Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was funny how their idea of a date had changed over the years.

Back when they were younger, it was Stark's Pond or the coffeehouse, sometimes just aimlessly wandering through town because there wasn't much else to do in a place like South Park. Now, as two married adults with a shared bank account and a growing sense of impending health consequences, they spent their quality time at Costco—losing both their time and their money.

They actually needed this trip. Between the stress of moving and their complete lack of effort in meal planning, they'd fallen into the habit of surviving almost entirely on takeout for the past few weeks. They had to start eating healthier if they wanted to survive past thirty. Or at least, that's what Tweek said.

Craig didn’t really see the problem. He could live off a daily Subway sandwich and a Coke and be perfectly happy. But just as he was the voice of reason in Tweek’s life, his husband was also his sense of direction. So if Tweek said they were eating only spinach to prevent a high sodium intake and avoid developing a terminal illness in the next five years, then sure. Craig would listen.

Sort of.

Because while Tweek meticulously searched for ingredients that wouldn’t put them in an early grave, Craig was on a mission.

Which is why, currently, Craig was standing in the middle of the aisle, holding a massive bag of chips.

Tweek, staring at him in exasperation, sighed. "Craig, put that back."

Craig, caught mid-motion tossing the bag into the cart, blinked at Tweek. "Babe. These are essential."

"No, they're not" Tweek shot back, already pulling the bag out. "We're here to stock up on real food, not just whatever junk you can fit in our pantry"

Craig sighed dramatically, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. "You said we’re not having more takeout, so at least let me have this. Or I’ll die famished."

"You’ll die, alright. But only from eating those."

Craig didn’t get his chips back. He didn’t argue because, yeah, maybe Tweek was right. They definitely needed to start implementing more greens into their diet. Tweek could be paranoid about a lot of things, but Craig knew his husband was right to worry about their health.

Still, that thought alone didn’t stop him from filling the cart with as much frozen and processed food as humanly possible.

Casually, he reached behind Tweek and tossed in a frozen pizza stack. Maybe these would be better than the ones they found in town.

Tweek's head snapped up. "Craig!"

"What? If we’re cutting out junk food, at least let me have some before saying goodbye for good."

Tweek only rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He was determined to restock their kitchen with actual groceries—real food. Takeout was a big no. And Tweek was not keen on testing Craig’s culinary skills—or as the taller man called it "technically cooking" with microwaveable meals.

"Okay, i'll let you have it, but we need more vegetables. I think I prefer spinach over lettuce. And what do you think about getting some rice cakes—"

Before he could continue putting more greenery into the cart, he caught sight of Craig placing a three-pack of Coke bottles into the cart.

"I think this will go great with the pizza."

Tweek folded his arms. "No. We’re getting into bad habits. Next thing you know, we’ll both have kidney stones the size of marbles, and it’ll be your fault."

Craig scoffed. He put the three-pack back—but instead grabbed the biggest bottle of Coke and tossed it in next to the ridiculously low-calorie cereal Tweek had picked earlier, as if that somehow balanced things out.

Tweek groaned. "As if having one bottle is any better."

Craig gave him a completely serious look, the kind that barely concealed his desperation.

"Honey. You cannot talk to me about bad eating habits. You used to survive on just coffee."

"Oh. My. God. May I remind you that was a long time ago?"

"Yeah, well, I distinctly remember you almost having a stroke when we were kids, and the only thing you'd had that day was six shots of espresso and a Pop-Tart."

"Now I only drink moderate quantities! And why the hell do you even remember that?"

"Because I was terrified you were gonna drop dead on the spot" Craig said flatly. "You used to shake so bad, hon."

Tweek scowled, shoving Craig’s shoulder, which only made Craig grin wider.

"Well, I didn’t die. Instead, I’m here, trying to reason with you about better eating habits."

Craig hummed in response but, without missing a beat, slipped a gallon of ice cream into the cart while his husband was distracted, comparing the fiber content of two different brands of yogurt.

Before Tweek could notice, Craig cleared his throat. "Hey, so how's work going?"

Tweek blinked, momentarily pulled from his grocery analysis. "Huh?"

"You mentioned something relevant coming up?" Craig prompted, steering the conversation away from the cart's steadily growing junk food population.

"Oh—yeah!" Tweek's eyes lit up, the subject change working immediately. "It's just a small recital, not one of the big concerts in the program, but I'm playing piano in the formal orchestra this time. It's not a piano concert, but I still have a role in it—even a mini solo."

Craig’s mouth quirked at the way Tweek was trying to sound nonchalant, despite his fingers fidgeting against the handle of the cart. "Wow, the whole spotlight on you, huh? Sure you're not gonna panic?"

Tweek giggled a little. "I'm pretty confident it’ll go flawlessly."

"I bet. Everyone probably already has it nailed down by now."

Tweek nodded. "Yeah. It’s a repertoire they’ve done before, so the rest of the orchestra already knows it, but it’s my first time playing it live with them. So, it’s… kinda huge for me."

Craig didn’t hesitate. "Obviously, I’m going."

Tweek glanced up at him, hesitation flickering in his eyes. "You sure? I know you're busy—"

Craig gave him a flat look. "Tweek. You really think I’d miss it?"

Tweek let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. "I don’t know… you’re always busy with work, and it’s not like I haven’t done music stuff before—"

Craig shook his head. "Not like this. This is big. Your first role in a recital? You bet your ass I’m gonna be there."

Tweek bit his lip, like he was trying to suppress a smile, but Craig could see the way his ears were turning a little pink.

They moved down the aisle, Tweek quietly pleased, and Craig—well, Craig knew when to let him have his moment without making a fuss.

After a beat, Tweek grabbed a bundle of asparagus, his focus shifting again. "Okay, but enough about me—what about you? How’s the satellite thing going?"

Craig tossed a six-pack of protein bars into the cart. "Actually, the project’s almost in the prelim stage for launch."

Tweek blinked, clearly processing that. Then his face lit up. "Dude. That’s huge."

"Yeah, whole team’s pretty hyped" Craig admitted. "We’re basically just running final calculations and quality checks now."

Tweek turned to him, clearly impressed. "So, in not too much time, something you worked on is going to be in space?"

Craig shrugged, but there was the faintest hint of pride under his deadpan tone. "Looks like it."

"That’s insane. I mean, I get that you work at NASA and that’s kind of the whole point, but still. It’s wild to think about."

Craig took the compliment in stride, but before he could respond, Tweek’s gaze flickered to his hand.

"Wait—what’s that?"

Craig followed his line of sight and realized he was still holding a plastic tray.

Tweek folded his arms. "No. We are not buying that processed roast chicken for dinner."

Craig held it up. "But it’s a great deal."

"I don’t care if it’s only three dollars. It could be free, and I still wouldn’t risk it with a whole-ass processed chicken."

Craig sighed dramatically, putting it back. "You’re so mean to me."

"I’m keeping you alive."

Craig eyed the cart, now a weird mix of leafy greens, overpriced organic snacks, and a suspiciously high amount of vitamins. He exhaled through his nose.

"You know, for someone who used to live off caffeine and stress, you’ve gotten real opinionated about nutrition."

They wandered through the last few aisles, grabbing the final items on their grocery list—along with a few completely unnecessary impulse buys. Being an adult at Costco with a stable income and extra money meant they could spend however much they wanted. Hell, they could buy a pool table if they wanted (which they didn’t, at the moment).

So, aside from the ridiculous amount of snacks Craig had managed to sneak in, Tweek had his own unnecessary additions—a pack of two thermoses, even though they already had, like, a hundred at home (two more to the collection, then) and some fancy coffee blends Craig couldn’t even name if his life depended on it. (Tweek was the expert, not him.)

Once they made their way to the checkout line, Craig glanced down at their haul, amusement shifting into scepticism. "I can’t believe it’s, like, 50/50 between actual food and complete garbage. We’re supposed to be improving our diet."

Tweek scoffed. "We? I’m not the one who tried to sneak in an entire section’s worth of frozen pizza and the biggest bags of chips in the world."

"You let me have the pizza"

"Yeah, because I knew if I said no, you’d just show up tomorrow with two boxes of pizza for just us—and even worse, you’d get the one that tastes awful" Tweek grumbled, crossing his arms. His eyes flicked over the items on the conveyor belt. "I still don’t know how we ended up with this much junk. I looked away for two seconds, and suddenly it’s like we’re prepping for a college party."

Craig shrugged, completely unbothered. "You’re the one who got, like, three different brands of protein bars."

"Because we need actual nutrients in our bodies, Craig."

Craig waved a dismissive hand. "Well, I think that whatever keeps the hunger away is clearly God’s way."

Tweek groaned, rubbing his temples. "And yet, somehow, you work in aerospace."

Craig gave him a flat look. "Tweek. I literally have to make sure a million-dollar satellite doesn’t break apart in the thermosphere. Meanwhile, you’re over there flailing your hands at a bunch of kids with violins."

"Just so you know, dealing with kids is ten times more stressful than any job in the world. I have to deal with so much noise, kids fighting over who gets to be first chair, and those same gremlins trying to drink my coffee."

Craig held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Your job is just as difficult and important as mine."

Tweek narrowed his eyes. "That sounded sarcastic."

Craig smirked. "Would I ever be sarcastic with you?"

Tweek squinted at him, unimpressed.

Craig glanced at the cart again. "Look, all I’m saying is, at least if you mess up, your mistakes don’t end up floating around in orbit for the next hundred years."

"You’re implying that it doesn’t matter if I mess up my recital?"

"I’m just saying—the stakes are different."

Tweek groaned, but Craig caught the way his lips twitched, like he was fighting back a smile.

The cashier finished ringing them up, and as Craig reached for his wallet, he nudged Tweek lightly with his elbow.

"Hey, just so we’re clear, I’m really happy you got what you wanted for your career. That smile of yours could outshine anything."

"...Yeah, well," Tweek muttered, suddenly very focused on bagging their groceries. "Don’t get all flirty with me just because you’re trying to distract me from the fact that you still snuck in ice cream."

Craig gave him the blandest, most innocent look possible. "What? I have noooo idea how that got there."

Tweek shot him a look, but didn’t bother arguing.

Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

The sun wasn’t even out yet, and still, the whole apartment was full of life. Almost every light was on, the coffee machine hummed steadily, and, of course, there were the frantic, uneven steps echoing through the space.

Tweek was already in full panic mode, tearing through their apartment like a storm, yanking open closets and launching aside every pair of shoes and sneakers that weren’t the ones he was desperately searching for. A suit bag was slung over one shoulder, his work bag significantly heavier than usual, weighed down with last-minute essentials—cologne, deodorant, an extra pair of socks, because god forbid something went wrong today.

Craig, in contrast, was the picture of calm. Dressed and ready, he leaned against the kitchen counter, lazily sipping his coffee while flipping through some schematics on his tablet. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in final adjustments for the closure of his latest project. A few more calculations, final tunings here and there, and then all that was left was nailing down the launch dates.

He took another sip and glanced up, watching as Tweek darted past for what had to be the third time, now searching under the couch.

"You have a lot of pairs of shoes, and somehow none of them are where you left them?" Craig mused, not even looking away from his work. "Besides, I don’t know why you’re so preoccupied with that."

Tweek’s head snapped up, his hair even more dishevelled than usual. "DON’T JUST SIT THERE, HELP ME."

"Check the fridge."

Tweek, halfway through another frantic lap around the apartment, actually turned on his heel and yanked the fridge door open.

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

Craig wheezed, nearly choking on his coffee.

Tweek slammed the fridge shut, shooting him the most murderous glare he could muster. "I hate you so much."

Craig wiped at his eyes, still grinning. "You actually looked. That was clearly sarcasm."

Grumbling under his breath about his useless husband, Tweek went back to his search, eventually finding the missing shoes under their bed. With a victorious huff, he grabbed them, shoved them onto his feet without untying the laces, and grabbed his things in one fluid motion.

Craig barely had time to react before Tweek leaned in, pressing a quick kiss against his lips—warm, familiar, and a little rushed. Craig didn’t even get a chance to tease him for being dramatic before Tweek was already pulling away, adjusting the strap of his bag as he headed for the door.

Craig blinked, cup halfway to his mouth. That was… weird.

Tweek almost never left before him. Usually, Craig was the one out the door first, while Tweek took his time—hovering around the apartment, finishing his coffee at the kitchen counter before rushing out at the last minute.

But now, Tweek was the first to leave, moving fast, barely looking back.

Craig frowned slightly, watching the door swing shut behind him. He swirled his coffee absentmindedly, listening to the faint sound of Tweek’s hurried footsteps fading down the hall.

Huh.

He didn’t think much of it. If anything, he figured Tweek had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Wouldn’t be the first-time work at the conservatory had him wound up—with constant rehearsals, a group of kids to teach, and the added stress of his own performances, it made sense that he’d be on edge.

Craig shook his head, refocusing on his schematics. His mind had already started shifting gears, zoning in on the details of his own day.

Still, when he finished his coffee, grabbed his bag, and locked up behind him, something gnawed at the back of his mind—a vague, irritating feeling, like he was forgetting something.

He paused at the door, keys in hand, glancing back at the quiet apartment.

Nothing came to him.

Whatever.

He didn’t have time to stand around thinking about it. With a final shake of his head, Craig pocketed his keys and stepped out into the cool morning air, his mind already shifting back to work.

