Reawoken Flames 《{ CraigxTweek }》

Chapter 2: The Bar

9 years later...

"He's at the 30... the 20... and it's a touchdown for the Broncos!"

The bar erupted with drunken applause, a few glasses flying through the air and hitting the floor with loud sounds of glass shattering.

However, unlike everyone else cheering happily, I sat with a complete poker-face at the bar despite the contents of a beer having flown all over me. The large man next to me slammed his mug down happily, wiping his face. "Oh come on, Craig! Can't you be excited for once in your life? The Broncos are kicking ass!"

I shot the large man an unhappy look. "Shut up, fatass. Let me enjoy the game without your continuous and annoying bantering." I looked back at the screen and took a small swig of my beer.

"Lighten up, faggot." He belched back in response. "The one night a week I get to see you and this is how you act?"

Anger swelled inside me and I slammed my beer on the bar. "I'm not a faggot, Cartman! Shut the fuck up!" I growled back in response.

Cartman through his hands up in response. "Easy, tiger. I'll stop."

I chugged the rest of my beer and slid off of my stool. I already had enough of this crap tonight.

"Oh come on, man. It isn't even half time, yet." Cartman groaned, looking like he was getting ready to fall off of his own stool.

"Sorry. Don't feel like sitting through this crap tonight." I grabbed my apartment keys off the counter and stuffed them back in my pocket starting my march towards the front entrance.

I felt Cartman's beady little eyes stare at me leave.

I walked out of the bar in a half-drunken stupor. I steadied myself, turning towards home. Before I started my trek, a thought crossed my mind and I looked the opposite way towards a street where the wealthy folks lived.

I groaned, then changed my course to travel towards the wealthy white people homes. "I know I'm going to regret this," I thought out loud and began my journey. I walked pretty steadily but I had to stop to straighten myself up every now and again.

"Every house looks the same." I groaned. It was true, even in my half-drunken state. Every house was the same color, every mailbox looked the same, except for one. At the very end of the street, instead of a plain white mailbox with a red flag, there was a blue one with a bright yellow T and bright red S painted on the side. A lightning bolt was terribly painted next to the T and a hammer next to the S.

I huffed and walked towards the house with the fun colored mailbox. I touched it lightly, closing my eyes and recalling a memory. I heard an anxious voice in his head. "Let's paint our superhero stuff on our mailbox!"

I heard my own voice, a younger version reply. "As long as I can paint a middle finger on it."

I smiled and opened my eyes again, looking towards the house. "I should at least say hi since I came all this way." I walked up the driveway and up to the front porch. I took a deep breath as I strode up to the front door.

"Just knock, dweeb. It's a door, not the end of the world." I sighed and lifted my shaky fist. I slowly knocked on the door.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps and an anxious voice through the door. "Who would be visiting at this time of night?"

I began to panic and looked around, leaping off the porch into an unusually prickly bush. 'I'm such a chicken-shit!' I thought on the way down. I let out a yowl of pain before covering my mouth and holding as still as I could. I heard the door unlock and footsteps step onto the front porch. "Hello?" I heard someone call. I stayed silent.

Footsteps drew towards the edge of the porch, where I was hidden in the Bush. "Honey, who's at the door?" I heard someone from inside the house call.

The footsteps stopped. "I think it was those middle schoolers again." Finally, the footsteps retreated back toward the house and the door shut. I finally let out a painful groan and unraveled myself from the twigs.

Standing up, I dusted myself off. As I was getting ready to leave, a voice spooked me back to reality.

"Craig?"

I turned around. Tweek was right in front of me, standing on the lowest step. His gray shirt and black sweatpants revealed that he came at their bedtime.

"Tweek..." I replied sternly. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to come to say he-" My voice caught in my throat I looked into Tweek's eyes. They weren't sad, or tired. They were scared.

I looked away.

Tweek took a step back, higher on the porch. He cleared his throat. "W-well I appreciate that, but this is an e-e-extremely inappropriate hour to be v-visiting." As much as he tried to hide it, I could still see him shaking.

I cracked a small smile, and Tweek adorned his old, grumpy pouty look, the one that shows how obviously embarrassed he was. "What's so funny?" Tweek huffed.

I shook my head. "Nothing. I should be going home. Say hi to Stan for me." I tossed that sentence over my shoulder as I turned around and began to walk away.

"You've been drinking again." I stopped dead in his tracks. This voice was different. Not the normally shaky Tweek, but a new one. A confident one.

I looked over my shoulder. "At least I'm doing it legally now."

"Don't start the drugs again. You're violent on those." Tweek said before turning around.

I clenched my fists and turned, lunging out. "Tweek wait!" I wrapped my hand around Tweek's wrist firmly.

Tweek froze on the spot, one foot on the step and the other on the porch. He slowly turned his head, and I saw that the color drained from his face and his eyes were mere dots.

I was unsure of how to handle this. I've dealt with Tweek's anxiety attacks before, but never one this horrible. "Tweek, what's wrong?"

Tweek gasped and screamed, trying to pull away. I latched onto his wrists. "Tweek, talk to me! What's wrong?"

The door suddenly burst open and Stan dashed out. "Tweek, what's go-" Stan locked eyes with me, then looked to Tweek's wrists.

'Uh oh...'

Fire blazed in Stan's eyes, and he didn't hesitate to draw his fist back then throw a punch, knocking me off the porch steps onto my back.

I landed hard, then covered my right eye which was already starting to swell.

Stan held Tweek and slowly brought him to his feet. "You see this? You made this happen! You caused these panic attacks to happen, so don't ask him what's wrong when you damn well know."

I sat up, staring at Tweek in horror. "But I..."

"You ever come back here, I will not hesitate to call the cops AFTER I maim your ass." Stan walked Tweek back in and slammed the door, leaving me to stare in disbelief.

A trip to the bar didn't turn out that well.

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