Chapter Text
Imagination is encouraged in the minds of young children, and it is a skill passed onto lucky adults. Transporting oneself into a world of mystical wonder aids in escaping reality, or it can help pass time during a boring workday. Tweek practices this skill as he imagines the ceiling panel above his enemy’s head collapsing onto him. The encouraging puffs of dust fill the room as Tweek smiles with glee, doing a happy jig around Craig’s crumpled body.
“You look like your gallbladder just burst.”
Tweek redirects his constipated gaze toward Craig, whose left eyebrow has climbed up his forehead. “Sorry,” Tweek lies, because he’s actually not sorry at all. “Just imagining something.”
“Are you imagining your gallbladder bursting?” Angry heat clouds Tweek’s vision as he analyzes that stubborn ceiling tile again. If only his imagination could translate into reality. Then, he would assume the powers of a warlock and cast a spell to float the tile down, until bam, bam, bam! He lets out a very elegant snort at the prospect, but it dies when he sees Craig’s cold, hazy eyes.
“I’m imagining all the possible ways to kill you.” Craig exhales a harsh breath of air, pushing himself off the edge of his desk with open palms, then swiveling his chair to face Tweek.
“Oh, Tweek.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans back into his chair, which lets out a puny squeak. “What do you have in mind? Because surely, ways to kill your colleague are more important than the work we get paid to do.”
Tweek tuts with pity. Now he finally realizes why Craig is such a dick all the time: He’s ignoring the fact that, yes, his death is the most important thing in a person’s eyes. Poor Craig.
Tweek holds up his hands, open palms tracing an arc in the air. “Death by strangulation,” he elaborates, blatantly ignoring the idea of working right now. “Whether it’s caused by my bare hands or those stupid hat flaps is still in the future's hands.” When Craig’s lips purse, his arms unraveling to touch his chullo, Tweek can’t stop the self-satisfied smirk that forms on his face. Craig hums thoughtfully as he looks back at him, squinting.
“My hat?” For what seems to be the first time ever, Tweek gets a full view of Craig Tucker’s hair: Jet black and thick and slightly ruffled due to static. “Here,” he says. “To cover up your tragic hair.” Tweek’s curious gaze turns stony, and his smirk droops into a frown. He stares at the hat in Craig’s outstretched hand as if that chullo single-handedly orchestrated the death of his parents.
…Although that wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him.
Forgiving the hat for lifting two toxic burdens off his shoulders, he grabs it and pulls it tightly onto his head. With a giddy smile, he turns back to his computer and ignores the quizzical stare he’s receiving from Craig.
“Get back to work, you hatless bitch.” With a scoff, Craig turns around.
“I’ve had that hat since elementary school,” he remarks, seemingly to himself. Tweek rolls his eyes and decides to engage.
“Wow, thank you for that enlightening fact. So surprising. So life-changing.” He smiles, neglecting to notice the smile spreading across Craig’s face as well.
“Yep. I’ve had it since…” Craig taps his chin with his pointer finger, staring up at the ceiling with faux contemplation. “Well, since before the lice outbreak at my school.” Tweek’s eyes bulge as Craig makes an affirmative sound.
“Uh-huh,” Craig continues. “Everyone in my grade had it. My scalp was itchy for days. Every day, I felt this odd sensation.” Blinking harshly, Craig raises tense fingers to his head and itches. “Like someone was chomping on my fucking head, and then set it on fire too- oh God, ow.” His monotone ow could have made profits off a performance beside Angelina Jolie. “Not again.”
Once again, the hat has wronged Tweek, deserving the launch to the floor it receives. Tweek stands up, stomping on the chullo as if killing the lice with his right foot. This stomping becomes impossibly more aggressive once the sound of Craig’s booming laughter begins echoing off the walls, flooding into Tweek’s ears, and plaguing him with anger. In his peripheral vision, Tweek notices Craig fold in on himself, gripping his stomach like he’s about to amend a stomachache. Tweek gradually stops stomping.
“Oh,” Tweek says, before fury consumes him once more. “ Oh. ” The laughter doesn’t stop, making Tweek feel even more ridiculous for believing another one of Craig’s countless lies. He hinges his hips to retrieve the flattened hat and proceeds to throw it at Craig with enough force to make him flinch. Still, Craig laughs, maybe even harder now. So naturally, Tweek’s mind procures the image of him yanking the hat back and continuously hitting Craig with it. Take that, and that, he’d scream.
“You’re so easy to tease,” Craig remarks, plopping his chullo back on. He shakes his head with amusement and turns back to face his desk once more. Tweek simply stares at him with dismay and unnaturally wide eyes, unable to bring himself back to his desk.
How does Craig always make me feel this way, Tweek asks himself, which is a question he’s been pondering since he and Craig first met. His heart beats rapidly. It’s a twisted kind of feeling, exciting yet dreadful, as he wonders endlessly what Craig will do next.
…and why don’t I ever want him to stop?