By the time he walked into the office, coffee in hand, the atmosphere was practically buzzing. It was a big day—not quite Neil Armstrong landing on the moon big, but for Craig and his team, it was huge. A victory months in the making.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head as he stared at the massive monitor in front of him. Weeks of late shifts, fine-tuning calculations, running simulations until his eyes blurred—and now, finally, it had paid off.

The project had cleared its last round of internal testing, and the team had just received confirmation: they were officially in the preliminary stage for launch. It was happening.

The satellite was ready—now, it was just a matter of waiting for their scheduled launch date.

Around him, the department had an air of excitement. Even his asshole of a coworker, Stan, hadn’t been giving him awful remarks today—and that was saying something. The workload was starting to ease up, and that meant their stressful long hours would finally be reduced.

Craig was grateful for that. He couldn’t wait to start having his well-deserved rest hours.

The office was slowing down, his work shifting from the big project to something significantly smaller. That also meant some of his coworkers were beginning to unwind, planning outings to celebrate.

Craig had zero interest. They could bring Mardi Gras to town, and he’d still prefer staying tucked in bed with his husband.

Still, his reluctance didn’t stop his coworkers from trying to drag him along.

Peter, the nerdy guy Craig had befriended since his first day, clapped him on the back with a grin. "Man, we have to go out tonight. We’re basically done with the hardest part of this project. If there was ever a time to celebrate, it’s now."

Craig exhaled, rubbing his temple. "You realize we still have to keep working while we wait for the launch, right?"

"Yeah, but come on, dude. You barely take breaks as it is. One night won’t kill you." Peter gestured toward a small group of engineers by the door. "We’re heading to that new bar downtown—drinks on the company card." He wiggled his eyebrows. "C’mon, even you can’t say no to free beer."

Craig hesitated, fingers hovering over his keyboard.

Honestly, he did need something to take his mind off work. Maybe something with Tweek—like hiking, like they used to do back in Denver. Or a spa day. Tweek gave the best massages, and hell, nothing compared to their lazy afternoons listening to vinyls while doing domestic chores together.

He missed that.

Thinking back, they really hadn’t had enough time for each other lately. Out of the two of them, he was the one spending the most time at work.

And that thought made his stomach churn.

Especially because he had been forgetting things. Small, everyday things—but still, they piled up. Answering Tweek’s texts late. Forgetting to ask about his day. Not even knowing his husband’s full schedule anymore.

Craig had always been good at dividing his mind, but lately, work had swallowed up so much of his focus that, without meaning to, Tweek had been pushed to the edges.

And that was a problem.

He rubbed his temple, that nagging feeling creeping up his spine again. He was forgetting something. He knew it. It sat heavy in his chest, an itch at the back of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried to grasp it, it slipped through his fingers.

His hand moved toward his pocket, ready to check his phone-

"Look, man, it's not just about the beer"

Peter's voice cut through his thoughts, followed by another clap on his back that made Craig exhale sharply.

"We're talking wings, fries, and—man, some of the girls from the other department are coming, too."

Craig raised an eyebrow. "And that's supposed to convince me how, exactly?"

Peter scoffed. "I dunno, maybe I thought you'd want to be a good wingman for the rest of us. Besides, it's not like you ever come out with us. Feels like you go straight from work to your cave every night."

Craig hesitated, fingers still grazing his pocket. That uneasy feeling lingered, urging him to check his phone—but then, he exhaled, shaking off the odd sense of unease. Maybe Peter was right—he had been working his ass off. One drink wouldn't kill him.

"Alright" Craig said finally, standing up and grabbing his work bag. "One drink. I'm not staying out all night."

Peter grinned, already leading the way out of the office while already going on about which bar had the best happy hour.

Craig didn't check his phone.

He didn't see the reminder Tweek had sent that morning.

By the time they were out the door and heading downtown, the nagging feeling was gone—buried beneath the laughter of his coworkers and the buzz of celebration.

⸻

His day was packed—that was an understatement.

Tweek had left home extra early for a final rehearsal with the orchestra. They had the repertoire nailed down, but a last run-through was still necessary, if only to shake off nerves and warm up to the pieces.

They played the entire program from start to finish, and surprisingly, it took less time than usual. Running through a full concert without stopping always made time feel different—less dragged out, more fluid. The music carried them.

Still, Tweek had canceled all his classes that day—both the children’s orchestra and his individual students. Max had been particularly pissed when Tweek told him a few days prior, but it wasn’t just him. Most of his coworkers had also cleared their schedules. Playing in a professional orchestra meant the orchestra always came first.

After the final rehearsal, the musicians began to scatter, each tending to their own pre-show rituals. Some went to check their instruments, others retreated to get dressed or grab a quick bite. Tweek found himself flipping through his sheet music, double-checking everything—even though he knew it was fine.

The conductor clapped her hands together, calling for their attention. The chatter in the rehearsal hall settled as she stepped onto the podium, surveying them with a small smile.

"You all know this program inside and out." she said, her voice steady and full of certainty. "You’ve played it well. You’ve played it beautifully. And tonight, you will play it even better. Not because I expect perfection, but because I know every single one of you has worked to make this concert what it should be—an experience for the audience, for the music, and for yourselves."

Tweek felt a small, proud warmth settle in his chest. He’d heard plenty of pre-show speeches in college, but this one felt different. This one mattered—because for the first time, he was hearing it as a formal orchestra member.

"Trust each other," the conductor continued. "Listen. Feel the music. And most importantly—enjoy it. Now go, take your time, get ready, and I’ll see you on stage."

A light applause followed, and soon, the orchestra dispersed further, each musician heading off to make their final preparations.

Tweek lingered for a moment, neatly stacking his sheet music before heading to check on a few last-minute details. He stopped by the trumpets, who were adjusting their mutes and quietly running through tricky passages.

"Well, that wasn’t a disaster" Trumpet Guy said as Tweek approached.

"Not yet" Trumper Guy two chimed in.

Tweek snorted. "We’ll see after the third movement."

"First time playing in the big orchestra for real, huh?" Trumpet guy said, nudging him lightly. "Bet that’s exciting."

"Yeah," Tweek admitted. "It’s—uh, huge for me, actually."

"You’ll kill it. You play excellent" the first trumpet player said with a confident nod. "Just don’t get too nervous and rush the tempo. We’d rather not get left in the dust."

Tweek huffed. "I never rush."

The trumpet section collectively shot him a skeptical look.

"...Okay, almost never. And that’s just because I get the show jitters" he muttered, rolling his eyes before moving on.

By the time he got backstage, the area was already buzzing with activity. Musicians were gathered in small clusters—the violins and violas were quietly running through difficult passages with their mutes on, making last-minute adjustments to their music sheets.

"I think my score is missing the dynamics!"
"You just noticed!?"

Tweek didn’t need to tune his instrument or go over any tricky passages—not because he was overly confident, but because he couldn’t. The piano was already on stage, so his only option was to focus on getting dressed and warming up his hands.

Slipping into his assigned space, he pulled out his suit and started changing with practiced efficiency.

He was adjusting his collar when a voice piped up behind him.

"Damn, Tweekers, you clean up nice."

Tweek glanced over his shoulder to see one of the violinists leaning against the doorway with an easy smirk.

Tweek scoffed. "Shut up."

"I mean it" the first violinist said, unbothered. "Looking sharp. Your husband’s lucky."

Tweek rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the slight flush that crept up his neck. "Just go tune your damn violin."

The violinist held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Good luck out there, man."

"You too" Tweek muttered, turning back to the mirror.

Once he was fully dressed, he grabbed his sheet music and took a deep breath.

This was it.

He made his way toward the stage entrance, where the other musicians were beginning to line up. The low murmur of the audience was already audible through the heavy curtains—a distant hum of anticipation.

Tweek pulled out his phone one last time, his fingers tightening around it as he stared at the screen. His thumb hovered over the lock screen for a moment too long before he gave in and checked again.

Still nothing.

No calls. No texts. No message from Craig.

He’d sent a reminder that morning—Don’t forget, my recital’s tonight. 7 PM.—but Craig hadn’t responded.

Tweek had tried not to let it get to him. He told himself it was fine. Craig was probably just caught up in work. That was all. He’d show up. He always did.

He had to.

But the longer the silence dragged on, the more the doubt crept in.

What if Craig didn’t come? What if, this time, he really didn’t show up for him?

Tweek swallowed hard, shaking the thought away. This wasn’t the time to fall apart.

He forced a shaky breath out, muted his phone, and shoved it into his bag just as the stage manager signaled that it was time.

Tweek took one last deep breath, steeling himself before stepping out into the lights.

The audience erupted into applause, but all Tweek could think about was the empty seat in the front row—the seat that was supposed to be Craig’s.

By the time they made it to the bar, Craig was already regretting letting himself be dragged along.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like his coworkers—well, most of them—but he was tired. He wanted to go home, tell Tweek about his day and the big news that the satellite had been approved, maybe watch a movie with his husband, and then collapse into bed.

The bar was crowded, the air thick with the smell of beer and the sound of laughter. Craig nursed his drink, his mind lost in thought. He’d earned this. He’d worked hard, and now he was reaping the rewards.

But he really didn’t want to be here.

He’d rather be celebrating with Tweek. And as the night wore on, that nagging feeling crept back, stronger this time.

"You good, man?" Peter asked, nudging him with his elbow.

"Yeah" Craig said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Just... thinking."

Peter raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. "Well, stop thinking and start drinking. You’re supposed to be celebrating, remember?"

Craig sighed, sipping his drink. He wanted to go home.

Before he could dwell on the unease curling in his stomach, another coworker slid into the seat beside him and Peter.

Craig now definitely wanted to go home.

Even sitting next to Stan would be better than this.

It was one of the female engineers from the systems department. Craig didn’t have a problem working with women—he couldn’t care less if someone was male or female. Everyone at his job was there because they were damn good at what they did.

But this coworker—let’s call her Insufferable Woman—had been hovering around him for a while now.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. Craig wasn’t the best at picking up on social cues, and he tended to mind his own business. But lately, it had been too obvious. The flirtation. The way she always managed to sit next to him at meetings. The not-so-subtle attempts to "casually" touch his arm.

Craig ignored it for the most part. But now, he was just uncomfortable.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked, flashing a bright smile at Craig.

Craig barely glanced up.

"Go ahead" Peter answered, completely missing his friend’s discomfort.

She settled her drink down, angling her body toward Craig as she joined the conversation. "You guys really pulled through with this project, huh? I mean, you especially, Mr. Tucker. You’re basically running circles around everyone."

Craig shrugged. "It’s a team effort."

"Sure, but still, I think you’re super amazing."

Peter, across from them, raised an eyebrow. His expression shifted slightly—one brow creeping higher while a frown tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I really don’t think Craig’s department should get all the credit" Peter interjected. "I mean, my department has been working just as hard—complementing the code, debugging like crazy—"

"Yeah, but have you seen Mr. Tucker’s team? They’re basically carrying the project." She giggled, swirling her drink. "No doubt they’ve got the biggest salaries and the biggest brains."

Silence.

Craig and Peter exchanged a look.

Craig ate a wing. Peter took a long sip of his drink.

She either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

"And for Mr. Tucker to be there? The youngest in his team? It’s actually really impressive. You’re so smart, Mr. Tucker. Bet you’re a natural genius."

Craig sighed. "Thanks, but I actually educated my ass off."

She leaned in slightly, swirling her drink again. "Still, I bet you’d raise some really smart kids."

Without warning, she reached forward and pressed her hands against his biceps.

Craig tensed.

Goddammit. Peter. Help a man out here.

"I really don’t like children" Craig said flatly, shifting away from her. "I won’t have any."

"That’s a shame..." She tilted her head, giving him a too sweet smile. "You’ve never wondered what your kids would look like?"

"No."

"Really? You won’t ever have children?"

Craig clenched his jaw. "No."

"Shame, really." She sighed dramatically. "I think that with both your brains and looks... as well as mine... we’d have great children."

Craig froze.

Wait.

Wait—hold on.

His head turned, finally looking at her properly. If he wanted to leave some minutes ago, now he desperately wanted to get the fuck out of here.

"No." he said sharply. "Don’t ever think about it. I have a husband."

Her gaze flickered to his hand.

For the first time, Craig realized she hadn’t even noticed his wedding ring before.

"Oh." she said, but she didn’t back down. She tilted her head, giving him a sly smile. "How about I’m your backup plan if anything ever goes down?"

Craig’s eye twitched. "No. I’m perfectly happy with my husband."

She shrugged. "That’s not exactly a dealbreaker for some people." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "A lot of people in our field are like doctors—too consumed in work to have a real relationship. Sooo... if you ever change your mind—"

Peter, choking on his drink, turned away to hide his unbelievable face.

Craig’s grip on his glass tightened. "I said no. And that’s final."

He stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket. "Even better—how about you stay a hundred meters away from me? No, a fucking kilometre if you please."

Craig stepped out of the bar, the cold night air hitting him like a slap to the face. He let out a sharp exhale, running a hand down his face as he tried to shake off the uncomfortable conversation. His heart was still hammering—half from frustration, half from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Peter followed behind him, hands in his pockets. "Dude, you really stormed out of there. You okay?"

Craig didn’t answer right away.

