Chapter Text
FADE IN:
EXT. A PARTICULARLY QUIET MOUNTAIN - NIGHT
In the scene, a teenage boy stands at the edge of a cliff. His back is turned to the ledge. He does not consider jumping off. It is a safe place— a place where he can scream at the sky. His words will always catch in the clouds, and perhaps that is why he finds the mountain so reassuring.
His mouth runs a million miles a minute. He’s breathless as he tries to explain the exhilarating feeling of the wind in his hair. He can’t do it justice, though; the feeling of empty air and solitude just behind him is one of the most liberating things in the world. At some point, he starts to speak with his hands, gesturing with every single sentence that falls from his mouth. There are so many thoughts in his brain, he has trouble coordinating them. They roam like his fingers, unintentionally picking and plucking at the buttons and fabric of his shirt.
He wants to relay the way the mountaintop feels so badly. He wants his boyfriend to know and understand him in this one way, if in no other. This mountain feels more him than his own body, and with that, he’s come to understand that, if anyone wants to really know him and how he feels, they will have to imagine the mountain. They will have to imagine the rolling tides, and the crisp rocks, and the tumble of grass down the side, peppering the dirt with shade upon shade upon shade of the same color.
Click-click-click.
The scene shatters, and all that’s left is a boy, a dog, and her best friend.
No longer on the mountain, Tweek almost shudders at the sudden juxtaposition. Craig’s bedroom unfolds around him, and then he frowns. He’s back in the real world, now, where he can’t imagine things nearly as calming and ultimate as that mountaintop he so wished for. Tweek kicks his feet against the carpet, drops his hands from their gesturing, and stops in his talking. He watches Craig, who stares at his phone with mild disinterest.
Craig stretches, then, his spine pressing against the edge of his bed where he sits on the floor. His legs are spread out, and on them lays a gently panting golden retriever. She wags her tail like this is the best thing she’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Then again, she’s always like that. She’s the happiest being Tweek has ever known in his entire life, and he’s known a lot of beings. His parents are almost chronically happy, but they’re not, like, excitable or anything. Not usually, at least.
Jesus. That would be weird.
“Craig,” Tweek says, narrowing his eyes into the recollecting dimness of the room. Craig hums in response, which, at this point, Tweek knows is all he’ll get for now. He can see the way Craig is gently stroking Pandora’s coat. Ultimately, he gets it, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t a little upset about being ignored. “Were you listening to me?”
“Yes, honey,” replies Craig. His phone buzzes. Tweek hears it. The confirmation is easy to corroborate, especially when Craig taps whatever notification popped up. Tweek frowns deeper.
“You weren’t, were you?”
“I was,” Craig says, but Tweek isn’t exactly convinced. Tweek crosses his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers halfheartedly against his elbows. Craig frowns at his phone screen.
“Then what was I talking about?” Tweek prods, leaning on the balls of his feet, bordering dangerously on accusing.
“Mountains,” Craig replies. “It was your best friend or something, I don’t know.”
Tweek huffs. He uncrosses his arms suddenly, giving a sweeping, exasperated gesture. “You said you would help me with my monologues!”
Craig finally turns off his phone and looks up. “Babe, I don’t know how much help I’m supposed to be, I’m not exactly great at the whole ‘emotions and words’ thing.”
“I don’t understand how this is hard for you,” Tweek argues. “It’s just words! Communication is the whole fucking point of language— Jesus, man, feelings are, like, most of what human interaction is all about.”
Tweek can see the words forming on Craig’s lips, but before they’re made public, Craig shuts them off. He lowers his gaze. His hair falls into his eyes, limiting the amount of vision Tweek has of his face. Before long, Craig has nestled into a rhythm of petting Pandora. Tweek, still upset, decides to say what had been left unspoken.
“I don’t understand you, man.” Tweek smooths out his shirt, his palms pressing wrinkles down. “I don’t understand you at all.”
BEGIN ACT ONE
“To Understand”