from his coffee mug, not even trying to hide the smugness that radiated off of him. "Can't believe that's your type, Tucker."

He froze mid-bite. "I don't have a type," Craig retorted. 

"Oh, sure you do. Let me guess- Moody? Reckless? Wild!?" He laughed, "Betcha he's blond too." Clyde didn't even give him a moment's rest before he returned to incessant hounding. "So, are you going to see him again, or just silently pine until you take off to the space station?"

Instead of dignifying any of those treasonous words with a response, he shoveled his food away in record time, mumbling some excuse about heading to the lab. 

The morning dragged inside a disastrous apartment across town. Tweek's body ached with the post-performance crash. Equal parts pride and emptiness, he stumbled around his room as he tried to piece his life and memories together. He recalled the cheers, moments with the band, and time spent with a particular dark-haired boy. Had he imagined that spark between them?

An hour later, he manages to eventually drag himself to rehearsal. He should have been prepared for the onslaught of harassment he received. That's how they were together; no one was immune. The choir of cackles was hideous.

Stan quips, "You were totally flirting mid-set, dude!"

Tweek attempts to play it off, which promptly falls on deaf ears. Kenny joins in, barely able to contain his laughter, to get out the sentence, "Ha! You should have seen your face. All "especially you, mwah mwah!!"

The singer laughs off the words, feigning to be in on the joke. "J-jesus! It's called crowd engagement, i-idiots." For the most part, Tweek's stammer had been something he grew out of with age. However, it still made an appearance at times when he was truly flustered or amped up, yelling on stage. 

Craig got to the engineering lab around noon. He didn't have any set schedule, but more of a quota of research hours for the university to fund his degree. A quiet hum welcomed him as he drifted into the comfortable predictability of machinery and data sets. This was his comfort zone, where the quiet focus would fuel his mechanical precision. Hours passed, and by the time he was wrapping him, he decided he needed a healthy dose of caffeine.  

The walk to the cafe near campus was when his mind started to wander. Craig rubbed his tired eyes and pleaded with his thought to quit it. The show had been a fluke. Denver was a big enough city. People pass through each other's lives all the time. The cafe was calm this late in the afternoon, with some students working on their laptops and other patrons enjoying quiet conversation. Craig ordered a black tea and claimed a small table by the window. 

He was halfway through reading an email when the welcoming bell above the door rang. Out of habit, Craig glanced up. The sight made him freeze on the spot. Dressed down in a grey hoodie and dark jeans, even in casual clothes, there was no mistaking him. He ducked his gaze back down to his laptop immediately, wishing that its undo button could work against this identification. 

A couple of beats pass before Craig braved a glance back up to the room. Tweek was scanning the room, looking for an empty table, when their eyes met. Neither moved for a moment, just holding the contact before Tweek's expression shifted to one that was nearly amused. He walked over.

"Oh. my. god." Tweek exclaimed with a laugh, "It is you. Skeleton guy." 

Caught off guard, Craig blinked. "You remembered?"

The lopsided grin that had already etched its way into Craig's memory rose to his lips, "Well, yeah. Kinda hard to forget someone who looked like they were trying to figure out if I was real."

The memory of last night's conversation soared back through him, "You said that last night."

"Guess it's still true." The response created a small pause in the conversation. A little awkward, but not unbearable. Tweek nudged his head toward the chair that sat on the other side of the table, "Mind if I?"

Craig shook his head in kind, "Go for it."

From there, the conversation flowed. They talked about music, Denver, and Halloween. Craig had become more relaxed than he normally would have in a conversation with basically strangers. Tweek gestured to the laptop appropriately placed on the table, "So, what ya workin' on there?"

"Oh- um, research. I go to school here."

"Research, huh? For?"

"Mechanical engineering- math and building stuff mostly," Craig hesitated, debating how much he was willing to share. "I wanna do the NASA thing,"

For once, Tweek's eyes widened a little bit. He didn't know what answer he was expecting, but that hadn't been it. "Wow, so a skeleton guy is also a space man."

"Craig," he spoke, finally offering up his name. 

"Craig?" Tweek echoed, "No, too weird. Actually, though, Skeleton Guy, that's pretty sick. What kind of stuff will you build?"

"You are lecturing me on weird names now? Seriously?" Craig scoffed, "Honestly, it sounds pretty mundane, but mostly just all the regular stuff that makes your house run. Pipes, heating systems. There's some more interesting stuff too, like robots we send to other planets."

Tweek snorted, enjoying seeing more of his counterpart's personality unfurl. Their cups were empty now; time had passed too quickly. Not wanting to risk this conversation being their last, he tore out a napkin from the dispenser. They had already been too lucky to run into each other again at the coffee shop. He scribbled onto the paper in messy writing. "Here, take my number. Now there's no excuse to vanish into the night again."

Craig analyzed the paper as if it were a foreign object. It should be a crime how easily those words rolled off the tongue. Casual and teasing, but they weighed heavily for Craig. 

That night, Craig texted.

Craig:

[Text] hey. it's the guy from the coffee shop, or skeleton guy, or space man, or craig. whatever it was that you decided on. 

Tweek:

[Text] HAHA, that's right! Space man is totally sticking now, sorry :/

[Text] Glad you texted tho. Was starting to think I just had a very vivid imagination

Craig:

[Text] you and me both was starting to think the tinnitus had caused permanent brain damage

Tweek:

[Text] Wouldn't be the first time rock and roll ruined a man's life

Craig:

[Text] poetic, always this dramatic?

Tweek:

[Text] Only on days ending in y

Craig:

[Text] fantastic

[Text] you guys were great by the way

Tweek:

[Text] Thx & you looked like you were having a heart attack

Craig:

[Text] maybe thats because you looked like you were going to light the stage on fire

The texts did not stop after that. As days passed, their messages back and forth began to fill the time between classes and lab research. They talked about everything- bad movies, Tweek's favorite bands, the coffee versus tea debate, and dumb memes. Craig hadn't even noticed that he had been checking his phone more often than before. Then one evening, Tweek texted first.   

Tweek:

[Text] Hey

[Text] We got another show next weekend, smaller place

[Text] You should come, wanna play something new

Craig read the messages three times before replying. Maybe this wasn't some random fluke or one of those situations where someone floats out of your life just as soon as they appeared. Could this be the start of something that actually meant something?

Craig:

[Text] then ill be there

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