He needed to get home. It was already late. He needed to calm down and enjoy his triumph with Tweek—not with these people who meant almost nothing to him.

He fished his phone out of his jacket, the glow of the screen casting a dim light over his face as he unlocked it.

The time stared back at him. 8:16 PM.

As well as a small notification on his lock screen.

Don’t forget, my recital’s tonight. 7 PM.

His stomach dropped.

"Fuck..."

Peter blinked. "What?"

Craig’s fingers tightened around his phone as his brain finally connected the dots. The vague feeling that something was off had been nagging at him all night, but now it crashed into him like a goddamn truck.

Tweek’s recital.

He thought it was in some days. Not today.

His mind drifted to their conversation in the Costco parking lot.

"Yeah, it’s a week from today. Nighttime. I’m really nervous."
"You’ll do great, babe."

That was a week ago.

FUCK.

His heart pounded against his ribs, sharp and panicked.

He was supposed to be there. Front row. Watching Tweek participate in his first major orchestra performance as a formal member. Watching him do something he worked so goddamn hard for since years before.

Craig swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wasn't there.

He wasn't fucking there.

"Oh fuck!" Craig muttered, louder this time, his fingers flying to his notifications.

2 missed calls. 2 unread texts.

- Tweek (6:30 PM): You're coming, right?
- Tweek (6:55 PM): Craig?

He stared at the messages, his pulse roaring in his ears. The last one had been sent over an hour ago.

He could already picture it—Tweek checking his phone, waiting, hoping—fuck.

Craig turned to Peter, eyes wide. "I have to go."

Peter frowned. "Go where?"

"Tweek’s recital. It—he—fuck, I was supposed to be there. Not here."

He ran a hand through his hair, stepping back toward the street, his body already moving before his brain could fully process it.

"God, I’m such a fucking idiot."

Peter gave him a look. "Yeah, kinda."

Craig shot him a glare, but there was no time for an argument.

He turned on his heel, hurrying toward his car, fingers clenching around his keys.

Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t too late.

Please, let him not be too late.

By the time they were nearing the end of the second movement, half the audience was dozing off.

Tweek understood. The second movement was always the slowest, a soft lull in the storm of the symphony. It wasn’t that it lacked beauty—in fact, it was one of his favourite parts. But to the average person, especially those who were just here to support family members, it was a cue to sink into their seats and let their thoughts drift elsewhere.

Not that Tweek cared about them.

His focus was on the music—on the delicate precision of the strings, the subtle rise and fall of the woodwinds, the steady pulse of the timpani beneath it all. His eyes scanned his sheets, counting the tempo, waiting for his next entrance on the piano.

Still, his mind had been splitting in two the entire time.

A part of him was present—of course, he was. He’d worked too damn hard not to be fully here. But the other part, the restless, anxious part, kept sneaking glances toward the front row.

Craig wasn’t there.

Tweek’s jaw clenched. He had checked the audience when he first walked on stage. Then again before the first movement. And again, when they transitioned into the second.

Every time, his heart had sunk lower.

No Craig. No familiar slouch, no arms crossed, no stupid, unreadable expression that Tweek had spent years learning to decipher.

His hands trembled slightly, tension creeping up his spine, but he forced himself to stay steady.

This wasn’t college. This was professional. This was his job. He couldn’t afford to let personal shit distract him.

But God, it was hard.

A tiny voice in his head tried to be rational. Maybe Craig got caught up at work. Maybe he’d show up any second now, slipping into his seat at the last moment with that sheepish look, the one that meant, Sorry I’m late, but I’m here.

But another, much louder voice whispered: He forgot.

That thought made his stomach twist.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Craig was busy. He had a demanding job.

And, if he was being honest, it wasn’t just Craig’s fault.

Tweek had been caught up in his own work too, too distracted to remind him beyond the one—or maybe two—times he’d mentioned it. But that shouldn’t have mattered. He shouldn’t have to remind him.

Craig should have remembered.

Maybe tonight, Tweek just wasn’t a priority.

His eyes stung as the final measures of the second movement approached. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, pushing down the frustration clawing at his chest.

A full house was watching. A hundred musicians were relying on each other to stay in tempo.

He would get through this performance.

And then he would figure out what the fuck Craig’s excuse was.

By the time the third movement began, Tweek had forced Craig out of his mind.

It wasn’t even intentional—there was simply no room for anything but the music now.

His fingers glided over the keys, fluid and precise, his whole body locked into the performance. The rush of the orchestra swelled around him, the strings pulling the tempo forward, the brass pushing with bold, triumphant calls—but Tweek remained in his own space, in his own rhythm.

And then—the moment came.

The orchestra softened. The conductor gave him the cue.

Tweek inhaled sharply, hands steady over the keys.

His solo.

For the first time tonight, the world narrowed to just him and the piano.

His fingers danced over the keys, effortlessly weaving through the cascading melody. Every note poured out of him like instinct, like something deeper than thought.

This was where he belonged.

Not overthinking.

Not worrying.

Just playing.

His whole being was absorbed in the sound, the weight of the keys under his fingertips, the perfect harmony between him and the orchestra that gently rejoined him in the final bars.

And as the movement surged to its climactic end, as the last, reverberating note rang through the hall—

The audience erupted into applause.

A wave of sound crashed through the theater, sweeping over the orchestra in a roar of cheers and whistles.

Tweek stood with the rest of the musicians, stepping away from the piano as the conductor took her bow. Then, she gestured toward the orchestra, acknowledging each section one by one.

Finally, she turned to Tweek.

"Our new pianist" the conductor announced, extending a hand toward him.

A spotlight swung in his direction.

Tweek blinked as the applause swelled, louder than before. He beamed, breathless and exhilarated, standing to give a short bow.

It was overwhelming—the way the energy of the room surged around him, the way his heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.

His eyes instinctively scanned the audience, searching for the one person he wanted to see the most.

His smile faltered.

Craig wasn’t there.

Tweek’s stomach twisted. His gaze darted back and forth, hoping—praying—that Craig had just arrived late, that maybe he’d slipped into a different seat, that maybe he was standing in the back, trying not to be obvious.

But no.

The seat Craig was supposed to be in—his reserved seat—was empty.

Tweek swallowed, the warmth from before vanishing, replaced by something cold and heavy sitting in his chest. He forced himself to smile again, to keep up appearances, as the orchestra took their final bows.

Then it was done.

The concert was over.

Some musicians left the stage immediately, greeted by their families and partners with open arms—hugs, flowers, bright voices congratulating them. Backstage filled with laughter, warmth, the sound of people who had someone waiting for them.

Tweek slipped into the hallway behind the stage, the rush of applause still ringing in his ears. but none of it touching him.

He sat on a bench in the dimly lit corridor, his hands clasped between his knees, staring at nothing. The hum of conversation buzzed through the walls, but it all felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater.

A soft pat on his shoulder made him blink.

The first violinist stood beside him, offering a small, sympathetic smile. He didn’t say anything—just gave him a gentle pat—once, twice—before sitting next to him.

He didn’t push him to talk. Didn’t try to cheer him up. Just stayed there.

Tweek exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the wall. "I feel stupid" he muttered.

Another quiet pat.

But it didn’t fix the hollow feeling in his chest.

After a while, he left the conservatory. Other musicians exited with him, walking arm in arm with their partners, their kids running ahead excitedly, families chatting about how incredible the performance had been.

Tweek stepped out too.

Alone.

The cold air brushed against his skin as he walked a few paces away from the entrance, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

He didn’t want to go home. Not yet. The apartment would just feel empty, and he wasn’t ready to sit in that silence.

Then—

"Tweek!"

A small voice called out, bright and excited.

He blinked, turning toward the sound.

Tobias stood there, bundled up in his too-big coat, his hair a mess from the wind, looking up at him with wide, shining eyes.

Tweek straightened slightly. "Tobias?"

"I saw you play!" He ran up to Tweek, practically bouncing. "It was so cool." His voice was filled with awe. "The music was, like, crazy! I liked everything, but I really liked the piano the best. You played it, right? You were awesome!"

Tweek stared at him, momentarily stunned. "You—you were in the audience?"

Tobias nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I came with the other kids from the conservatory. They gave us free tickets and everything!" He flung his arms wide as if to emphasize just how amazing the whole experience had been. "I've never seen something like that before— it was like a movie! It was magical! But better!"

Tweek let out a small breath of laughter.

The disappointment, the dull ache in his chest—it didn't disappear, but it lessened, just a little.

He crouched down slightly, so they were eye level. "You really liked it?"

Tobias beamed. "Duh! You were the best part!"

Tweek snorted, ruffling the kid's hair. "You don't gotta say that just 'cause you know the 'piano man'"

"But I mean it!" Tobias huffed, then he got closer to Tweek with an adorable look in his eyes. "I wish I could do something like that."

"Maybe someday you could"

Tobias's eyes lit up at that.

"You really mean that!?"

For the first time that night, Tweek felt lighter. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"I really do think so."

And the smile Tobias gave him was the brightest thing he’d seen all day.

The tight feeling in his chest wasn’t bad this time. Even though the air was crisp and cold, he felt warm.

Maybe this—this little moment—felt just like when he was on stage.

Just like when he was playing.

Just like when he was with…

Craig.

Maybe he could hold onto this warmth for just a little while longer. And then he’d go back to his empty apartment. Yeah. He’d just do that.

They stood there for a while, just talking. Tobias bombarded him with questions—about the piano, about the orchestra, about whether Tweek liked the stars or dinosaurs more. It was easy. Comfortable. Exactly what Tweek needed.

And then-

A car engine.

Tweek turned. Just a few paces away, a familiar car pulled up to the curb.

The headlights illuminated the pavement, the familiar hum of the engine filling the quiet night.

The driver's side door opened.

He didn't need to see who was inside.

He already knew.

Craig.

Craig stepped out of the car; his face shadowed with regret. His hands curled at his sides as he hesitated, watching Tweek standing there under the streetlights. His chest felt tight, the guilt sitting heavy in his stomach.

"Tweek, I-"

But Tweek didn't even look at him.

He was still facing Tobias, his voice calm but distant as he asked, "Where are your parents?"

Tobias, still grinning from their conversation. "I came with Mr. Schnurrbart. He said he'd take the students back after the show."

Tweek nodded. "Alright. Stay close to him, yeah?"

"Yeah! Don't worry, he's cool. Kinda strict, but y'know, in a fun way."

Tweek let out a quiet chuckle, and Tobias' smile grew. Then, without hesitation, the boy stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Tweek's legs in a quick, tight hug.

"You played so good." Tobias looked up at him, eyes bright. "I wanna play like you someday."

Tweek froze for just a second—then, slowly, he returned the hug, his fingers curling gently against Tobias’ back.

"Thanks, Toby" he said, a genuine smile flickering across his face.

Craig took a step forward, about to ask who the hell this kid was—

But Tweek was already walking away.

He didn't wait. Didn't give Craig a chance to say anything. Just turned and headed straight for the car.

Craig swallowed and followed.

The car door shut with a dull thud.

The air between them was thick—the kind of heavy, suffocating silence that made his skin itch.

He exhaled, glancing at Tweek, his voice laced with guilt.

"Tweek, I—I’m really sorry. Something came up at work and—"

"The car reeks of alcohol. You reek of beer. So don’t give me excuses."

The coldness in Tweek’s voice cut through the car like a blade.

Craig snapped his mouth shut.

Tweek wasn’t yelling.

And that was worse.

His hands rested in his lap, his posture tense but controlled. His voice didn’t shake—not from anger, not from frustration.

Just a quiet, firm, unshakable disappointment.

"I don't care about work, Craig" Tweek continued, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "You could've had a real emergency, and I would've understood." His fingers twitched slightly, a barely-there movement, but his voice didn’t waver. "I care that you didn’t even remember until just now."

Craig's throat tightened.

"I care that you forgot. And instead of telling me the truth, instead of calling me the moment you realized, you come here smelling like alcohol and feeling guilty for forgetting about me."

Craig opened his mouth, but-

He had nothing.

No excuse.

Nothing that would fix this.

"I messed up" he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Tweek let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched in his lap.

"You forgot about me" he said again. Softer. But not weaker. "About something that mattered to me."

The silence that followed was heavier than it had ever been.

Craig gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He wanted to say something—anything—but what could he even say?

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The drive home was silent.

And when they got there, Tweek didn't look at him. Didn't say a word.

He just grabbed a set of pajamas and went straight to the guest room.

The door closed behind him with a soft, final click.

And Craig was left standing in the hallway, staring at the empty space where Tweek used to be.

Craig had always thought he understood Tweek.

They had been together for years—long enough for Craig to memorize the patterns of Tweek's emotions. The way his stress came in spikes and his affection in waves. The way his anxieties could build or dissipate, sometimes over the stupidest things.

That was the part that unnerved him the most now.

Tweek had always been loud.

But now, Tweek was quiet.

Too quiet.

Craig had expected some kind of reaction when they got home last night—anger, frustration, a sharp retort about him not giving a damn.

Instead, Tweek had barely looked at him.

He had just taken his pajamas and left the room.

Back when they first started dating, they would fight over the stupidest things. They'd give each other the cold shoulder for a day or two, then reconcile like nothing happened. Silly fights that didn't really matter, ones Craig could barely even remember because they were so ridiculous.

But the important things? The real disagreements?

They barely had those.

No screaming matches. No slammed doors. Just discussions—sometimes tense, sometimes stubborn—but always resolved. The kind of talks that made them stronger.

What last name would they take after marriage? Separate or shared bank accounts? Their first car?

All big decisions. But they never turned into fights. They solved them by talking.

And they always came out stronger for it.

But now... this felt different.

This felt big.

As Craig moved through their apartment that morning, it started to sink in.

This wasn't a disagreement.

This wasn't a stupid fight over what takeout to order or whose turn it was to clean the bathroom.

This was something that had been building for a while.

And now, it had finally exploded.

He felt it the moment he woke up.

Alone.

The house felt heavier. His body felt heavier.

He went through his morning routine.

Alone.

Then, when he finally stepped out of their shared bedroom, hoping that Tweek was already up, waiting in the kitchen, looking mad but at least looking at him...

The apartment was empty.

The guest room door was still shut.

Tweek was always an early riser. But ever since their new schedules, Craig had been the one waking up and getting ready first. Still, normally, Tweek would be in the kitchen by now, making coffee, muttering about the day ahead.

But today?

The kitchen was empty. The coffee pot was cold. The lights were off, making the whole apartment feel even colder.

And the worst part?

Tweek hadn't even come out to kiss him goodbye.

It was small. So small. But for Craig, it felt like a train derailing off its tracksA habit he had taken for granted—something that was just supposed to happen—until it didn't.

And that was when Craig realized.

He had messed up. Big time.

Not just by forgetting the recital. Not just last night.

This had been coming for a while.

The long hours. The late nights. The missed dinners. The days where he barely saw Tweek at all.

And Tweek had been putting up with it. Not because he was okay with it.

But because he had gotten used to it.

That realization twisted in Craig's gut.

He had been neglecting him. He had been neglecting their relationship. Too focused on work. Too distracted to notice what was slipping through his fingers.

Until now.

Even when he got to work, Craig couldn't get the thought of how badly he had screwed up out of his head. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. Work was piling up, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His office was quiet—most of his team was on break.

Instead, he pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and hovered his thumb over Clyde's name before pressing call.

It barely rang twice before Clyde picked up.

"Dude. You never call me during work unless you're having some kind of crisis. What happened?"

Craig ran a hand down his face. "I fucked up."

There was a pause. "Okay... how bad?"

Craig sighed, sinking further into his chair. "Tweek's been sleeping in the guest room since last night, and I don't think we're okay."

Clyde let out a low whistle. "Yikes. That's not something one hears coming from you two. You must have really fucked up."

Craig groaned. "Yeah, thanks. Super helpful."

"I mean, consider yourself lucky you guys have spare rooms now. Back when you lived in the apartment in Denver, you'd be on the couch, no doubt."

Craig frowned. "What? I'm still in our room. Tweek's the one who left."

Clyde snorted. "Craig. Buddy. Between you and Tweek, if someone's getting exiled to the couch, it wasn't gonna be him."

Craig frowned deeper. "How the hell does this help me fix things with my husband, Clyde?"

"Dunno, man. I just think it's funny."

Craig pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I hate you."

"No, you don't." Clyde chuckled. "But seriously, what did you do?"

Craig exhaled, leaning forward against his desk. "I missed his concert."

Clyde winced. "OH. The one dream he's had since we were kids. Yeah, that's rough, buddy."

"And forgot about it" 

"...Okay, that's even worse."

Craig let his head drop against the desk. "He says he understands my workload, but I can tell he's just done. And I don't blame him."

"Dude, he's not done. He's pissed. There's a difference."

Craig sighed. "That's the thing, though. He's not pissed. I've been handling his outbursts for years, but this—this is different. He's disappointed. And now I don't know what to do. Or how to fix it."

Clyde hummed. "Yeah, cold shoulder Tweek is a whole different beast. You call me for advice or just to suffer out loud?"

Craig huffed. "I hate to say it, but I need help. Advice. You're also married, you've got kids, and you seem to fight with Bebe at least five times a week—you must know how to deal with this shit."

"Ah, yes. Wise family man Clyde Donovan, here to dispense life-changing marriage advice" Clyde said mockingly. "Go on."

Craig ignored him. "How do you fix things when Bebe's pissed at you?"

"Craig, she's always pissed at me."

"Clyde."

"Well, step one, I shut up and listen. Step two, I actually do something about what made her mad in the first place. Because if I just say sorry and keep doing the same thing, she's got zero reason to believe I give a shit."

Craig frowned. "That's it?"

"And I make it up to her. Look, man, it's not about grand gestures. It's consistency. If I only pay attention after I screw up, then I'm not actually fixing the problem."

Craig was quiet.

Because that hit too close to home.

Tweek had been patient. Too patient.

Craig had assumed that meant things were fine. But now, standing in the aftermath, he realized—

Tweek hadn't been fine.

And Craig had been too wrapped up in work to see it.

"Shit" he muttered.

"Yeah" Clyde said. "So, fix it. Before Tweek gets used to being without you."

Craig winced at that.

"Thanks, Clyde" he said flatly.

"Anytime, man. Call me later, I wanna hear how bad you fuck it up."

Craig hung up.

His head was still buzzing with Clyde's words when he heard a knock on his office door.

Peter leaned against the frame, arms crossed. "So... how's the damage in paradise going?"

Craig sighed, rubbing his temple. "Just... trying to figure some things out."

Peter nodded knowingly. "Yeah. High-stress jobs don't exactly make relationships easy. That's why a lot of guys in our field don't bother with them."

Craig looked down at his desk, frowning.

"You've been with Tweek forever, right?"

Craig huffed a weak laugh. "Yeah. Feels like my whole life."

"Then don't mess that up. He's got patience, but no one's patience is endless."

Craig looked at him.

Peter tapped the doorframe on his way out. "Just some advice. You don't wanna be the guy who wakes up one day and realizes he lost the best thing he had."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Craig alone with his thoughts.

He had a lot to fix.

Craig stayed in his chair long after Peter left, staring blankly at the surface of his desk. He wasn't doing anything—wasn't working. His mind kept looping back to the same thing.

Tweek.

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand down his face, grabbing his phone out of habit. At first, he only meant to check the time, but when he unlocked the screen, an old photo stared back at him.

Craig blinked.

It was years ago. Back when they were still in college, in their shitty one-bedroom apartment in Denver. A candid shot—probably taken by Clyde or Bebe—of Tweek, mid-gesture, laughing. His mouth open, eyes crinkled, hands caught in motion like he'd just been arguing about something stupid.

Craig sat beside him, turned slightly, watching him with that stupidly soft look he never used on anyone else.

Craig swallowed. He could practically hear the moment just by looking at it.

""Just you see, I'll make thousands if I work at NASA."

"Yeah, but who's gonna keep you from going insane?"

"Babe, you're two steps from hitting insanity yourself."

"That's not true. You're the brains, I'm the heart. I keep things fun. You'll need my creative ass to keep you grounded."

"Babe... all creative thought comes from the right side of the brain. So technically, we both have the brains."

"You just ruined the moment, Craig."

"Shut up, Clyde."

Craig had probably teased him about being so dramatic. Tweek had probably shoved him, still grinning, and they had probably ended up making out on that couch instead of finishing the conversation while their friends awkwardly avoided eye contact.

It was a normal day. Simple. Easy.

They used to be so easy.

His fingers swiped absently. Another photo. Another moment.

Tweek in their kitchen, wearing one of Craig's hoodies, stirring something on the stove. Tweek at the beach, barefoot, kicking up water. A blurry selfie of them in bed, Tweek rolling his eyes while Craig kissed his temple.

What suddenly changed? 

Little things. Subtle shifts. Things Craig had ignored.

Until last night proved just how deep the cracks had gotten.

His grip tightened on the phone. He had to fix this. Craig shut off the screen, shoving his phone in his pocket as he straightened in his chair. He still had work to finish, but he could start making things right.

No more extra hours. No more excuses. No putting work over Tweek.

And the first step?

Picking him up after work.

Just like he used to.

Tweek had spent the entire morning thinking about it.

It was impossible not to.

Even as he went through the motions—his usual morning routine, his walk to the conservatory, the first few rehearsals of the day—his mind kept circling back to the same thought.

He hated fighting with Craig.

Ever since they were kids, every argument left him feeling anxious, off, like something was missing. He hated how it made his chest feel tight, like there was something deep in his throat that wouldn't go away. And what made it worse was knowing they weren't just fighting over something dumb or temporary—this wasn't about whose superhero team was better, or whether pineapple belonged on pizza.

This wasn't something that would blow over by dinner.

This was serious.

But ignoring Craig wouldn't fix anything.

Tweek frowned at himself in the mirror as he adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, exhaling sharply. He wanted to be mad. He was mad. But being mad didn't change the fact that Craig was his husband, and they had built their entire lives together.

The sooner they talked—really talked—the sooner they could fix this.

Still, he had a job to do. And work, at least, gave him a temporary distraction.

Mid-rehearsal had just wrapped up, and the conductor was praising the orchestra for their performance in the recital. Tweek sat at the grand piano, hands resting lightly on the keys as the last notes of their piece faded into the hall.

The moment was brief, but he let himself enjoy it—that sense of satisfaction that came with a well-executed performance.

As the musicians packed up, he caught the conductor's approving nod.

"You played beautifully in the recital, Mr. Tucker."

Tweek startled slightly before mumbling a modest, "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck, still unused to compliments on his playing, even after all these years.

The next part of his day was with the children's orchestra. And if there was anything that could drag him out of his spiraling thoughts, it was them.

Tweek was barely two steps into the rehearsal room when one of the younger kids ran up to him with an eager smile.

"Mr. Tweek, you were so amazing on stage yesterday! You looked super fancy!"

"Yeah! And you played the piano like a real pro!" another kid chimed in.

"Obviously! Because he's one!"

Tweek felt his face heat up instantly. "Oh—uh—thanks," he muttered, adjusting his shirt cuffs. Then, narrowing his eyes playfully, he added, "But compliments aren't gonna save you guys from playing scales today."

A collective groan echoed through the room, making him chuckle.

He led them through warm-ups, their playful energy bringing some much-needed levity to his mood. For the next hour, he focused entirely on them—on correcting posture, encouraging them through difficult sections, making sure no one got too distracted.

By the time class ended, Tweek felt a little lighter.

That was—until he stepped into the hallway and let reality creep back in.

The weight settled on his chest again, his shoulders tensing. He sighed, rubbing his temple.

It was moments like this—the silent ones—when his mind crept back to Craig.

Not just to the missed recital.

But to everything he had been feeling since they moved to California.

Maybe his dad was right.

Maybe they had rushed into it.

Maybe another state, another life, was too much for them to handle on their own.

Maybe they were already facing the consequences.

"Tweek!"

A small voice chirped, bright and excited, interrupting his thoughts.

Tobias.

The little boy hopped off a bench and rushed toward him, a juice box in one hand and a bag of gummies in the other.

Tweek managed a small smile despite himself. "Hey, Toby. You waiting for someone?"

"Nah. Mr. Schnurrbart is still talking to people, so I'm just hanging out around!"

"You sure like being in the conservatory."

"Yeah! This place is fantabulous! I love being here!"

Tweek laughed a little.

"You mean fantastic."

"Yeah, that." Tobias corrected, taking a sip of his juice box. Then, his expression faltered slightly, his little brows furrowing. "You look off."

Tweek blinked. "What?"

"You look sad" Tobias repeated, tilting his head. "Did something bad happen?"

Tweek stiffened. "Oh—uh—" He forced a laugh. "What? No way. I'm totally fine."

Tobias narrowed his eyes, unconvinced.

Tweek sighed, slumping slightly. "I'm just... thinking about a lot of things, buddy. But don't worry about it."

Tobias hummed, like he was considering that. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "Wanna see something cool?"

Tweek blinked. "Uh... sure?"

Tobias immediately dug into his backpack and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He smoothed it out and proudly held it up.

It was a crayon drawing. Of him. 

Well, of Tweek and Tobias, sitting at the piano together. Tweek's wild hair had been exaggerated—practically taking up half the page—and Tobias had drawn himself with a huge smile. Above them, in shaky, misspelled handwriting, were the words:

"Mr. Tweek is the best piano player!"

Tweek stared.

"I wanted to make you something 'cause for me, you're the best player in the whole world." The little kid said with shyness, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "And when you played with me, I was really happy."

Tweek's chest tightened.

"Well? What do you think?" Tobias prompted, rocking on his heels.

A laugh bubbled out of him before he could stop it. "Toby. This is awesome." He ruffled Tobias' hair, genuinely touched. "I look way cooler in your version."

Tobias beamed. "I think you're already cool, though."

Tweek felt something warm settle in his chest. He smiled softly, glancing at the drawing again. "Thanks, bud. I needed that."

He lingered there for a while, still staring at the drawing with a goofy smile on his face. Tobias kept chattering beside him, his voice bright and animated, filling the quiet hallway with his endless energy.

He talked about his favorite pastries. How he liked sneaking into the room where the old piano was, just to play. He rambled on about all the impressive places in the conservatory, detailing his grand adventures while alien dinosaurs chased him.

It was the kind of ridiculous kid banter Tweek usually dismissed as nonsense. But with Tobias, it was... adorable and interesting.

"I really like the piano, I feel like a lot of colors and funny feelings in my chest and guts dance with the music i play"

Tweek laughed at that. "Yeah, I get that. It feels exciting, doesn't it?"

Tobias nodded enthusiastically, his tiny hands waving in the air as he tried to describe the feeling. "Yeah! It's like—like when you eat candy, and it's super sweet, but instead of in my mouth, it's in my chest!"

Tweek chuckled. "That's a pretty good way to put it."

Tobias took another sip from his juice box, kicking his legs absentmindedly against the bench. "I like it here a lot."

"The conservatory?"

"Yeah." He rocked on his heels. "It's my favorite place. I get to play the piano here, and it's, like... the only place that makes me really happy."

Tweek blinked at that, something about the way Tobias said it making his chest tighten. "Yeah? Well, that's good. It's important to have a place that feels like yours."

Tobias nodded but suddenly pouted a little. "It's just... I don't get to come every day."

Tweek tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, 'cause I move a lot" 

"Your parents move a lot?" he asked carefully.

Tobias tilted his head. "I don't have those."

Tweek felt his breath hitch. Tobias said it so simply, as if it were just a regular part of life. 

"So I already know a bunch of people in town 'cause I've lived in, like, a billion different places." He stretched his arms wide for emphasis.

Tweek's stomach twisted.

A billion was obviously an exaggeration, but... moving a lot wasn't something most four-year-olds casually talked about.

Moving a lot with strangers wasn't something a four-year-old should have to talk about.

Tobias took another sip from his juice, completely unaware of the look on Tweek's face. "Like, before, I stayed with a lady who had so many cats. And then before that, I was with a guy who had a really big truck, and before that, I was with—hmm, I don't remember that one." He scrunched his nose in thought before shaking his head. "But now I'm with a new lady, and she's nice, she lets me have a nightlight, but she doesn't take me to school."

Tweek's grip tightened slightly on the drawing Tobias had given him. "She doesn't take you to kindergarten?"

Tobias shrugged. "Nope. But Mr. Schnurrbart takes me here, so it's okay!"

Tweek frowned. "The director?"

"Yeah! He picks me up sometimes and lets me stay at the conservatory. He says that if I can't go to school, at least I should do something with my time."

Tweek inhaled slowly, trying to keep his expression neutral.

Tobias was only four. He didn't realize how odd that was—how the director of the conservatory was the one making sure he was getting some form of education while whoever he was staying with... just didn't.

Tweek wet his lips. "And... you don't have music classes?"

Tobias shook his head, swinging his legs back and forth. "Nope. No one wants to teach me 'cause I don't got anyone to pay for classes. But Mr. Schnurrbart says it's okay! He lets me play whenever I want with whatever instrument i like, so far I love the piano!"

Tweek felt something sharp lodge itself in his throat.

It wasn't okay.

Tobias spoke like this was normal, like it was just the way things were. And he wasn't upset about it—he was grateful. As if being given an old piano to play on in an empty room was some huge privilege.

Tobias, completely unaware of the way Tweek's expression had shifted, took another sip from his juice before grinning up at him. "Mr. Schnurrbart told me he was a good old friends with my parents, y'know." he said casually, like he was talking about the weather. "One day, he came to see me and said he was their friend."

Tweek's fingers twitched slightly. "Yeah?" he asked carefully.

"Mm-hmm! He told me they were really good at music too!" Tobias kicked his feet against the bench. "He said I must've gotten my piano skills from them." He puffed out his chest a little, as if proud of that fact.

Tweek stiffened.

"...Your parents?"

"Yeah!" Tobias beamed, as if sharing a fun fact. “He talks about them sometimes."

Tweek swallowed. He felt like he was stepping onto fragile ice. "And... Do you remember them?" His voice was gentle, careful.

Tobias went quiet for a second, his little fingers tapping against his juice box. "... A little" he admitted. "I know they're gone."

Tweek swallowed. "Did someone tell you that?"

Tobias nodded. "Yeah. But I think I already knew before that. Like... I don't remember them ever coming back."

Tweek stayed silent, giving him space to speak at his own pace.

Tobias hesitated before continuing. "I remember, like... how they sounded. And some stuff we did. Like, I think my dad had a big laugh. And my mom used to sing. But..."

He frowned.

"...Sometimes when I try to remember their faces, I can't. Like, I think I see them, but then it's... fuzzy."

Tweek felt his throat tighten.

He didn't know what to say. What could he say?

He had always thought it was strange how this little kid spent so much time alone at the conservatory, without the supervision of his parents—or the man he had assumed was his grandfather. Turns out, the director wasn't his grandfather.

Nor his guardian.

Just an old friend of Tobias' deceased parents.

Tobias was an orphan.

A little kid who was already starting to forget the people who had loved him the most.

A little kid navigating the foster care system—not in an orphanage, because those were rare now, especially in a small town like this.

And the way Tobias spoke about it—so matter-of-factly, so accepting—made something in Tweek's chest tighten.

"Mr. Schnurrbart says they loved me a lot. So, I think that's the most important part to remember, right?"

Tweek swallowed. "Yeah" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I think so too."

He ruffled Tobias' hair again, his heart aching in a way he wasn't sure how to describe.

They sat there in silence for a moment, Tobias still swinging his legs while sipping his juice, completely unaware of the storm he had left in Tweek's chest.

Tweek had already liked Tobias before.

But now?

Now, something had shifted.

Before he could ask more, a sudden voice shattered the moment.

"Mr. Tweek!"

A blur of energy barrelled toward him—his student, Max, grinning ear to ear.

"You cancelled our class yesterday! Mom said it was because you had an important event, so I understood—but today you gotta teach me extra fun stuff!"

Tweek barely had time to react before Max grabbed his arm, practically bouncing in place. Tobias laughed, stepping back. "Guess I'll explore more of the place. See you later, Tweek!"

Tweek blinked. "Yeah, later, Toby."

As Tobias ran off, Tweek watched him go, something lingering in the back of his mind.

There was something about that kid—something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

The weight of Tobias' words settled deep in his chest.

But before he could dwell on it, Max was already tugging him toward the practice room, eager to play.

Tweek's mind was a mess—a tangled knot of emotions he couldn't quite shake. His fight with Craig still sat heavy in his chest, and now, on top of that, he couldn't stop thinking about Tobias. The kid's words lingered in his head, gnawing at him in a way he didn't know how to process.

Max chattered beside him, rambling about his week, but Tweek barely registered half of it. He nodded along absently, giving the occasional hum of acknowledgment, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

By the time they reached the practice room, he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to refocus. He sat at the piano, his posture a little stiff, flipping through a worn-out copy of Czerny exercises. The pages were curled from years of use, familiar under his fingertips.

Max hopped onto the bench beside him, legs swinging, his feet not quite reaching the ground.

"Alright, Max," Tweek said, tapping the sheet music. "Let's start with the exercises. Try the first part again—follow the metronome, and, uh, watch your dynamics this time."

Max shot him a wide, toothy grin. "Sure thing, Mr. Tweek."

Tweek narrowed his eyes slightly.

That was too easy.

No complaints about Czerny? No whining about the slow tempo? No dramatic groans about boring exercises?

Max was definitely plotting something.

Tweek tried to ignore the uneasy feeling, took a breath, and started counting off the beat.

"One, two, three, four—"

Max began to play, his fingers fumbling over the keys. The exercise was barely recognizable, the tempo erratic. Tweek winced but kept his tone encouraging. "That's okay, Max, just slow down a bit and try to follow the tempo—"

Before he could finish, Max abruptly stopped playing and turned to face him. "Mr. Tweek, can I ask you something?"

Tweek blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, sure. What is it?"

"Are you married?"

The question hit Tweek like a rogue chord. "What? I—uh—why are you asking that?"

Max shrugged, his grin turning into a mischievous smirk. "You're wearing a ring. My mom says people who wear rings like that are married. So, are you?"

Tweek instinctively twisted the silver band on his finger. "Yes, I'm married. But that's not—uh—what we're here to talk about. Let's focus on the exercise, okay?"

"Who's your wife? Is she pretty?"

Tweek's face turned bright red. "I don't have a wife, Max. I have a—uh—husband."

The boy's grin widened. "Cool! What's his name?"

"Craig" Tweek muttered, wishing desperately that the floor would swallow him whole. "But seriously, we need to get back to—"

"Do you love him?"

Tweek nearly choked. "What kind of question is that? Of course, I do! Now, Max, please—"

"Aw... Monkey feathers..." Max said with a little pout in his lips, turning back to the piano. "If you didn't love your husband, I was gonna ask you to marry me instead."

Tweek stared at him, utterly speechless. "Wha—Max! You're ten!"

Max shrugged again, fingers brushing idly over the keys. "So? My mom says I'm mature for my age. And you're, like, the nicest and coolest person ever. Plus, you're really good at piano. I wanna be with you always."

Tweek buried his face in his hands, groaning. "This is not happening."

"Okay, okay" Max said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll wait till I'm older. But you have to promise you won't get divorced before then, okay?"

"Max!" Tweek's voice cracked as he tried to keep his composure. "That is not how this works! Now, can we please just finish the lesson?"

Max giggled, clearly enjoying Tweek's flustered state. "Fine, but only if you play it first so I can copy you. You're way better at this than I am, and it only sound cool with you"

Tweek let out a shaky sigh, deciding it was easier to give in than argue. "Alright, watch my hands. And no more marriage talks, got it?"

"Got it" Max said with a grin, though the mischievous twinkle in his eye suggested otherwise.

As Tweek began to play, he couldn't help but wonder how he always managed to get himself into these situations. Still, as frustrating as Max could be, there was something funny and possibly endearing about the kid's unfiltered honesty. For better or worse, teaching him was never boring.

Sometime into their lesson, a knock sounded at the door. Before Tweek could answer, the knob turned, and Craig peeked his head inside, then stepped fully into the room, a cup of Tweek's favourite coffee in hand.

Tweek's eyes widened, then immediately rolled. He was still mad at Craig, but he still took the coffee. "Hey, hon..."

Max, still at the piano bench, turned to see who had entered. The moment his eyes landed on Craig, his smile faded into an expression that could only be described as pure suspicion.

"Who's that?" Max asked, narrowing his eyes.

Tweek glanced up from his coffee. "Oh, Max, this is Craig. My husband. Craig, this is Max—one of my students."

Max's jaw dropped. "He's your husband?!"

Craig raised an eyebrow. "Yep. That a problem?"

Max jumped off the bench, standing as tall as his ten-year-old frame allowed. "You're the guy Mr. Tweek married?" His tone was incredulous, like the very idea of Tweek being married to Craig was an affront to his personal worldview.

Craig gave Tweek a questioning look. "Is this kid for real?"

Tweek sighed. "Don't start, Craig. He's ten."

Max crossed his arms, glaring up at Craig. "I just don't get it. Mr. Tweek is so nice. And talented. And fun. You look like the type who doesn't like fun."

Craig's lips twitched into the faintest frown "Oh I like plenty of fun. Just not the loud, annoying kind."

Max gasped, clutching his chest as if Craig had just insulted his very existence. "Are you saying I'm annoying?!"

"Craig!" Tweek hissed, shooting him a warning look.

Craig sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, kid, for the sake of my husband not getting angrier at me, I'll say you're not annoying but we both know the truth to that."

Max squinted at Craig, clearly unimpressed. "Well, for your information, I'm not annoying. And I'm way cooler than you. I know how to play piano."

"Oh, yeah?" Craig shot back, folding his arms. "Can you send a satellite to space?"

Max, undeterred, jabbed a finger toward Craig. "I could if I wanted to! I'll try anything to impress Tweek! And then I'd be way cooler than you!"

Craig opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, catching the pleading look Tweek was giving him. With a resigned sigh, he held up his hands. "I'm not even gonna bother answering that."

"Craig, what the hell are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be working?" asked Tweek while stocking some sheets in his work bag, his tone still bothered, clearly still angry with Craig.

"I'll take you to dinner tonight, babe, or home—whatever you want. I just wanna make things right between us."

"I would never make Mr. Tweek angry."

"I don't think so, kid. And shouldn't you be going? I think I saw a woman waiting for her nuisance of a son outside the room."

Max huffed, and as he grabbed his backpack, he shot one last look at Craig, his gaze lingering a little too long. Finally, he blurted out, "You better take good care of Mr. Tweek, or else."

Craig blinked, taken aback by the sudden intensity in Max's voice. "Or else what?"

Max scowled. "Or else I'll... I'll find a way to get him back!"

Craig stared at the boy, caught between disbelief and amusement. After a long pause, he shook his head. "Alright, kid. You've made your point."

Max nodded firmly, satisfied with Craig's response. He turned to Tweek, his expression softening. "Bye, Mr. Tweek! See you next week!"

"Bye, Max" Tweek said with a wave, watching as the boy disappeared through the door.

As the door clicked shut behind Max, a heavy silence settled over the room. Tweek busied himself with stacking sheet music into his bag, his fingers moving a little too quickly, a little too tensely. Craig leaned against the piano, watching him carefully.

"Soooo" Craig started, his voice softer now. "How many chidlren have proposed to you, exactly?"

Tweek groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. "Jesus, Craig. Can you not?"

Craig held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, kid's got guts. You sure you don't wanna reconsider?"

Tweek shot him a glare, but there wasn't much heat behind it instead he looked tired, so he just sighed and shook his head. "Why are you even here, Craig?"

Craig exhaled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I told you—I wanted to see you. Make things right."

Tweek swallowed, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. "Craig..." He hesitated, then shook his head. "You can't just show up at my job and expect everything to be fine. That's not how it works."

"I know." Craig took a small step forward, lowering his voice. "But I miss you. And I hate knowing I made you feel like this. I don't want things to get worse between us. I want to know how you're feeling, how you're doing. I want to fix whatever is hurting you. I just... I want things to go back to normal."

Tweek let out a slow breath, his grip on his bag tightening.

"Normal, huh?" He huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Craig, I don't even know what that means anymore."

Craig stiffened slightly. "Tweek—"

"No, listen—" Tweek cut in, looking up at him now, his green eyes sharp but tired. "I don't want us to just—go back to normal like nothing happened. Like everything's fine. Because it's not."

Craig's chest tightened. "I know that. I know I screwed up, but—"

"Do you?" Tweek's voice was quieter now, but no less heavy. "Because Craig... I've been feeling alone."

Craig flinched, his stomach twisting painfully. "Tweek..."

"I know you have a lot going on at work. I know this project was important, I know it meant a lot to you, and I get that. But you've been so caught up in it that it's like—" Tweek exhaled shakily. "Like I stopped existing to you."

Craig shook his head. "That's not true."

"Then why does it feel like it?" Tweek shot back, his voice edged with frustration. "I come home, and you're not there. I wake up, and you're already gone. We barely talk, we barely even see each other, and when we do, you're too tired to even be with me, Craig"

Tweek's voice wavered, and he took a sharp breath, as if forcing himself to steady. "I didn't imagine our marriage hitting something like this."

Craig felt something in his chest twist painfully. "I never wanted to end up making you feel like this."

Tweek let out a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah? Well, congratulations, 'cause that's exactly what's happening."

Craig inhaled sharply, his patience thinning—but not because he was mad at Tweek. Because he was mad at himself. 

"Tweek, I know I've been fucking up. I know I've been too caught up in work, and I hate it. You think I want to miss everything? You think I want to make you feel like you don't matter to me?"

Tweek's throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes flickering with hesitation.

"I don't want us to turn into my parents." Tweek's voice was almost a whisper now. "Two people too caught up in their jobs, too busy to even notice each other anymore. I spent my whole life watching that, waiting for them to see me, and I just—" He shook his head. "I can't live through that again."

Craig reached out—hesitant, careful—and let his hand rest lightly on Tweek's arm. "You won't."

Tweek swallowed, his throat bobbing slightly, but he didn't move away.

Craig took a breath. "Tweek, I know I've been too focused on work. And not on us. That's on me. I let things get to this point, and I hate that I made you feel like this." He gave Tweek's arm a small squeeze, voice steady. "But I will fix it."

Tweek looked at him warily. "How do I know things won't go further down the drain?" 

"When have I ever gone back on my word, honey?"

Tweek blinked. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, but he hesitated.

Because Craig was right.

Craig Tucker, as much of an emotionally stunted asshole as he could be, never broke a promise.

Tweek exhaled, glancing away. "I just... I Love you so much Craig, I don't want to lose that ever."

"I love you just as much, maybe even more, so I won't ever let that happen."

The silence between them felt different now. Still heavy but not suffocating.

Craig lifted a hand, brushing his fingers lightly through Tweek's messy blond hair, smoothing down the wild strands that always had a mind of their own.

Tweek rolled his eyes but didn't pull away. "Your hands are cold."

"And your hair's a damn bird's nest, but you don't hear me complaining."

Tweek swatted his hand away, but there was no real heat behind it.

Craig smirked slightly. "Dinner?"

"Yeah, whatever. Just drive, idiot."

As they walked out of the conservatory together, Craig's arm went around his husband, pulling him closer—not wanting to let him go.

And for the first time in a while, Tweek let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, things could go back to normal.

Things with Craig were starting to get better.

Because his project was just waiting for the launch date, the past few days Craig had been making a conscious effort to come home earlier—and Tweek was really grateful for it. He knew it wasn't easy for his husband. Even with the satellite in the prelim stage, Craig's workload hadn't exactly vanished. Work at NASA never really ended.

Before moving to California, things had been peaceful, almost effortless. No long nights, no distance, no stress—just the two of them, wrapped up in the little world they had built for themselves. And now... Now, they still had love, a lot of love, but life had started creeping in between them, stretching them thin until the cracks finally showed.

Craig hadn't noticed the strain at first, too caught up in his own world. But now? Now he was trying to be more thoughtful, to pay attention, to make sure nothing like that ever happened again.

And Tweek was thankful.

He loved the little sticky notes Craig left him every morning, scrawled in that lazy handwriting of his— Hope today isn't a total nightmare. Love you. Or Don't forget to eat, babe, or I'll have to force-feed you. He loved the small surprises, like Craig bringing home his favorite snacks without asking, or casually reaching for his hand while they sat together on the couch.

And the affection? The constant attention? Yeah, Tweek couldn't deny it—he loved that too.

It was just like when they were much younger.

They had always been clingy with each other, even as kids, but now Craig was especially clingy. Not that Tweek was complaining. It was nice having his husband wrap around him like a damn koala every time they were in the same room. Nice feeling like Craig was there, present, making up for lost time.

He picked him up after work now, meaning less late nights, fewer excuses to stay behind. He made an effort to watch shows with him again, to plan little dates, to just be around more. He even started helping with chores—though that part was still a work in progress.

Craig had always claimed to do his fair share, dusting the shelves, sweep the floor, purge their old stuff, also laundry was his sacred task. Anything beyond that? If it involved getting his hands too dirty—cleaning the bathroom, taking care of their plants, touching anything remotely gross—he always tried to get Tweek to do it instead.

But now, here he was.

For a whole week, Craig had been taking care of their plants, dealing with the organic trash, and worst of all... Making dinner.

It wasn't that Craig was bad at cooking. He had decent knife skills, sure, but when it came to the actual food? Yikes.

If Tweek had to rank their cooking skills, he'd admit he wasn't exactly Gordon Ramsay—but Craig? Craig was worse. And it wasn't for lack of effort; the guy just had zero instinct for flavors. In Craig's world, more cheese or extra salt was the solution to everything.

Which honestly made Tweek wonder how the hell Laura's cooking skills had completely skipped over her own son.

And yet, here Craig was, standing in the kitchen, moving around like he actually knew what he was doing.

Tweek sat at the dining table, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

"You sure you don't want me to cook?"

"Nope." Craig didn't even look at him, too focused on whatever abomination he was creating. "You've had more stressful days lately, let me spoil you."

Tweek wanted to be touched by that. He really did. But...

Craig was pouring something into a pan, looking way too confident for someone whose idea of "cooking" usually involved a microwave and praying for the best.

"I told you, babe" Craig said, rolling up his sleeves. "I got this."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Craig flipped him off before flipping something in the pan.

"You wound me, Tweek."

"No, what's wounding me is the smell coming from that pan."

Craig frowned, glancing down. "It's fine."

"It's burning."

"No, it's—" Craig poked at it with a spatula. A piece of something black and crispy flaked off. He stared at it. "... It's slightly burning."

Tweek groaned, running a hand down his face, but despite himself, he laughed. "Oh my God, Craig."

Craig sighed dramatically, flipping the stove off. "Okay, how about we order takeout?"

"I thought we said no more takeout," Tweek reminded him, raising an eyebrow. "We're trying to get back to good habits, remember?"

"Yeah, but I think this occasion merits takeout" Craig said, already pulling out his phone. "I'll get your usual."

Craig scrolled through his phone, already familiar with Tweek’s usual order. "Alright, food’s on the way. Should be here in like, thirty minutes."

Tweek exhaled, shaking his head fondly. "Great. Can’t wait to eat something that isn’t charcoal."

Craig rolled his eyes, tossing the spatula in the sink with a dramatic sigh. "You wound me, baby. Really."

"You’ll live," Tweek shot back, already moving toward the couch.

They settled in, the TV playing some random show neither of them were really paying attention to, the warm glow of the screen casting soft light around the room. By the time their food arrived, Craig had draped himself over Tweek’s side of the couch, legs stretched out, fully taking up space as if they didn’t have an entire sectional. Tweek, used to this behavior, just grabbed his container of food and dug in.

For a few minutes, the only sounds were the clinking of chopsticks against takeout boxes, the occasional sip of soda, and the distant chatter of the TV.

Then, Craig, between bites, glanced at Tweek. "So, how’s work been?"

Tweek huffed through his nose. "Busy. The orchestra’s been piling more rehearsals on me, and I’ve been taking on a few more students. Guess word’s getting around."

Craig raised an eyebrow. "That’s a good thing, right?"

"Yeah, of course. Just means my schedule’s been packed." Tweek sighed, nudging a stray noodle with his chopsticks. "I barely had time to eat lunch today."

Craig gave him a pointed look. "Babe."

"I know, I know," Tweek groaned, already sensing a lecture incoming. "I was just distracted, okay?"

Craig let it slide—for now. "Well, at least one of us is getting more work. My department’s been slow lately. Since the satellite’s just waiting for the launch date, it’s mostly maintenance and small tasks. Feels weird not pulling long hours."

"Maybe use that extra time to learn how to cook?"

Craig snorted. "Har-har."

There was a lull in the conversation, comfortable but brief. Then—

"So" Craig started casually, taking another bite. "Who was the kid that hugged you after the recital?"

Tweek blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?"

"That kid. At the conservatory. The one who ran up to you after the concert."

Tweek chewed thoughtfully before shrugging. "Oh—Tobias. He’s one of the kids that hangs around the conservatory. He’s not a student, but Mr. Schnurrbart brings him along sometimes."

Craig raised an eyebrow. "Why’s that?"

Tweek shrugged again, not giving it much thought. "Dunno the whole reason. He just likes being there. He’s a cool kid, though. Has a lot of energy."

Craig hummed, filing that away in the back of his mind. He wasn’t the type to pry, and it didn’t seem like Tweek was too caught up in it, so he let it drop.

They finished their food, settled into the couch a little more comfortably, and for the first time in a long while, things felt... normal...

The next day, their usual morning routine carried on.

Except now, Craig was waking up after Tweek again.

He had never claimed to be a morning person. His job had been forcing him to wake up earlier than Tweek, but ever since things had started feeling more normal again, he’d been caring less about his rigid work routine.

Now, he was still sluggish as he moved through their apartment, sipping the coffee Tweek had made earlier. His other hand was busy packing their lunches into their respective bags. Meanwhile, Tweek was flitting around the room, adjusting his cuffs in the mirror, running a hand through his messy hair, and muttering about being late.

"Relax, Tweek. We're not late yet. Besides, your job is closer, so you’re not gonna be late either," Craig said, handing him his lunch—not just shoving it into his hands but pressing a quick kiss against his temple as he did.

Tweek stilled for a second, his fingers tightening around the bag.

"Maybe I won’t be late, but someone’s been getting to work later and later these days" he muttered, eyeing Craig pointedly.

Craig smirked. "What? Can’t I take my time at home and give more kisses to my husband?" He reinforced his words by pressing another kiss to Tweek’s cheek, then another to his jaw.

Tweek rolled his eyes, trying to act unimpressed, but Craig didn’t miss the way his ears turned pink.

On the drive to work, things felt lighter.

"So, what’s the plan for today?" Craig asked as they hit a red light. The conservatory wasn’t far, so he wanted to use all the time he could to talk to Tweek.

"More rehearsals, more classes, the usual" Tweek sighed. "The children's orchestra has actually been going really well, though. They’re starting to sound less like a bunch of dirty dishes being washed, or a horde of dying animals."

Craig smirked. "That’s progress."

"Max has been improving too. Kid's still a handful, but he’s actually been paying attention more."

Craig scoffed. "That kid paying attention? What’d you do, bribe him with a kiss?"

"Ha-ha" Tweek deadpanned. "I think he just wants to prove he’s better than you at not making me mad."

Craig snorted. "But I don’t make you even remotely mad, right, hon?"

Tweek just shook his head, amused.

"And you?" he asked, turning the question back on Craig. "What’s today looking like?"

Craig exhaled. "Boring. Mostly data analysis, some checks, but nothing big. The whole team’s just waiting for the launch at this point."

"That means you could leave early again, right?"

Craig smirked. "Why? You gonna miss me?"

Tweek rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

They pulled up in front of the conservatory first. Craig shifted into park but didn’t unlock the doors right away. Instead, he turned to Tweek, a teasing glint in his eye.

"So, do I get a goodbye kiss too, or is PDA only for when we're in South Park?"

Tweek narrowed his eyes, but before Craig could push him further, he leaned in and pressed a quick—but lingering—kiss to his lips.

Craig grinned. "Damn. I should leave for work late more often if this is my reward."

Tweek rolled his eyes again, but this time, there was the faintest smile on his lips. "Just go to work, dumbass."

Craig chuckled, finally unlocking the doors. "See you later, babe."

"See you later, love."

And with that, Tweek stepped out, heading inside as Craig pulled away from the curb.

The moment he walked through the conservatory doors, the familiar hum of practice rooms and muffled instruments filled the air. The sounds were already second nature to him.

Tweek took a deep breath, bracing himself for the day ahead.

His schedule was packed, as it had been lately. A morning rehearsal, private lessons, and then, of course, the children's orchestra.

The kids were improving—slowly. But the thought of them possibly being ready to perform something together by the end of the semester had him feeling… almost hopeful.

After rehearsing new pieces with the orchestra for their upcoming concerts and later holding trial classes for potential new students, it was finally time to continue teaching a bunch of kids how an orchestra actually works.

He stepped into the rehearsal room, immediately greeted by the usual chaos. Some students were already plucking at their strings, others were deep in conversation, and then there was one of the cellos—who was currently poking another student’s sheet music with his bow.

Tweek sighed. "Stop harassing your stand partner."

The cello kid immediately straightened, looking at him with the most innocent expression he could muster. "I wasn’t harassing, Mr. Tweek. I was just… testing his eyesight."

Tweek pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, okay. Well, test your eyesight on your own stand, please."

With that handled, he made his way to the piano, settling onto the bench. He pressed a few keys, letting the bright notes ring through the room before clapping his hands once to get their attention.

"Alright, one more set of scales, and then we can take a break, okay?"

A collective groan rippled through the room, but they complied, shifting in their seats as they prepared.

Tweek had realized a while ago that teaching wasn’t easy. He’d always respected his own teachers, but now? He had a whole new level of appreciation for them.

Keeping a group of kids in rhythm? Nearly impossible. Getting them to read both the treble and bass clefs without complaints? Torture.

But still, they were improving.

Maybe—just maybe—by the end of the semester, they’d be good enough to perform something simple for the final recital.

That’d be cool.

But he wasn’t about to get ahead of himself.

If they couldn’t even coordinate with basic scales… well, how the hell where they supposed to play an actual song?

"So, let's try in 4/4, then in 3/4, and finally in 2/4. We'll start at 70 BPM—easy enough," Tweek said, watching as the kids straightened up, instruments at the ready. "One, two, three, four..."

Surprisingly, they didn’t start off-beat, and the notes were correct—not completely in tune, but at least nothing too jarring. And if a stray violin or flute slipped up, the rest of the group was strong enough to drown out the mistakes.

"Nice! I can tell you guys have been practicing. Now be careful with the B-flats in the harmonic scale. Ready? One, two, three..."

After a while, they made their way through all the scales they’d been practicing for the past few weeks, and something swelled in Tweek’s chest—something he hadn’t expected.

It wasn’t quite like the feeling of finally earning his degree, or the accomplishment of mastering a difficult piece after months of practice. It wasn’t even like the satisfaction of performing with a professional orchestra.

This feeling was different.

He was teaching them, guiding them—and seeing them actually improve? It made him want to cry from sheer pride.

"I’ll be honest, this was a disaster at first, but with all the work you’ve been putting in… I’m just really proud of you guys."

"Thanks, Mr. Tweek!" the kids chorused in unison.

Tweek chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

"With all this progress, I think we can finally move on to the fun part—at least, that’s what you guys would say. What do you think about finally working on an arrangement for a piece you’d actually like to play?"

The room erupted into excited chatter. Tweek had expected enthusiasm, but damn, they were really into it.

"Okay, okay, settle down!" he said, clapping his hands once to bring the volume down. "We just have to choose a theme, and I’ll make an arrangement simple enough for you all to play."

One of the kids at the front hesitated before raising a hand. "Mr. Tweek, do we have to play boring classical music?"

A collective groan followed, complete with exaggerated pouts.

Tweek’s eye twitched. "Classical music is not boring," he said, a little offended. But he reminded himself that these were kids. Of course, they’d find some of it boring. "But if you want, we can pick something else. Maybe folklore, children’s songs, theater— I loved theater when I was your age."

"No! That’s boring!" a cello player whined, throwing his arms up dramatically—so dramatically that he nearly smacked his stand partner with his bow.

Tweek barely suppressed a sigh. He really had to work on not taking offense when kids acted like… well, kids.

Fine. If they wanted something else, then what about—

"How about a film soundtrack?"

The answer was almost unanimous—aside from a few skeptics, most of them immediately brightened.

"Alright then. If we’re gonna do a film soundtrack, you guys must practice. The more effort you put in, the more options we’ll have. Now, start thinking of some suggestions."

And just like that—chaos.

"STAR WARS!"
"STAR TREK!"
"INDIANA JONES!"
"JURASSIC PARK!"
"HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON!"
"HARRY POTTER!"
"STUDIO GHIBLI!"
"SHREK!"

Tweek blinked.

Okay. Maybe he’d underestimated their taste.

Musicians weren’t just casual listeners—they felt music. They didn’t just enjoy films for the visuals; they connected to the soundtracks.

But damn, there were too many options. A headache was already creeping up the back of his skull.

"Alright, alright! How about we make this democratic? Write down your choice on a slip of paper, and next class, I’ll announce the winner."

"Yes, Mr. Tweek!" the kids echoed as they eagerly scribbled down their picks.

After a few minutes, they each handed him their tiny, folded papers, which he tucked into his bag for later.

Class was already over, and as the kids started chatting amongst themselves and putting away their instruments, Tweek leaned back on the piano bench with a deep sigh.

At least that part of the day had gone well.

He was content.

They were progressing. The kids had been working hard, and it was finally paying off. He was glad he had taken this job at the conservatory—he couldn’t even begin to count the number of headaches it had given him, but at the same time, it had brought so many warm, fulfilling moments.

Yeah, life was good.

A great job at the conservatory. A stable career both as a teacher and a musician in the orchestra. A steady income. A healthy lifestyle.

And most of all—a loving husband.

He was grateful to God for all the blessings in his life.

Craig had been his light for as long as he could remember. And nothing made him happier than knowing they were growing together—as a marriage, as partners, as a family.

Family.

Tweek had considered Craig his family for years now—maybe even since they first started dating. And yet, for the first time in his life, that word felt like it was missing something.

Maybe it was the distance from their parents.

Maybe it was something else entirely.

He exhaled, shaking the thought away before it could settle too deeply.

"Mr. Tucker, Principal Schnurrbart wants to see you."

Tweek blinked, pulled from his thoughts. A teenager from one of the more advanced classes stood at the door, waiting expectantly.

"Oh. Uh—yeah, thanks."

He glanced around, realizing he was the only one still left in the room.

Grabbing his things, he locked up the rehearsal space and headed toward the principal’s office.

The day wasn’t over yet.

He still had another lesson—a private class with a newly assigned student, a teenager this time—and an extra rehearsal for an upcoming recital. His schedule was packed, but between classes and orchestra practice, he could make time for whatever Schnurrbart needed.

Now, he found himself in the director’s office, a cup of coffee in hand as he sat across from Mr. Schnurrbart.

Being called into the principal’s office when he was younger usually meant one thing—trouble. Even now, the automatic instinct to panic lingered in the back of his mind. But here, in this conservatory, it was different.

It was actually calming.

The older man had always been good to him. And more often than not, he called Tweek to his office just for a coffee and a chat.

Mr. Schnurrbart was one of the few people in the conservatory who genuinely cared—not just about music, but about the people behind it.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Ah, Mr. Tucker, yes. Please, have a seat."

Tweek settled into the chair, taking a sip of his coffee as the director studied him with a knowing expression.

"You seem livelier lately," Mr. Schnurrbart observed, his voice carrying its usual measured weight.

Tweek blinked at the comment before offering a small shrug. "Well, the kids have been progressing. They seem to be enjoying the actual joys of playing and practicing their instruments now, rather than seeing it as just another class."

The director nodded approvingly. "And that is, undoubtedly, thanks to you, Tweek. You have been a positive reinforcement for all your students—more than you realize. It is a rare quality in an educator, and one I am most grateful to have in this conservatory."

Tweek felt his ears heat up slightly. "I just... I mean, I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t given me the opportunity."

"And I am most pleased that I did," the director continued smoothly. "Having a musician of your calibre in both the faculty and the orchestra has only elevated our institution. In fact, the conductor has been most impressed with your recent performances. She is considering assigning you to more recitals—perhaps even arranging a piano concert featuring you as the soloist."

Tweek nearly choked on his coffee. He felt his face flush, embarrassment creeping up his spine. He knew he was good—he wouldn't have this job if he weren't—but he wasn't exactly at the level of a world-class virtuoso. Still, hearing such high praise from the director made something warm settle in his chest.

"I—uh—wow," Tweek muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "That's... really an honor, sir."

"A well-earned one," Mr. Schnurrbart assured him. "A great number of attendees spoke highly of your performance in the last recital. I expect you will have quite a few new students soon—many were inspired to begin their piano journey after watching you play."

Oh.

So that's why his schedule had suddenly become packed with trial lessons. That's why he had been getting more inquiries about private classes. That's why he barely had a moment to breathe between rehearsals.

Roles were reversing at the worst possible time—his workload was now steadily increasing, just as Craig was finally catching a break from his.

Tweek exhaled, adjusting his grip on his coffee cup. "That means I'll be spending a lot more time at the conservatory, huh?"

The director smiled, his voice carrying a rare hint of amusement. "Yes, though rest assured, I am well aware that my musicians have lives outside these walls. I will do my best to ensure you are not overwhelmed."

Tweek appreciated that.

He took another sip of his coffee, letting the warmth settle in his chest. It was reassuring to know the director was mindful of his workload, though Tweek already knew himself well enough—he'd push through regardless. It wasn't in him to half-ass something he loved.

"Besides," he added after a moment, "teaching has been surprisingly... rewarding. I never thought I'd enjoy it this much, but seeing the kids improve, watching them actually care about the music—it's different from performing, but in a good way."

Mr. Schnurrbart nodded, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Indeed. There is something deeply fulfilling about guiding young musicians. Watching them discover their passion, seeing that moment when it all clicks—it is a privilege not many truly appreciate."

Tweek found himself smiling at that. "Yeah. I think I get it now."

The director took a measured sip of his own coffee before setting it down with a quiet clink. "Speaking of young musicians, I have noticed that you have taken a particular interest in Tobias."

The shift in conversation was subtle, slipping in naturally, but it still caught Tweek slightly off guard. His fingers twitched against his cup before he nodded. "Yeah. He's really passionate about music. I see a lot of potential in him."

The director hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. His gaze drifted towards the window, as though weighing his words carefully. "I am pleased to hear that."

Tweek hesitated before speaking, his brow furrowing. "Excuse me for interrupting, but it seems that's not all you wish to say."

The director exhaled softly, his expression becoming more solemn. "You are correct."

There was a long pause as Mr. Schnurrbart continued to stare out the window, as though contemplating whether to share something more personal.

"Tobias... he doesn't have many people looking out for him."

Tweek's grip tightened around his cup. "I—yeah, I sort of figured."

The director's voice grew heavier. "His parents were dear friends of mine. Talented musicians, both of them. But they passed away under tragic circumstances, and now..." He paused, his voice heavy with regret. "He's been left without a proper support system."

Tweek's stomach twisted. "He doesn't have anyone?"

"Well, the only remaining family he has is his grandmother."

Tweek tilted his head slightly, curiosity piqued. "I never see her around. Does she live far?"

"No" Mr. Schnurrbart replied, his tone controlled but laced with underlying frustration. "She lives here in town. However, she refuses to take him in."

Tweek's stomach tightened. "Why?"

The director rubbed his temple, his face reflecting the weight of the words he was about to say. "She believes Tobias is cursed. She sees his parents' deaths as an omen, and she's convinced that having him in her life will only bring more misfortune."

Tweek blinked, his grip tightening around his cup. "What?"

Mr. Schnurrbart exhaled, shaking his head. "It's an irrational belief, I know. But she's a deeply traditional woman. She's chosen to distance herself from him rather than embrace him as family."

Tweek was silent for a moment, trying to digest the information. His mind raced. He had recently known that Tobias had no one, but to be rejected by the only family he had left? To have someone who was supposed to protect him turn her back on him completely?

That didn't sit right with him.

"That's why he's always here" Tweek murmured, realization settling in. "Why you're the one who brings him."

The director nodded slowly. "I do what I can, but I am only one person, and I am no longer as capable as I once was. I cannot provide him with the support he truly needs."

Tweek swallowed. "Why are you even telling me all this?"

"I have observed his recent behavior" the director continued, his voice softening slightly. "He seems brighter, more hopeful than he has in a long while."

Tweek blinked, trying to follow the sudden change in tone. "What do you mean?"

"At first, it was subtle," the director continued. "But lately, he's been talking nonstop about how much fun he has with the 'piano man.' I think we both know who he's referring to."

Tweek felt a tight knot form in his throat. He hadn't realized how much those small moments meant to Tobias. To him, they were just conversations, a few minutes here and there. But to Tobias, they were something more.

The director gave a slight smile. "He speaks of you often, Tweek. How much he enjoys the time spent with you. How your presence seems to lift his spirits in a way I have not seen in quite some time. You've become a source of comfort for him."

Tweek's mind was swirling, his heart racing. He hadn't expected to hear this. Tobias had been so full of life when they played together, but to hear that he had been suffering... It was hard to believe that the bright, energetic child he knew could ever have been anything but joyful.

Mr. Schnurrbart's voice softened, but there was a quiet intensity to it. "You have made a profound impact on him. I have observed his interactions, and it is clear that you are one of the few people he feels he can rely on."

Tweek shook his head, trying to process the weight of what the director was saying. "Before I had even the faintest idea of what Tobias has been going through, I always thought he was a bright, well-mannered kid. But after hearing all of this, what am I even supposed to do now?"

The director's gaze was steady, his tone unwavering. "Simply... be there for him. That is all I ask. You have already done more than you realize. Just continue to treat him as you have—with kindness and patience."

Tweek blinked in confusion. "What does that even mean? How have I been acting with him?"

"Kind" Mr. Schnurrbart said, his voice soft yet firm. "You've treated him like someone who matters. Someone worth listening to. And believe me, Tucker, that's not something Tobias has had much of in his life."

Tweek opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a loss for words. His mind buzzed, conflicted. "I... I don't get it. I haven't done anything special."

"You do not need to." The director's expression remained calm, but there was a quiet authority in his tone. "To you, perhaps, it is simply a matter of a few conversations, a little patience. But to him? It is everything." He paused for a moment, his gaze sharpening slightly. "To him, you are nothing short of a hero."

Tweek let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "A hero? I don't recall any time he could think of me that way."

The director's gaze was unwavering, his expression knowing. "Sometimes, Tweek, the smallest acts of kindness can have the greatest impact. You've given him something he's been missing—someone who listens, who cares, who makes him feel seen."

Tweek shifted uneasily in his seat, suddenly feeling off-balance. He hadn't been trying to be anyone's hero. He hadn't been doing anything extraordinary. But maybe, for a kid like Tobias, just being there—just listening, just caring—was enough.

Tobias just wanted to feel loved, to feel listened to, to feel seen.

What Tobias needed was someone who could make him feel... less alone. Yes, he could be that someone. He liked the kid, maybe more than he'd initially realized. And maybe, just maybe, he saw a little bit of himself in Tobias—a child who needed someone to believe in him, but did that really matter? Did anything really matter when he saw Tobias' bright, warm smile?

Tobias needed understanding.

He needed peace.

He needed love.

But what Tobias really needed... was a home. Stability. A family.

But that thought was too overwhelming for him to process right now.

When he stepped out of the director's office, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The air felt colder now, more pressing, like a weight he hadn't noticed before had been added to his shoulders. His eyes wandered absently to the polished floor as he tried to shake off the heaviness that had settled in his chest.

He wasn't sure what to do with the new information. Tobias... the kid was going through things Tweek hadn't even begun to comprehend. And yet, he was still so full of life. So full of laughter. It felt impossible to reconcile the two sides of him.

With a quiet sigh, Tweek ran a hand through his messy hair and glanced toward one of the old hallways. That's where Tobias usually was. Probably playing that old, out-of-tune piano again. He'd been spending so much time there lately, Tweek thought. He had never understood why until now.

As Tweek pushed the door open, the faint sound of keys being pressed filled the air, a soft and clumsy melody drifting from the grand piano. Tobias sat perched on the bench, his tiny fingers pressing keys with uncoordinated precision, his face scrunched up in concentration.

Tweek lingered at the door, watching the child for a moment. He was so innocent, so unaware of the dark things circling around him. How could someone like Tobias carry such a heavy burden?

"Hey, Toby" he called gently, stepping into the room.

Tobias jumped slightly, his eyes wide for a second before he relaxed, a smile spreading across his face. "Oh, hey, Tweek!" he chirped, his voice light. "Did you hear me playing?"

Tweek smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "I did," he said, his tone warm. "And you play beautifully, Toby. You've got a real talent for it."

Tobias grinned, his face lighting up with pride. "Really? You think so, even with this piano being a bit out of tune?"

"Absolutely" Tweek nodded, laughing a little. "You've got a way with the notes and a facility with the keys. If you keep practicing, you could be even more incredible than you are today."

Tobias's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Like you!"

The little kid jumped off the piano bench and ran over to Tweek, grabbing his hand and jumping with excitement. "I want to play just as beautifully as you," he said earnestly, looking up at Tweek with wide, hopeful eyes.

Tweek's smile softened, his heart giving a little flutter. "Well, if you keep working at it, working reeeeally hard, you'll get there for sure."

He gestured toward the piano, and the kid followed, sitting beside Tweek. Just like some days prior, Tweek started playing something simple enough for Tobias to follow. And, just like the mind of a genius, Tobias copied the notes, then added his own touches, creating something so similar to what Tweek had played. His little tongue stuck out of his mouth in concentration, and that made Tweek smile.

"So, how's your day been, buddy? Anything fun?" Tweek asked, wanting to test how well the kid could maintain his focus while playing. Ideally, he didn't talk while playing, but he really wanted to connect with Tobias.

Tobias shrugged, looking like he was struggling to juggle both his concentration on the piano and his thoughts. Tweek could say with complete confidence that this kid had a better capacity for concentration than his student Max or most of his other students in the children's orchestra, maybe even more than some of his coworkers.

"I guess it's been okay. I played a lot... and I ate lunch... I didn't play with anyone though, until you got here."

Tweek thought about it for a few seconds, then quickly came up with something to make the kid feel better. "Sounds like you need someone to practice with. You ever think about spending more time with me, Toby? I've got a little spot where I teach my students. Maybe I could show you a few things when I've got some free time."

Tobias's face brightened instantly. Stopping in his playing, he turned to look at Tweek, his face lighting up with the happiest expression Tweek had ever seen on any kid. "Really? You want me to come with you? That would be so cool!"

Tweek chuckled softly at his excitement. "Yeah, I think it'd be fun. I'll try to teach you some pieces, some theory, and you can see what it's like to play around with a few new ideas. I think you'd like it."

Before Tweek could say anything else, Tobias suddenly threw his arms around him in an unexpected hug.

"That will make me soo happy, thank you sooo much!!"

Tweek froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness, his chest tightening unexpectedly. But then he quickly returned the hug, a warm smile on his face, his arms wrapping around Tobias a little tighter than usual.

"Tweek... you're hugging me really strongly. I can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry, Toby, I didn't realize." Tweek's mind was spinning, a million thoughts rushing through him at once. He hadn't meant to hold him that tight, but it felt right. It felt like... he needed to hold onto the kid, to offer him that small comfort that had been missing in his life for so long. It reminded him of his own childhood—when he was so lost and confused, without anyone who truly understood him until he had found Craig, and in a way, Tobias had found him too.

He didn't say anything at first, but he smiled, then slid his arms back around Tweek for another quick hug. "Thanks, Tweek," he mumbled, his voice muffled in Tweek's shirt. "I like being with you."

Tweek's heart squeezed in his chest as he gently pulled away, looking down at the little boy in front of him. "You can be with me anytime, Toby," he said quietly, the weight of his words hanging between them. "You're a good kid. And you deserve to be happy."

Tobias beamed at him, his smile wide and full of hope. "I'm happy with you!"

Tweek's chest tightened, and he forced a smile, a mix of pride and sadness swirling in him.

That night, after dinner, Tweek found himself curled up with Craig on the couch, the TV playing some mindless show in the background. Craig’s arm was slung lazily around his shoulders, his body warm and solid against Tweek’s side. It was comfortable. Familiar.

But despite the comfort of home, Tweek couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. His mind was still elsewhere, swirling with thoughts of Tobias. His stomach twisted with an uncomfortable, gnawing feeling that wouldn’t let go.

Tweek angled his head, glancing over at Craig, who was absently staring at the TV. His husband looked relaxed, content even. Tweek knew that Craig hadn’t processed everything from the day the way he had, but Tobias... Tobias was all he could think about.

Tweek opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. Why did it feel so strange to bring him up? Was it because it was the first time he’d truly thought about the kid in any depth, beyond just the occasional interactions at the conservatory? Was it because it felt like stepping into deeper, murkier waters?

Tweek shifted a little, his fingers tracing random patterns across Craig’s chest. He needed to talk about it. This weight, this pit in his stomach, it wasn’t going away.

“Hey, do you remember that little kid you asked me about?” Tweek finally said, his voice soft.

Craig made a noise of acknowledgment without looking away from the TV. “That one pest? What’s his name again, Mark? Marl?”

Tweek chuckled dryly. “Max. And no, I wasn’t talking about him. I’m talking about the one who hugged me.”

“Oh yeah,” Craig said, finally turning his attention toward Tweek, a look of mild curiosity crossing his face. “That little kid. What about him?”

Tweek paused, drawing in a breath. “I, uh... learned some things about him today.” He fiddled with his sleeve, avoiding Craig’s gaze.

Craig didn’t seem to notice Tweek’s unease, still half-distracted. “Oh? Like what?”

Tweek swallowed hard, his words coming out slower now. “His name’s Tobias. He’s... an orphan. His parents were musicians—friends of the director at the conservatory. And, uh, the only family he has left is his grandmother. But she... doesn’t want him.”

Craig blinked at him. “What do you mean, ‘doesn’t want him’?”

Tweek sighed, feeling the weight of the words in his chest. “She won’t take him in. She’s... convinced he’s cursed or something. She thinks he’s bad luck.”

Craig frowned, his brow furrowing. “Jesus.”

“Yeah” Tweek muttered, his heart sinking. “She refuses to even acknowledge him. Just wants nothing to do with him.”

A long silence stretched between them as Craig processed the information. “That’s... that’s really fucked up, Tweek.”

Tweek nodded, his heart aching. “I know. It’s hard to even wrap my head around it.”

Craig shook his head, exhaling heavily. “Look, man, I get that you’re feeling all... I don’t know, ‘emotional’ about this kid, but you’ve gotta be careful. You can’t let yourself get too wrapped up in it. It’s a lot of drama, and next thing you know, you’re stuck in it, just like with that whole eavesdropping mess. Took weeks before that secret was out.”

Tweek couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, please, babe, you actually looked like someone who ate their boogers.”

Craig shrugged, looking sheepish. “Yeah, but no one had to know about that.”

Tweek let out a short laugh before his smile faded, his expression growing more serious. “Look, Craig, he’s a good kid. I just... I just think he doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. He loves music. The conservatory is the only place where he feels like he belongs, and that’s the only thing that keeps him going.”

Craig snorted lightly, shaking his head. “Well, at least he’s got that. Some place to go. Better than being stuck with that messed-up grandma of his, I guess.” He shifted, trying to close the topic.

Tweek’s chest tightened, the sting of Craig’s words settling deeper. Craig was always practical, always quick to shut things down when it got too messy. Tweek knew it, but it still hurt. “I just... I don’t know. I keep thinking about how alone he must feel, how much he needs someone. And he’s only a kid, Craig.”

Craig shifted on the couch, rubbing his temples, his patience clearly running thin. “Tweek, if I’ve learned anything by being with you, it’s that you can’t fix everything. You’ve always been the kind of person with a lot of problems, so I understand why now you want to help anyone in need, but some problems are bigger than... I don’t know, just offering advice or a hug.”

Tweek’s eyes narrowed, frustration building up. “I’m not just offering advice, Craig. I just think... I know it feels horrible to be that alone, and I—I want to do something, anything. I want... AUGH— I don’t know... maybe there’s more I could do.” His words stumbled out in a rush, the weight of the feeling pressing on him.

Craig glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Tweek, you’re already juggling a lot. You don’t need to be thinking about crazy grandmas and poor orphans. You’ve got your job, our lives... It just feels like your mind’s slipping off onto the wrong path.”

Tweek’s chest tightened further, the sting in Craig’s words sinking deeper. “I just... I don’t want him to end up forgotten, unseen. Yeah, I had you, but who else does this kid have? I know what that feels like. I’ve been there.”

Craig paused, his expression softening for just a moment before he sighed again. “I get it, Tweek. I get that you wanna help. But you’re self-projecting here, hon. Look, you can’t take on every lost cause. You can’t take every stray cat you see in the street. Especially when you don’t even know the full picture. It’s not that simple.”

Tweek’s heart twisted painfully, but he pressed on, his voice softening. “I don’t think it’s that simple. I think... I think he just needs a little more happiness in his life. So, I offered him some time to learn piano. He really loves it.”

Craig blinked at him, clearly processing. “Just... piano?” He sounded skeptical.

“Yeah, just that,” Tweek said, his voice quieter now. “Maybe it’ll help cheer him up, you know?”

Craig’s tone shifted slightly, as if he was trying to wrap his head around the idea, but he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Alright... But just remember, kids aren’t some charity project. And if you get too involved, you might end up stuck with more than you’re prepared for.”

Tweek nodded slowly, his heart still aching. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t want to deal with some crazy grandma calling him a bad omen.” He tried to joke, but it felt weak, and the sadness lingered.

Craig reached over and ran a hand through Tweek’s hair, his touch soothing but uncertain. “Look, just... be careful, alright? I don’t want to see you get hurt, especially not over some kid you barely know.”

Tweek nodded again, though the knot in his stomach didn’t go away. “Yeah, I know...”

He wasn’t sure what he expected Craig to say. But the conversation drifted after that, moving on to other things, and Tweek let it drop. But deep down, he knew Tobias was something he couldn’t just turn away from—not when the kid reminded him so much of himself when he was younger. So lost. So desperate for someone to notice him.

For now, though, Tweek didn’t know what to think about their conversation. He had always known Craig had a distaste for kids. But maybe he’d just been ignoring that part of his husband, avoiding the reality of it. So he let the conversation fade, the weight of his thoughts growing heavier.